Once Upon a Never...

location: The chair.... of blankness

mood: blank

music: Fugazi -- I'm So Tired

You were sweet for a moment, then the wind blew you away like the snow, with the snow, now you're cold, and if you're not dead then you're gone, and I guess that's all. 

With a sigh she kicked through the angst and stepped on a crack in the ice on purpose, just to hear it crunch beneath her shoes.  Someone called from behind her, back there in the schoolyard. She didn't turn around, since she could see him standing there in her mind, exactly as she'd seen him stand since the first time she'd met him. She wanted to smile as she walked, and the ice cracked beneath her shoes, and he stood calling after her from the empty schoolyard. Instead she walked, and the ice cracked beneath her shoes, and chose to live in ignorance. 

The wind's still blowing, babe. Let it take you.

Shift perspectives, take a breath, breath it out and watch it cloud and crystallize and float into the sky and the sun like you suppose your spirit will, some day. But hell, it's still there. Your spirit, and your breath, so you might as well turn back to the schoolyard and sometime home, because she's not coming back. 

Turn and step, but you've got to look back, just in case she's running to you, in case you've got to stretch your arms out one more time. No, no, just step, you fool. No going back, now. Trail your fingers along the chainlink fence, to keep them from tearing out your hair, listen to the vibrations -- that'll be your sound. It'll sing along with the ice that's cracking beneath her shoes. You're that ice, you're sure. It'd be your heart, if you hadn't already left that by the gate. Who the hell needs a heart, anyway? Yours will be frozen solid, soon enough, if it wasn't already. It was better off, that way. 

You might write a song, because hell, that was what all of the emo kids did when they left their hearts in the snow and watched their souls float up into the arms of the sun. They wrote songs, and other emo kids cried their hearts out (they wanted them in the snow, too, and that's the only way they know how, you guess) and wrote your name on their arms and their chests and took pictures and posted their angst in your MySpace comments, and for a moment you had seven million friends, because all of their hearts were frozen, now. Everyone's gotta identify with something.

You stopped dragging your fingers through the links and broke the pencil in your pocket.

It was for the best of all the emo kids. 

The pencil's in the snow with your heart, now. You hope half-heartedly (no heartedly, you suppose, your heart is frozen in the snow) that someone steps on it. Just to make sure it's never used for evil, again. Let the poor thing rest in peace, there in the snow, numb to the world. Its job was done - it had written it's last fraction, last half-written note to a girl walking in the opposite direction, ice cracking beneath her shoes, always confident in her assumptions. Mentally note its location, because it was a good friend, really. Goodnight, friend. 

Hands back in pockets. No more music from the fence -- you've passed it. It's just you and the ice beneath your shoes, which you normally revel in, but now it reminds you of her shoes, and your frozen heart, and you wish it were fall again, so your mind could dance on the wind with the leaves, instead of sitting frozen, stagnant in your head, burried in cold thoughts. 

Sounds intense. 

But you know it's just words. And your mind sits in your head, stagnant but plenty warm, your heart beats in your chest like it's always beat, though perhaps a bit faster because your feet can sense that you're almost home. You breath, watch your breath cloud, and that's all.