Girl made of Beast

The Future

I lie on the bed, watching the beast again. Or the girl, or the beast. Or the girl, or the beast . . .

She lies on her back, chest rising with calm rhythm. Flaxen hair spreads around her head, opal eyes shut with fanned eyelashes. A lamp glows by the bedside, much to her distaste as I complete my studies. The bedroom window is cranked open, no screen to block the insects. Wood glowed from the floor to the walls, her pet plants shivering in the midnight wind.

Her plants? Are they not mine too? Or has her over excelled practice in independence stolen everything from me? Her plants, not simply because our money combined bought them, not because us together caught cups of rainwater to nourish them. No, more because she controlled everything. She decided to catch the rainwater, she decided to purchase the plants.

The beast unnerved me, making me weak as my pen fell against the paper. A bird cawed from outdoors, her eyes splitting open. Their unfathomable grey and blue held its own luminous gleam. Like an amethyst, it's highlight of violet caught the light before they closed again, disappearing with the sound of the crow.

How did she get here? A mix of beast and girl, lying calmly on her back with no path leading before or after. Her breathing was calm, eyes dry as though no emotions battled inside her skull. A face so defined with characteristics, nobody knew about the birthmark on her rear, or the white lines scratched into her left hip. Nobody knew the of the beast. Nobody even knew the girl. So how did she get here?

She had a family, a large one at that. She attended school, had the best grades of our year. She moved out at sixteen, working too many hours since she was fourteen. She's beautiful, even monstrous. For an education, how dare she mock mine. How dare she defy the government and laws and idealistics but obey society. How dare she succumb to peer pressure, and flaunt her looks rather than commence a career. Wasn't the girls fault, but the beasts. To take away the girls gracious grades and flatten her to a cave of nothing. I knew from moving in with her after our first anniversary, I saw the letters.

Berkeley: Yes.

UCLA: Yes.

Stanford: Yes.

Princeton: Yes.

Harvard: Yes.

Yale: Yes.

How dare the beast cage the girl, and roam this territory in utter freedom. With my barely above a 3.5 grade point average, I questioned her. I pushed and pulled and did everything I could, but the beast lay in the version of a girl, on the floor. Was it the girl's decision? Did she really not want to continue a higher education? Did her struggle to over come society, result in defying the government? The Universities would have been blown away by her, guidance counselors shaking their head at such a waste. So much potential. Yet how dare I control her? How dare I take away her liberty. How dare I turn into the beast and conflict the girl.

And her job, a pain in the neck how much her job bothered me. With intelligence as strong as hers, she should be leading others and creating new ways to exist. Simpler, easier, more beautiful ways. Only nothing about the girl made of beast was simple, or easy, or beautiful.

A flock of crows threatened the winds howling, sending a flutter of wings expanding into the air. The leaves of the plants rustled, slapping against the wall. She stands with such grace, golden hair falling to her shoulders. Her vivid eyes avoid mine, concentration lost in the call of the wild. Light steps sound from gracious legs, stopping just before the rectangular frame window. Outlined in wood, an inch closer than the panels of maple on the wall. The wind is lost in the voice of the birds, the attack of leaves forgotten. I'm lost in the curve of her blonde head, fall of her pale shoulders and long, oh so long legs. She leans into the open window, hair's highlights hidden from the nights shadows. I catch my breath as one foot after the other stands onto the thin ledge, her head poking out being too tall, pale fingers gripping the frame. I tranquilize thought on her smooth fingernails, painted transparent and kept long enough for a fresh clear cut. The smooth, utterly soft touch from her hands fall from the frame, and so do her feet. She's gone, as quick as the sound of the wild. She's gone, and so are the birds. The beast has escaped into the call of the night, and like there's no last caw from the animals, there is no final thud from her fall. I exhale, frozen in my position on the bed. She's left me, taken everything with her. I may have the house and the money, but she had the independence. The girl, I realize, I am so dependent on. How will I live now that she is gone? What will I do? What will I say? She is everything I am not. She is courageous and brave. She is smart and strong. I am nothing more than a young boy with a pen and piece of paper. What am I to do without her? She took all of my independence, and then left me with none. She never needed me, but that didn't mean she used me. More I was using her. Her as a lover, where my friends envied her looks. Her as a dinner date, where my parents envied her intelligence. Her as a girlfriend, where society envied her personality. Her as a girl, where the beast envied everything.

Or was she beast made of girl? Were her looks deceiving, her intelligence too animal like to be human? Was she this ferocious, vicious animal with a mean look, blessed with angelic eyes and flaxen hair?

I lie on the bed, watching the beast made of girl again. Or was it girl made of beast, or beast of made of girl? Or girl made of beast, or beast made of girl . . .

She stands, not on the windows ledge, but beside the bed. "I'm going to sleep." Her soft, unforgettable voice lingers through my brain as she lifts the blankets.

Her glorious legs slide in, and she turns to face me, pulling the blanket so just her pale face shines. The yellow burn of the lamp makes her face almost tan, my eyes glued to her shut ones. I will the wilderness to to summon her, to send her eyes open, but by the time nature answers my call, she turns restless when the crow speaks. I give up and grab my pen, turning the blurred words of the textbooks page. I can't seem to focus, the only high definition picture her pores, and every strand of golden hair. These black print Times New Roman seem like nothing when compared to the indent of her head on the pillow.

What would the girl do without the beast in her future?

What would the beast do without the girl at all?