Clenched between my teeth, not lit, but doing its job: providing me with a fair amount of comfort. At least as much comfort as one can hope to enjoy in my current predicament. Between groans and winces, I suck on the pipe like a baby with a pacifier. It helps me hold back the tears. My left hand is pressed firm against my abdomen, not quite holding my guts in. Perhaps I exaggerate slightly, but the hand has become wet and sticky, my head is woozy and I won’t dare to look down.
This is no way to go out. After that last shell blast, my hearing is shot, my lungs are full of blood and smoke and all I can do is prop myself up against Sarge’s bulk. His lard-ass is finally proving good for something! I have pain, I have loss, but I also have memories. This pipe for instance.
I remember the third impression. He came in. Dressed Stellar. I could smell the scent of his cologne from the bathroom as I was curling my hair... I saw the future. Tonight would end in one of two ways - If he was uninteresting, awkward, rude, or unintelligent. Or just generally fucks up. Or if he couldn't spell. He would have me for one night, we'd pay tribute to our youth and I could offer my already late, but regular offerings to Aphrodite. OR he could beat all odds and completely blow my mind. Then we would wait and make it anticipated. Maybe fall in love eventually. My eyes dropped from my reflection and into the sink. The pipe was in the sink sprinkled with shimmery bronzer particles fugitives. Glory to the day make-up application makes no mess. The pipe was a gift from a close friend, A. A told me I could keep it on the sole condition I go on this date. I had been bought.
More shells going off bring me back to the present. I feel the ground beneath me rumble, and I’m hit with a shower of dirt; the explosions are getting closer. Too weak to think, and not long to go now. The pain seems to be fading away....
I knew I didn't eat enough. I was drunk. I hate being drunk. I barely watched the movie because of it, but I snuckled in his arms and lay his head on my bosom. The end of the movie and we are in an embrace. His lips are on mine. A skilled kissmith, Finally. He’s holding my waist, so gently… with permission. His hands are not going up my shirt, or sinking to my ass and squeezing (which is never a bad thing), but the energy these things send me, I feel respect channeling between us. I cup his face in my palms. I invite him to my room. I remember feeling engulfed by a warm fire. Our fingers were entwined and he was squeezing me. Gorgeously kissing me, holding me close. To Him. I remember him carrying me and pressing me against the wall and fucking me there, next to the mirror… if walls could talk, they'd be speechless. He knew his power.
There’s a sharp, searing pain under my ribcage, I bite down hard and I feel the stem of the pipe cracking in my mouth. Was it all worth it? He sits somewhere amongst his soldiers, no doubt surrounded with whores, while I watch my blood swallow my hand in a deep crimson. Not long now. I remember when I was Happy. The sweet things The Boy said.
Eclipse. On one side, Brightness. The height of wholesome, and full to my brim. I feel like an orgasm except I’m not emptying myself. Like a fountain, except I’m not gushing. I feel enlightened, and embraced by angels, and the love of God is with me, the love of God surrounds me… surrounded by pleasure. Suspended in ecstasy. In Purity. Baptized.
Half way through. Smoke. In a jazz bar, holding the microphone. Looking into the crowd, they sway to my blues, "No one wins the game of life, No matter how they try... Because true love's never true. Love is just a lie..." I wrote this song last night during rehearsal. As F was telling me how he had alot of things on his mind, and couldn't bear to sacrifice them for me anymore. I had stopped listening after he said that. I had heard this before, countless times. But this time, I could feel him when I slept, I heard his voice in my head. Desolateness. The evidence of my pain, Tears. There was a time I never cried. They call this the grey period. When couples cease the honeymoon period and enter reality. Reality is a cold country. Where you realize you are now the only one in love, and the temperature officially drops below zero. Sometimes, you can see the end from ten thousand miles away. This is not that far though. This is the next door neighbors window. I took another sip from my vodka, and prepared my heart for the worst. The very worst.
I was on the other side, a war hadn't ended. How could I sign a treaty? Fuck a treaty. This was a revolution! The people wanted retribution, and I will give them retribution. F was the enemy. The previous lover in me saw the darkness. He had refused to release me! I was lucky to have survived his web (where the walls caved in repeatedly. Or was that an Illusion? Where had I learned how to plead for my life like that? He had wanted my very soul, but Revenge is a dish best served Cold.) His Swastika! His Life Sucking Regime! His talons dug so deep into my flesh, that even now I'd been licking my wounds. The venom sunk Deeper. He denied me my rights! Denied my freedom! We both can't subdue, but I take no prisoners, and I knew he was weak. My last grenade knocked him down, but I wanted blood. I promised my people There Would Be Blood. I picked up the bazooka and aimed it at his heart. It was the last dance. I shot to kill.
I heard a piercing cry
Was he dead? The gravity of my action felt similar to when I dared myself to drink more, and then when I did, I wished I didn’t. Even though I was glad I did. Regret is a heady emotion. Remorse made me put the bazooka down. I limped away, heart barely beating, looking back, wondering if he was dead. Sorry that he was dead. I am a murderer. A Finish.
I spit out the splintered remains. I’m tired now. The... This war was the end of me. I hadn't fought enough. I need to stand up and fight!! but first - I think maybe I’ll get some sleep...
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