The girl from the mire: part 2
Were we ever alive? Were we ever here? Were we ever?
Judith exists in a graveyard. Her tombstone is so old that it looks like a smooth glacial stone. Protrudes into her dusty, dormant grass world. Inhabitants are terri...
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Judith and her shadow hide in the darkness. Green eyes glow, surround the endless emptiness of a city which reeks of inauthenticity. Aware this place is also a catacomb dungeon of sorts with its open air claustrophobic loneliness and stone gray toilet swirl sky. Panoptic chill emanates from metal lung cement damage. Every breath's a lonely rusty nauseous inhale. And yet it doesn't smell like mint or have a drown defecation atmosphere like her sad shackle shadowless winter world. This place is incomplete in a different sort of unworldly way.
Judith knows of enough simulations to know something about them. Knows this dead city isn't whole. Feels like a tutorial. Feels like a place to practice barefoot loneliness over and over again. Every blind alley and sidewalk is a hopeless convergence built upon hopeless convergence. Too quiet. Incomplete. Soundless. Does it exist for a girl's ending? No. It's a desperate schedule for an act of jumping off a building time and again. It's an unending.
This foot fall place crawls echoes into her mind like whiffs of mineral spirit drench asbestos linoleum. Torn cellophane and lye fume eye stings. Ammonia burnt plastic nostrils. The whole infrastructure is cardboard made of concrete. Every street and building and alley is a ruse. Judith's aware that nothing in this place is real in the way she thinks of places being real. It seems like this city exists specifically to constrict Jane. To position Jane where the simulation needs her to be for someone's amusement. Dawns like a bright distant planet reflecting a nighttime sun upon Judith's forehead. The idea twinkles at a point in her dull dark sky mind. This is where the epilogue meets the prologue. The antimony. The paradox. The ouroboros. This place is a shadow swallowing a shadow swallowing a shadow. The emptiness is a construction and maintenance of a broken laugh. A generation's horrible feeling. A feeling of madness. A particular madness. The madness of civilization. Each grain of dust is a fingerprint that tastes like Nietzsche while he twirls the ends of his moustache and watches from the deck of a ship of fools. He's caught in the netting of Noah's Ark. Drenches in rainy expiration. Nods his head to and fro from the bulwark of Noah's stranger ship. His mother holds him while waving bon voyage to the death of God and what it means now to want to die. The eternal recurrence. This is definitely Terra's prison. This is the eternal forty days and forty nights. This place is the troubling adventure of naming two mountains Erebus and Terror and hearing the words "tekeli li." It was Jane who finally found the dry earth to ram this rotting husk open upon. She had the audacity to punch a floorboard hole in the sky. Jane escaped purgatory.
The only city sound comes from Jane. She breaths and runs and sweats and cries. She's gray motion blurring past a grey background. Her body almost seems two dimensional from Judith's vantage point.
Graveyard girl pulls her francy's off. Knows each of her steps tread noisily. She's used to the quiet of her feet, not the unnatural snap stomp squeak crunch sounds shoes make. Laces her footwear around her neck. Francy's dangle at her breasts. Likes their scent. Enjoys how her feet tend to smell, like dirt and a grassy sort of honey. The insides of her shoes smell better than the air in this place.
