The Sinners and The Saints

Chapter Two

Once I am home I rest my feet against the back of the couch while the rest of my body dangles off the edge creating an “L” shape. The back of my head rests flat against the hardwood. My chestnut, waist length hair fans out around me creating a crown. My long arm extends towards the bowl cradling nuts that rests beside me. I submerge my hand into the food and shove the mixture of cashews, peanuts and almonds into my wide mouth. I learned in biology that even if you are doing a handstand you can still, theoretically, eat a full meal. Gravity does not affect swallowing because there are a series of muscles that pilot the food down your throat. I test this theory and find it to be proven correct; noting that I must rename it a fact now rather than a theory. I then shift my hands so that my palms lie flat on the floor. I flip my feet over my head and curve my body creating a taut aruch with my spine; I imagine I look like a bridge. Although, promptly my palms begin to scream in sheer pain from the pressure on my wounds. I let my body go limp and my back slams roughly against the hardwood floor. I curse silently under my breath, then place my hand on the couch to steady myself from the impact. I lift my body from the floor, and with a sigh I pad upstairs.

I slam my hip against my shiny white door and slip my slender body though the newly resurrected crack. My walls are light. A whisper of lavender dances across their faces, while my bedspread is a harsh, deep, hunter green; the color of seasoned moss. My chamber is like a forest, the walls are light and seem to dance in the wind carlesly. They always look beautiful and free, no matter what song is playing. My walls are trees. My bedding is the forest floor, though it is small and often looked over, it sets the mood for the whole forest. My bedding is dark, it reflects its mossy color onto the walls. Forcing them dance in a darker, more twisted way; just as the trees would in a dank forest. I continue walking until the tops of my thighs collide into the plush side of my mattress. I lean my body forward, just slightly, then order the mussels to stop their strenuous battle of supporting me. My face plummets into the mushy, worn, foam of my bed. A small grin creeps across my face; oh how I love my familiar bed. I flip my body over so that my back now presses into the worn foam and slide myself further up the mattress, utilizing my elbows as my main source of movement, due to the fact that my hands still aching with the fresh cuts. I lie there for a moment, I do nothing but watch my fan spin relentlessly in circles above my head. I listen to the birds chip in my large yard. I relish in the sound of the engine as the occasional car streaks past my house. I heave a sigh and with that sigh I sit up right. I then order my lazy limbs to become mobil once again. My legs slide across my dark duvet cover and eventually slip off the side of the mattress. They fall for a moment, although, the slippery hardwood is there to catch them. I pad across my room until I reach my closet. I stand high on my toes and extend my long fingers. I feel a brush of cardboard and then I stretch my torso until I can wrap my bony hands around the small box. I walk out of the dark closet and back into the light. The white Iphone 5S box practically glows; it is so pristine. Absolute perfection. I hook my nails under its lid and pull it off. I toss the lid to the side and then begin peeling away the layers of little instruction booklets until I find what I had been looking for. My stash. Half a blunt is all that is left, I’ve been saving it. I pull it out then rush down stairs, grab a pack of matches and fling the french doors that lead to the patio open. It’s medicine. Thats all it is, I tell myself. I need it, it calms me down. The feeling is euphoric. I sit for a moment in the grass and wait for the high to kick in. I ponder why marijuana is illegal in so many states; including mine. It is borderline cruel to stop someone from feeling this way. My head begins to empty, my thoughts drift away. I feel light. I feel lonely. My thoughts are my only company most days and without them... I am completely and utterly alone. The sensation of being alone is raw, intense and painful; in many ways I love feeling alone, it is real. When I am high my eyes are opened, not by the high but by the feeling of raw loneliness it thrusts upon me.