Untouchable

Alibis

1 hour earlier.

I couldn't tell if my eyes opened or if they were open the whole time, and only now was I not blind. I lay on the cold ground smouldering like a burnt out cigarette. Rain misted down on me but I didn't feel it. Nor did I feel the cold air that made my breath plume out like a dragon's; but as soon as I attempted to sit up I felt the world's rotation. I fell back down and looked up through the pines at the cloudy sky.

From the scrapes and bruises

I imagined if I lay here long enough my limbs would turn into tangled roots and my body would sprout a tree, but there was no way I could give that much life. No, there was no life left in me. I was left shattered in a ditch like a burnt out galaxy. My throat was still raw from the heroin I had smoked earlier, and my nose was burning from what I had snorted--perhaps I hadn't been here very long after all.

To the familiar abuses

I managed to crawl out of the ditch and struggle to my feet. Cuts and bruises littered my body, but their pain didn't penetrate my walls. I shuffled from tree to tree for support. I wasn't too far from the road--I only noticed when headlights passed by and the sounds of my mother ignited the whole area. I hung my head and rested against a tree. Perhaps the reason I was so void of life wasn't because of recent events. Perhaps it was because today was the day it happened. The day when the whole world was ruined.

I'll kick and scream but it never changes anything

I barely had enough time to point my mouth away before bile projectiled out of it. I grimaced at the scent--nothing but alcohol.

I was definitely still high then if all I felt was numb. Usually there would be an anvil on my chest, pouring grief, guilt, and pain into my molecules. I didn't know if I liked the numbness on this day; it made me feel like a nonchalant ass. I reached up and snapped a stick from a branch. I used the pointy end as a makeshift knife, and began cutting into my skin.

It didn't work perfect, but when I saw the blood slowly ooze out and felt the sharp stinging sensation, a little piece of reality returned to me. The ground felt a little more solid--the air a little thicker. It was the only familiarity I had left in this world.

But nobody said that this was gonna be easy

I stumbled through the night, the traces of Heroin in my system giving me slight vertigo. I thanked the lord above for keeping that packet on my body, because the high was doing wonderful things in keeping my thoughts neutral. It also did a magnificent job at passing the time because before I knew it, I was standing in my own driveway.

Unfortunately, it did nothing to quell my rising panic when I saw movement in the window.

Fuck. My eyes grew wide and a shutter ran through me. Shit. My dad was going to have a cow, a sheep, and the rest of the fucking farm. My feet were glued to the ground, and suddenly, the air was a lot more damp and chilly than it was earlier. Unfortunately, the world was still tilting, and I was at my front door before I realized my feet were unstuck. Apparently I only sobered up enough to be aware of the incoming shit storm.

The door was unlocked--just like I left it--and I tiptoed in. I shut it behind me, wincing at the whisper of a squeal. I creeped up the stairs, hoping my dad wouldn't hear my footsteps--even though I knew he was awake and was waiting for me in the kitchen for when I reached the top of the stairs--I didn't want him to notice my homecoming. It was a strange concept. A stupid one at that--must've been the drugs. The top of the stairs came way too fast, and I turned into the kitchen, braced myself for the worst, and froze.

My dad was there sitting with a bottle in his hand. He was staring directly at me. I could only imagine how terrible I looked with disheveled hair and assumedly dried blood on my face and clothes.