A Prose With No Direction

even pigs have their scars

Ding-dong. 

Fingers halt themselves from striking furiously at the innocent keyboards of my ancient laptop, words upon words piling up against one another, too quickly to be put into the screen. Head spins with countless ideas and words, all begging to be put onto paper or something that will listen to it. Now my head burns in anger and throbs in frustration after the sudden interruption that causes these flooding ideas to abruptly stop. 

Legs march to the door, the body claiming those legs hers dressed in pajamas worn for three nights straight and hair in disarray as if just awoken from an endless night's sleep. Hands grip the door handle to the point of suffocation and swing it open with such force that its hinges scream and squeal in pain. 

"Who the f—" Mouth halts and expression softens as eyes meet eyes too familiar yet unseen for too long. "Ocean Eyes?"

He looks at me oddly. "Who?"

I purse my lips, shaking my head. "What are you doing here?" I ask, gingerly opening the door so that the sunlight seeps through the small slit. 

Hugh adjusts his mask, a garment now required for all humans out in broad daylight to wear as the rise of deaths due to the new plague increases. He gestures to me a Ralphs bag, filled to the top with food that I haven't touched nor seen in three days. 

"My mom says she rarely sees you outside," Hugh begins, slipping me the bag of groceries through the slit. I hesitantly receive it, taking a peek of its contents. "She thought you didn't have anyone to get you groceries now that you live alone."

I freeze, eyes slowly raising to meet his ocean-colored ones. "What makes her think I live alone?" I wonder. 

"That's what I said," he replies, chuckling, his hand sliding to rub the nape of his neck. "But I mean, I only just got here so I really didn't know and..." His voice hushes, allowing the silence to seep through. "A-Anyways, if you need anything else, please just let us know."

I purse my lips as I try to smile, but my head nods instead as compensation for such an ugly gesture. "Okay," is all I reply with. As I close the small slit of the door, Hugh's hand stops it abruptly, his other hand pointing at the bag. 

"Uh, my mom also made some brown sugar-coated bacon," he adds, smiling with his kind, ocean-blue eyes. "Um, it's in a small container in the bottom. You still have to cook it, though."

I look at him. "I don't really it bacon," I admit. 

His eyebrows raise and eyes widen. "Oh, I see." He nods. "A-Are you, like, vegan? Or vegetarian?"

"No." I shake my head. "I just don't like it." I glance back at the bag and then back to him. "Would you like it back?"

"Oh, okay," he says. "Sure, I guess."

I stick my hand in the bag, rushing to find the container so we no longer stand and stare at one another's actions in this eternal silence. Once I find the container, I set the Ralph's bag down, and quickly hand back the container through the slit. 

"Here." I hand it to him. "Tell your mom I said thanks."

He nods. "I will." He smiles. "See you."

I purse my lips together, waving.

Door closes and my back leans against its sturdy, wooden figure, legs giving out beneath me as my body slides itself down unto the floor. I look at the Ralph's bag I set down, the only word I have in mind now surrounded by pain-covered memories is bacon.

Pictures surround either side of the walls, family ones hovering over our shoe rack while pictures of me and my siblings' friends hang on the walls surrounding our dining table. After a while on the floor, I stand up and pick up the bag, walking towards the dining table to set it down. My eyes stay fixated at the pictures, observing the smiles pasted on that innocent-looking girl too pure for this broken and violated world. I notice alongside that girl, another one stands, dark-skinned arm wrapped around that innocent-looking girl's shoulder as if friends for forevermore.