Everlasting

Death and Chai

The next day came into existence slow and calm. Outside I could hear small birds chirping away by the bird feeders, songs of gratitude. As the sun reached its peak in the sky, rays pierced through my window and blanketed my face in its light. Nothing could beat the tender warmth and peace found here. Under these covers, nothing was asked or required of me until I took my first steps out of this nest of bedsheets.

As I turn to lay on my back from my side whilst pulling the covers close under my chin, the gears in my head start to turn. The waking that occurs every night, that now concerns my grandmother. The tarot cards that can only give me so much information that I already possess. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels sound to me.

Perhaps my mother thought I was broken.

A painful emptiness comes out of nowhere, stinging in my chest and I sit up instantly, shaking my head to be rid of the thought. Sit at the edge of my bed with my face cupped in my hands, birds continue to chirp outside.

"I need to get myself together, maybe I should pay Willow a visit." I whisper under my breath as I gaze through the window at outside world. Perhaps she'd have an idea or direction these cards are trying to push me towards.

Through the glass I could see that spring had made its way finally. The trees down the block now jeweled and dazzled with cherry blossoms that have yet to open, the sky now bright blue after having been grey. I loved the spring time. Seeing the world come back alive was always a spectacle to witness.

The casual act of throwing on a graphic tee, and the pair of jeans I'd worn the day before makes getting ready quick and painless. In my bag I throw together my class notebook, my journal, something to write with, a precious stone and my wallet.

I have class soon, dammit. I have class soon, and I should've been out the door.

Heading down the stairs is when I'm brought to a screeching halt. A letter on the kitchen counter left by my grandmother laid on top a book. The writing on it appears to be English mixed with another language of some sort, peaking my curiosity. I pull it from the counter and stuff it into my bag with the note without taking the time to read it. Had I chosen to leave the book on the counter meant a conversation that would've been struck when I'd come home. Plucking a bagel from the bread box, I make my way to the door.

Let us depart

Getting to the campus takes no more than 20 minutes in a brisk walk. Entering the classroom, I take note of my surroundings. The inside of my criminal justice class is lined with tables from the front to the back of the classroom. Most of the seats now filled by a students who already have their note books out and a writing tool in hand. I was the last of them to enter, leading me to find a spot in the back. Last time the tables were formed facing the center of the room, meant for a debate.

From the opposite side of the room, our instructor enters from the office door. A buttoned down white shirt, with glasses hanging off his long nose.

"Hello and good morning class, today we're going to delve into the mind of some serial killers. Specifically we well known Ted Bundy." He states while turning the projector on. The light hits the white board showing a visual of a documentary's menu. "Conversations with a killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes"

The class light is shut off, the movie pressed play and everyone is now paying close attention to the audio coming from the speakers in search of notes.

I'm not paying attention to most of what everyone else is. Instead the footage and visuals is what I focus on. However the moment I choose to start listening to the audio, it leaves me feeling queasy. The blood, the gore and the details of the victims listed are too much and I evacuate the classroom running to the ladies room down the long hallway.