Have you ever been through an image of you're being in an apocalyptic travel with some zombies and this kinda think of and did you have an imagination or a dream that you're fighting your way through to find a cure out of it and make your own story...
I am numb. I can't feel my own hands, which are furiously grasping my arms, nails biting harshly into my tender pale skin. I've run out of tears but now a scream is welling up inside of me, begging to be let lose. I can't scream, of course, which makes it all the more painful. My chest burns, throbs because it cannot free itself from the hurting. Knowing I cannot voice my feelings makes me feel helpless, and as Griffin so plainly put it, worthless.
How could I be so stupid? I was mad at him, why? Because I find him annoying sometimes. Because he drives me crazy with talk of his big plans and wild dreams? I have no logical reason to be angry with him, yet I am; was. I tell myself I am the only one to blame. I am worthless. I have nothing good to say, so I bite my tongue.
I don't know what time it is anymore. When Griffin spoke those words to me, I turned - without a sound, without running or yelling or a change in my look - and left. I did not turn back, and I don't regret it. Now as I've made my way several miles from where we were, I do, however, regret not having said I was sorry; am.
I wish I had a time-piece of some sort. I don't like not knowing the time. At home, I am looking at the clock every few minutes, willing the day to go by when I can sleep and forget everything and everyone. Night is my great consoler and confidant. I am never truly at peace or at rest until I am wrapped in it's dark serenity.
When I've finally let g of my guiltiness, or part of it, I look up and find myself in no particular area. There aren't any houses, but I can still see the faint outline of our fence in the distance. I glare at it and kick a rock at my foot. I find a patch of grass that isn't too brown, but rather green actually, and plop down upon it shaded from the grey sky above by a grove of sad looking birch trees.
I pick at the ground as I begin to think.
I only think when I am utterly alone, because I feel as if anyone is around they could read my thoughts. My thoughts are not merely internal workings in my head, but expressive in every part of me. My face and body and the way I act, walk and even dress. Thoughts are dangerous, but I feel a little more reassured about them when I am alone and perfectly...unaccompanied.
However, I have never felt completely, entirely and utterly alone. That's always rather frightened me. I try not to let it frighten my now.
As I stare at the white bark of trees all around me I think of Griffin. I start to realize, and this is hard for me to admit, that I may be wrong about him. Although, I've said that already. However hard I try to be distant from him, the more I'm mad at him, the better I understand him.
I also come to realize that I'm not mad at him but more so at Life. Why must everyone die? Why can't we all live long, happy lives? I know it's s stupid question to ask myself, but really, wouldn't everything better if we could merely live? Truly, live. Explore, dream, create. But we can't. I've always wanted to go over the channel to Canada, but no. Even over seas to Europe, but a ship that would take me there is impossible because it doesn't exist. We aren't allowed to leave...for our protection. Now I'm really confused.
I don't like to hear Griffin talk about leaving because it so preposterous. Not that he can't leave; we can. He could go to the Southern region just like he wants and that's where I'm tripped up.
In Haim, we have freedoms. We are reminded of them every year on Memorial Day. "You have the freedom to travel, the freedom to speak, the freedom to marry and bear children. You have the freedom of protection and choice..." Yep, we're free alright, free to know that this is not the truth.
We're free to travel, in our own country, but no one has the authority or money. We are free to speak, but have no knowledge to speak of. We are free to marry and have children, but most of us die before that's possible. We have the freedom of protection but those who protect need as much protection as us. We have the freedom of choice but have no means to choose whether we live or die.
All we have is dreams, and they will remain thus because we are not free to act upon them.
I wish desperately that Griffin could leave and study medicine; find a cure. But it's impossible. He knows it. I know it. Why can't he except it, that leaving is impossible, as I have done?
I stare at the fence several yards away and smile. I wonder how easy it would be to burn it down?
***
When it's finally about five o'clock, I head back for Ofelia's. She's out cold on the couch and I'm pretty sure that whatever she was drinking this morning finally hit her. I look around and notice that nothing seems out of the ordinary. The place isn't messier than usual and the TV, thankfully, isn't on.
I hear my stomach finally make protest about the absence of food all day and decide I better find something to calm it's nerves. When I wander into the kitchen, I gasp.
Everywhere there is dirt. All over the counters, the floor, even brown smudges across some cupboards. I step around a few spots on the floor trying to make an even bigger mess. I clench my fists and grind my teeth together.
"I just cleaned this place yesterday!" I shout. I don't care if Ofelia's sleeping; I work hard to keep our shack presentable and this is not helping.
There's no response from the living room so I push open the butler door, it's squeaking hinges cowering at my ferocity, and stop over to where Ofelia's snoozing form lies on the couch.
"What's with the dirt on my clean floor?" I yell in her face. She doesn't move an inch, doesn't open her eyes, but startles me after a moments silence with, "clients."
I roll my eyes. I'm not putting up with this.
"I've had a heck of a day so I'd appreciate your cooperation!" I feel tears welling in my eyes but I scowl to hind them.
"Have you? Well, so have I."
"The dirt?"
"Clients, I already told you."
I lose it. "What in the name of all that's bright and beautiful were you doing with dirt in the kitchen!?"
Ofelia rolls over and sighs. "Don't worry I'm sure you can clean it up fairly quick."
That's when I plop down on the floor, face in my hands and sigh. "Griffin's mother's insane," is all I manage.
"You didn't know that?" Ofelia rolls back over.
I get up, walk down the hall and slam my door, done with the world for right now
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Well guys that's all for now at this chapter and I hope and bet you've like this chapter and if you did, don't forget to hit that Vote Button at the top right corner so I will know if you'd like this chapter or story... leave some comments down below of what think about this chapter but without further a do, thank you all guys for reading and as always what I said, oh bye there...
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