A dove, a ghoul, me the fool and my fruitless search for love

I will not stand for this. I thought to myself, as I sat on my metal chair and pondered about how inexcusable it was that I couldn't decide on what perfume I should use to spray the invitations to my Hard liquor and dermatitis party. It was harder than I had imagined to choose between one that smelled of cinnamon, cloves, apricots and pomegranates and one that smelled of cinnamon, cloves, honey and ginger. Although I do admit that I may have been a bit overly enthusiastic about smelling nice smells and I may have inhaled too much of the cinnamon and cloves. I decided it would be wise to think more thoroughly about my predicament while I listened to a podcast that some washed up celebrity, who called herself Chloe, had just launched a week ago at that point, however even after listening to a multi hour long episode about ghouls, I still couldn't come to a decision, so I decided to go on a walk to the graveyard and put my newly acquired knowledge into good use. As I made my way out of the door the clock struck midnight and its sound instantly reminded me of the time I started hallucinating while reading my own future with my tarot cards. The clock I had back then sounded just like the one that currently hangs on my cigarette smoke stained wall, which is why it caused the memories of that night to flood my mind like a natural disaster that involves large volumes of unstoppable and uncontrollable water. I could see myself sitting by my desk, holding my cards and falling deeper and deeper into the images flashing before my eyes. In these visions I was Meryl Streep in Mamma Mia, because I couldn't resist it and I went again, I went to the spot in the woods, not far away from the very graveyard that I was hedging to, when I was reminded of these events. And what was in that spot in the woods? I couldn't even remember myself. It could have been a spell jar, containing a love spell aimed at the one that got away, it could have been one of the hundreds of mice bones that I had dug up in my backyard in the days of my youth, it could have been a treasure trove of cigarettes, bought at duty free shops or it could have been anything from endless joy or the deepest despair. I may not have known what was in the woods, but I did know some things and one of them was that love is the death of duty and my duty was to uncover whatever mysteries that spot in the woods may have held, which meant I had to give up in my search for love for at least a while longer. Naturally I decided to reach my destination by taking a path that avoided the graveyard. So I started blaring My Immortal by Evanescence from my JBL speaker, mounted my e scooter and was on my way. I reached my destination at half past midnight and during my entire ride there I was begging the ghouls for mercy since the memories that now occupied my mind took up my entire mind and I couldn't remember a single thing from the podcast that I was listening to just an hour earlier, I couldn't even remember what the name of that washed up celebrity was, however I did feel the urge to scream: You're washed up, whatever your name is. After I took a moment to clear my mind I realised that I didn't bring anything to dig up whatever was buried there and after quickly weighing my options I decided the best thing for digging was a big rock that was lying almost perfectly on the spot that had brought me there. Just as I started digging, a white dove landed on one of the branches of the tree that stretched its arms over my head like an old crone that was trying to give me a warm hug after fortelling a fate worse than death. I understood the dove to be a sign from the heavens that even the higher spheres were pleased with my descent into hell, whether it was the hell that the memories created in my mind or the hell I was physically digging into, I couldn't be sure, but I knew that I had abandoned all hope years ago, so I could enter without worry.

After hours and hours of digging I still hadn't reached my goal and my task seemed now more than ever to be to reach hell itself. I was beginning to feel desperate and I wasn't even a housewife. When the stone fell out of my hand for the third time I cast it away and that's when it hit me. I had cast the first stone. My entire life was spent looking forward to this moment, but then I felt only regret. I felt then more than ever, that I deserved the hell I was digging my way into and there wasn't even anyone with me who could make that hell better. In an act of true purposelessness I threw myself back to the dirt and started clawing my way deeper and deeper, with my hands this time, until my skin touched hard concrete. All that was left at that point was to dig out enough of the concrete box so that I would be able to open it and uncover its secrets. I was near collapsing at that point but it didn't matter, nothing could stop me now. After I first uncovered the box that had brought so much anguish into my mind, my resolve returned and clearing the rest of the dirt was trivial and I could open it in a matter of minutes. But nothing could have prepared me for what was inside. For the first few moments after opening the box I could only see white, because the light emanating from the box was so bright, but it only lasted for a few moments before retreating back to where it originated from. And it was then that I could finally make out what was at the heart of my search, I could tell what was in the box. It was the big light. A light so bright that it was capable of chasing away the night from the entire world and ushering in the warmth of day. But it served an even greater purpose, for it could also chase the darkness from my heart and introduce it to the warmth of love, which was a task that I thought only thinking about rubbing septum piercings together was capable of achieving.