From Where I Stand

The Beginning of the End

Isn't it funny how we all think life is constant, even when it crashes and twists and shifts and smolders around you? And when it gets through that armour of chosen ignorance, it's ike you are not in yourself anymore, but rather watching it all happen from a non-objective third person. That's when reality takes over.

I find it hilarious.

I haven't suffered enough to be credited with words, but things have been rough.

My parents, Rick and Shelly Peterson. When I sleep, I hear them. The only time I get to. Since a lab experiment went wrong, my life has been empty condolences and symapthy casseroles. I hear them, saying words I can't remember them saying, see flashes of things I don't remember seeing. Like their lab. And bottles of solution, lined up on a counter. Volatile. Dangerous. And now I'm alone.

I want to say I feel somethng about it, but the meds prevent me from anything short of a woozy grin.

"You okay kiddo?", My overly-concerned aunt asks from the drivers seat, "I think we should hit a rest stop soon, 'kay?"

"Fine, I don't mind." I say, scanning her face. She's even more expressionless than me right now, which is odd. My California "fun-in-the-sun" aunt was usually too open, so I knew something weighed on her. Me. It's all my fault we are hauling ourselves to Colorado of all places. "Seclusion and a Fresh Start" should be the new state motto according to my aunt. Short and excitable, Ashley Peterson was a ball of fun that I caught in midair and stopped in it's tracks. She was only 26. I was 16, and I know if I was her age I would hate to pack up my life for an orphan in Georgia.

As we pulled into a rest stop, I quickly hopped out of the car and made my way to the restroom. 'Great, a line, with people.' I thought. Keeping to myself behind a group of, *cough*, let's say, scantily clad girls, I quickly realized they had nothing to talk about. And they were looking for conversation.

" Damn. You look like a vampire, girl, and not the good type" One so politely commented.

"Sorry." I quipped.

"You will be if you don't back it up, Pasty. We can't be getting sick."

"Oh, I'm not sick"

"Well then someone get a doctor, 'cause you look like Death!", The most dolled up one remarked. Reaching the front of the line, they finally went away. I rushed into a stall, did my business, and slowly walked towards the mirror. Damn. Those life size Barbie dolls were right.

I looked like Death.
On Wheels.
In the express lane.