Prose: Maybe She’s Crazy

She sits are the familiar table of familiar faces, greets the people she calls ‘friends’ and puts her head down to rest. Looking up, faces passing by, laughter filling the morning sky. But for reasons unknown, comes the urge to cry. Feeling out of place, like she doesn’t belong here, everything simply feeling unreal. No one sees her – she’s invisible – true, although implausible. She just wants to be free, somewhere she can yell ‘this is me’ and somewhere judgment-free.

“What fee would you pay to be that free? I know of eternal freedom; a judgment-free kingdom. Just come with me, you’ll be free as me. Daft girl, put aside the lies of love and laughter and salvation, come now, the price to be free is only your life.”

(The sweet release of death is tempting, something she has been coveting.)

Voice in her head that just won’t go away; fear, frustration, anguish and hopes thrown away. She has cried herself dry – no more tears to cry. She hits her head till she sees black spots but just won’t stop. Not until that sense of dread is gone.

Harder, harder.

She hits harder, hitting away the weaknesses and anger. One final blow, she falls to the floor, out of her head, carmine red flows.

And that’s the end of it – there’s your happy ending. 




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