So She flees. She is tying to out run herself and instinct tells Her maddingly that She will succeed if She doesn’t stop. Don’t stop. Please. Don’t. It hurts Her lungs more accustomed to cloves than air, more accustomed to cigarettes and coffee and soda and not to this. This maniac Running. The rain mixes seamlessly with Her tears as it streaks Her once delicate face raw and red. The crying won’t stop. There is no control. The dam has burst finally and there are no more sand bags, no more walls and nothing to stop the endless flow of tears.

Still She flees. Until finally all strength leaves Her. Stamina and Will clash and the running stops. She is paused. Gasping huge painful breaths greedily gulping night air doubled over with a stitch in Her side. The Reward. Instinct lied, for it is all still there. Every pang of guilt and pity and sorrow for Herself which brings more guilt and pity. Is there even a point anymore or is all a cruel illusion to amuse ourselves while we wait for time to give the one release that will remove all of this. Who the hell needs this much character anyway when this is the price for what others call sanity. Is it really sane to live this day after day over and over and again this endless game that we are not allowed to stop playing. Why not?

She tips her head back and laughs into the rain as Her body sinks into this foreign earth and thinks way back in the furthest recesses of Her mind Where the hell am I, while at the same time She knows She doesn’t care. There seems to be very little to care about anymore now that this life-game seems to have had Her beat the whole time, choosing only to play it’s trump card once tired of Her. Tired. So tired.

The ground seems to welcome Her as She sinks into it’s damp grasses and dirt. She likes the cool feel and the quiet and the smell as She lays down and rests Her head seeming to listen to the very secrets the earth has held just for Her the whole time. Waves of ice make Her body seem to shimmer with their violence as She is racked with shivering cold and warmth in waves like the ocean She remembers so well now. So many things. So many things surface now into Her memory and She replays her childhood fears and delights and happy and sad times. There seem to be more sad. Oh well. This is the life She has had and this life followed Her into adulthood try as She may to out run it, it followed. Not Fair. But then how many ‘get out of shit free’ cards do you get. No-one told her.

Then the Faces Come. Faces of those She has loved and loves even now down here in this cool earth. This dirt. His face, Her Mother, Brother, Sister, Friends, Grandma. Uncles, Cousins, Bosses, Co-workers, Him. His face. Her laughter begins again as She looks lovingly at the ghost-face, this false memory of happiness together with Him. The lines of His face and the haughty curve of mouth. The waterfall of hair and wicked glint in His eye and His voice. Oh, She could hear His voice telling Her of baseball and politics and mixing desks and walruses and things, so many things She never understood, only that She could listen to the sound of His voice into eternity.

Listen. She can hear Him comming from the earth as the rain falls around Her making Her whole body wet with tears and water. But there is something else. It oozes and runs from...where? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now. It’s done. She wasn’t a coward after all and it’s done. Listen to Him. And She knows the voice isn’t real, they never had this conversation but it doesn’t matter as She feels Her body seem to become part of the ground. The empty feeling the tears bring is fading along with all sensation. But She must hang onto the sound of His voice. It’s all that is real now, this illusion of happiness they never shared in life.

As the blood flows from Her deeply gashed wrists and into the ground, calm, peace, quiet takes over. And the world seems to breathe with Her slowly, more slowly. And with the last gesture She will make, She turns Her body to face the sky expecting to see what’s next and says, “I’m dying.”

“I am dying.”

Finally. I only want to say, if there is a way, Take this cup away from me for, I don’t want to taste this poison. Feel it burn me. I am changed. I’m not as sure as, as when we started.