The Pretty Poison

PART 10 - The In-Between: Familiar Sorrows

PART 10 - The In-Between: Familiar Sorrows

Chairs. The girl looks around her and all she sees are those retched chairs. 1…2…3… She counts them all until the last ends at 12. They remind her of a clock the way they are supposed to be in a perfect circle. But humans aren’t perfect so the circle came to be more of a warped oval.

Her feet swing beneath her metal foldable seat while her arms hold her forward. Burns and blisters cover her skin, revealing a past that she’d rather forget. Luckily for her, forgetting is relatively easy as long as your memories need be forgotten.

Her eyes become adjusted to the blinding light but never to focus truly. The edges of her sight continue to remain unclear, smearing what little color there is in the pale room. The place looks more like blurred circles or bubbles. She giggles at her thought.

The older gentleman facing the girl stands. He starts to converse incoherently to the empty chairs and the girl looks around and wonders why he would say anything at all. But one by one, each chair became occupied, not by people walking towards them but by people appearing in them as if they had always been there. The girl picks her feet from the edge of the chair and holds her knees close to her chest. People emerging from thin air is not natural.

Her breathing becomes rapid and she can feel the pressure on her chest from holding her legs so close. One woman with blonde hair glances in her direction. Her sullen face seems damp on her cheeks, as if she is forever crying. The rest of the group begins to turn in that woman’s direction as she begins to speak. She speaks of a man, a man that she misses terribly. The warmth of his skin, the smell of his clothes. This man is dead, she says. The frightened girl can feel sorrow grow in her heart for this widow.

But when the crying woman tells a tale of sexuality unfulfilled, the girl starts to draw back. How could a woman who loved so deeply be so lustful? How, if her husband is dead, could she be left so wanting?

The young person beside the curious girl stifles tears and folds one leg on her chair. There is a familiarity about her dark skin and pursing lips. Even the way she holds her head high while finding no pride within herself. The younger girl knows she is a friend but try as she may, she cannot remember her name. The name dances on her lips but no recognition follows.

The girl cries for her love. It was a strong affection, perhaps more passionate than the ones the blonde woman continues to describe. Her lover left because he is no longer dependant. The girl isn’t sure what she means but it matters not. There are still tears brought with his departure. It sounds as if it’s a nighttime romance women yearn for but it's never what they expect.

The sorrowful girl quietly leaves her chair with only a small wave to say her goodbye. For some reason, the youngest stays seated. She is strong enough to be still but also fearful enough to forget how to stir. After watching her friend go off into the halls she despises, the girl turns her attention back to the uncanny group.

She listens halfheartedly to the other memories. All there is to be heard are tales of minds unhinged. Rape and theft, heartbreak and obsession, fear and anger. They do not look her way though she whimpers with panic. She is too normal for them to notice but when all eyes turn for the girl’s time to speak, she is all anyone will watch.

She shrinks back as much as she feels able. Their eyes burn her already seared skin. It is too severe, too upsetting. She longs for her eyes to open and become once more conscious. This dream terrifies her. And so, the girl does the one thing all frightened instincts come to do.

She runs.

She pushes past the wooden doors and runs to her friend. She needs her and the tears shed are needed to be wiped away. That is what they do. Crying and suffering are to be dealt with one another.

Her neighbor is alone in her room, sitting quietly on the uncomfortably stiff sheets. Not even a glance in the girl’s direction and she gestures for her to sit next to her.

Silence. Such comforting and disconcerting silence. Interlaced fingers for shared strength. Heads leaning on one another. It all is how the two work. It is all the two have ever known of each other.

When the silence is too much for the dark skinned girl to handle, she begins to speak of words unkind. They echo through the dream, ruining the quiet they know well. She stands and brings the younger girl to another room, one only across the hall. It is familiar but not hers. It’s the furniture. The things aren’t set right.

The youngest starts to pull at the bed and brings it away from the window. The table is pulled to sit beside it and the desk is where the bed should be. All the while her best friend waits in the frame of the door. So picturesque. The beauty in a frame. Mona Lisa?

She asks of the furniture and why it was not how it was supposed to be. Once the noisy sliding of the desk is finished, she turns and answers.

“It’s prettier this way, is it not?” Her words echo as she spins and dances until she is too tired to continue on. The girl jumps on the bed inhaling the well-known scent. With her heavy breathing and worn strength, the sheets to her are more lovely than normal, smelling of warmth and freshness. Her eyes flutter and her bones ache. Sleep calls for her and she obeys, leaving her despondent friend in the dark of her sorrows.