Always igniting her face was a smile so big, so bright, so knowing. The world was at her feet, and her feet were in the clouds. But too many nights of flooding caused the fire to burn out, and you are mistaken if you think the twinkle in her eyes is anything but stars shooting away. The magician has since disappeared, yet he stayed long enough to harvest her moon and drink from her well of tears. Eyelids rise and fall as she pounds the splintered floor.
She pulls at locks of hair, slaps two-sided faces, toned legs, delicate arms, all her own. She points to the constellations of forming scabs and screams, why don’t you exist on hearts?
Her vision blurs out and she turns numb, accepting all that she feels, accepting nothing. The cassette plays, rewinds, plays, rewinds. She had thrown away her handwriting believing it was too removed, and now it is too late to retrieve discarded notes.
Flipping the player like a dice and noticing it lacks a pause button, she stands up. Her vertebrae align. There’s only so many times she can listen to her voice sounding so pathetic. How did I think that was validation? Regaining her senses one by one, common sense takes over. Gasping for air, she fishes out to grab the knife, ready to sever the death line and be the liberator of her freedom.