Figment of Imagination

When I saw him in the town market, my heartbeat quickened. Fast, invigorating, its rhythm pulsed in my ears like the beat of a drum.

I smiled shyly and waved, he glanced at me and retreated, without giving me a second look.

I was desperate for his affection. I would do anything for his attention. I chased after him, pushing through the crowd, determined to have him. I would have him. He would be mine.

“Elizabeth!” I heard my mother call. Her voice filled me with panic, but I couldn’t let him get away from me again. Not again.

“ELIZABETH HALL!”

Distracting me for a moment, I turned to see my mother running towards me. When I looked back, he was gone. He vanished in the bustling crowd. I crumbled to the ground and bawled. My mom reached me and cradled me in her arms.

“Lizzie, what’s wrong? I told you-”

I pushed her away and screamed,

“YOU TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME!”

She reached out to hug me, but I growled and pushed her away again. Grief clouded her face from my rejection. It quickly changed as her eyebrows furrowed and her lips set into a firm line.

“I told you to stay by my side.”

“I saw him mama.” I started to cry again. “You do this every time.”

    Sadness flickering in her eye, she yanked me up by the arm and started to drag me out of the market.

    “Mama! That hurts.”

    “Next time listen,” she said and looked forward. People stared at us as we walked by, but she fixed her eyes forward and marched on, dragging me along with her. I looked back at the place where I last saw him and swore that when I finally caught him, he would never get away.

When we got home, she locked me in my room and promised no dinner for my behavior. Just before she left, she whispered, “This is for your own good.”

     With the click of the lock echoing in my ears, he came back to my mind, and I embraced it with a vengeance, cherishing every remembrance of him. Seeing him, everything became meaningless. The world crumbled to dust. His fleeting, remarkable gaze immersed me into a world where only he and I exist. You think I’m mad, but I know I love him. I love everything about him.

I looked out my window and began to imagine us dancing on the treetops of the forest that surrounded my home. I imagined myself picking only the best of flowers for my love and his sweet surprise at what I gathered for him. Then, I imagined him coming up the sidewalk to my door to tell me that he loved me. This time, the picture was so vivid, so real that I pounded my fists against the glass window, breaking the glass and ripping a layer skin off the palm of my hand. I didn’t notice though, only because he stopped walking and looked up at me.

I cried out, but he seemed to evaporate as he retreated. I screamed, trying to get his attention, but instead he left me to look at his back, a picture that I had seen too many times before. He would never leave me again. Never again. Never. Never. NEVER.

I lept out the bedroom window and landed on a bush, not minding the sticks, but thankful the leaves cushioned my fall. The warmth of blood caught my attention as I stood up and scanned the yard for him.

There he was, standing in perfect beauty and innocence. I wiped the blood on my dress and pursued him.

“Elizabeth!” my mother called. I kept running. I wasn’t going to fail this time. Mother wouldn’t take him away from me.

Reaching my hand out, I felt his soft shirt on my finger tips. A sudden jerk backwards surprised me, and I stopped running. I panted out of breath and watched him run away.

Turning around, I saw my mother’s worried eyes with her hand on my shoulder. She grabbed the back of my shirt and stopped me from running, stopped me from getting my love.

I shoved her hand off my shoulder and yelled at her. I cried at her, cursed at her, screamed at her horrible things. After the long tantrum, my mother’s gaze remained the same somber gaze she had whenever she saw me like this. She turned around without a word and started walking back to the house. Hollering at her, I followed her.

When we reached the house, I was still going. I followed her to the bathroom, where she brought out gauze and a towel. After she wet the towel, she gestured for me to sit down while she tended to my wounds. As I began to quiet down, she spoke in a hoarse, tear filled voice.

“All this blood, all these wounds. For what? What did you see out there?”
I looked down at my arms. Dozens of scrapes decorated them. My hands were raw and red from the skin that had been torn away. Blood slowly inked out of them and dripped on the tile floor. My fingernails were caked with dirt and blood. My once white dress was bloodied pink and muddy.
But it was worth it. I felt his shirt.

“I saw him-”

“WHO IS HE! Who are you talking about?”

“I LOVE HIM, AND YOU ALWAYS TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME!” I retaliated full with rage.

Her face softened, and she looked down and quietly cleaned my hands.

“Elizabeth, what is his name?”

“His name?”

“Yes, his name.”

I never thought about what his name was, but it came to me right away.

“Jim. His name is Jim.”

She stopped cleaning and looked into my eyes.

“There is no Jim honey. There’s no one named Jim in this town.”

I growled and jumped up.

“HE DOES! HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT MOTHER?”

“Lizzie, there is no Jim. He doesn’t exist.”
I swiped my hand across the sink, knocking all the objects to the ground with a clash. Then I looked at my mom’s gentle round face, petrified with fear. An unusual joy filled my soul as I saw that face. I smiled and slapped her. Looking at me in shock, she held her cheek while tears filled her eyes.

I laughed as she ran out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Following her, I determined that she had stopped me for the final time. She would not stop me again.

There was a back door in the kitchen. That’s where she was headed.

Grabbing a knife from the counter, I grabbed hold of her shoulder and thrust the blade into her throat. Her blood spewed out in bursts as she fell backwards into my arms. It splattered on my face and the walls as I lifted the knife and plunged it back into her neck. Her body went limp and the light went from her eyes. I let her corpse fall to the ground with a thud.

Kneeling down, I kissed her on the cheek, tasting the bitter, salty blood that had splattered on her face.

Then he was there, right in my kitchen. His glorious face and body, standing and facing me. This time he didn’t run; he waited till I slowly got up and walked towards him. A wide smile spread across my face as I reached out to embrace him.

He was mine. Finally, he was mine.
As I leaned in for a kiss, he patiently waited, his eyes sparkled. I got closer. Closer. Closer.

When I could feel his breath on the tip of my nose, he smiled and vanished.