Life is volatile, we spend every day running through the motions, punching in our time, waiting in elevators, going to the store with that huge sale, waiting in line for our turn to pay, sitting through a lecture so we can be smarter and make something of ourselves, repeating the same menial tasks each day for what we refer to as occupations, but does anything really matter? In the overall scheme of things, do any of the actions we take actually make an impact? Or are we meant to wither away like the molten ash and that erupted from Mount Vesuvius, destroying all life within miles of its location, the hot byproducts of the earth's core spilling out from the crevice, raining down on Ancient Greek cities, including Pompeii, leaving no living souls behind, only destruction, and a thick white dust, yet this deserted wasteland that was once a thriving community, even in the absence of its powder-like coating, the bodies of those who resided in this place remain forever preserved in thick rock. I thought about Arie, my mother, sister, Chase, and myself, and wondered if the paths we chose had influenced what was happening now. Was I just wasting time like everyone else in this world, or was I creating something that would forever impact the universe? My alarm sounded, interrupting my thoughts with loud sirens that sent rushes of pain through my skull like water rushing through a broken dam, forceful with the strength of a million soldiers marching into battle, soaking every obstacle in its path. A whimper escaped my lips at the sudden surge of pain, and I slowly pulled myself up off of my bed, letting my legs dangle over the edge, almost as if I expected that there wouldn't be a floor for me to step down onto. After a moment or two of pointless hesitation, I pushed my body forward, my feet hitting the hardwood with a small thump, the sound echoing back to me from my sister's room.
I drug my body over to my dresser where I had arranged my clothing for the day, lazily pulling off the pajamas I was wearing before quickly changing into clean undergarments including a black camisole and hopping into a pair of black skinny jeans. I grabbed the black Misfits shirt I had laid out, jerking it over my head and smoothed out the surface of the fabric, dragging my body across the room to the vanity, staring at my reflection momentarily in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, thin strands of red traveling through the white, like steady streams traveling along a landscape. I picked up the eyeliner that was laid out first and traced my eyes with the black stick, gently pulling my eyelid up slightly to trace the shape underneath my eyelashes, highlighting the grayish green color that lay in the center of the white. The next item laid out was mascara, and I slowly combed the brush coated with the black fluid through my eyelashes, watching as the small strands of hair expanded in length, complimenting the eyeliner perfectly. A faint beeping notified me that my straightener was now hot and ready to use, Arie must have set it up for me, which made me smile. I picked up the hot appliance, clamping the plates down on my hair, then pulling it downward, the strands now straight from the heat, repeating the action with every section of my hair, until the black strands lay straight. Arie picked up my brush, gently running the bristles through my hair, smoothing out the knots and tangles. The final touch was a My Chemical Romance hooded sweatshirt, sighing at the sight of my reflection, this was as good as it was going to get.
I trudged out of my bedroom, pushing myself forward down the stairs and made my way into the kitchen, a raspy groan escaping my throat as the smell of fresh coffee invaded my nostrils, sending shockwaves through my brain, immediately waking my body. Arie stood by the coffee pot, smiling at me as he poured the precious liquid into my favorite mug with a touch of sugar before placing the cup in my hands, the warmth of the drink radiating from the ceramic to the surface of my skin. I took a small sip, wincing as the fluid scalded my tongue, my mind resting on the memory of the tattoo parlor, of the cigarette that lay nestled between the artist's fingers, smoke trailing upward into the air. It occurred to me that the taste of the black coffee resembled the scent of the burning tobacco, like the way that coke smells the same way that it tastes. The realization made me feel giddy, because I hadn't expected to make such a strange connection. Steam still rolled off the edge of the mug, indicating the heat that lay within, and I took another sip, feeling the hot burn of the liquid as it traveled down my through, but I didn't mind, gulping down the precious substance, ignoring the sting. I walked over to the coffee pot, pouring myself another cup, not even waiting for it to cool before I gulped down the second serving.
