______________________________
It was a 4 A.M kind of morning when I received her first message. I was wide-awake writing the same story you’re reading right now. Well, at this point, “writing a paper” for me consisted of me staring at a blank white page that laid in front of me like a canvas. You see, I find it difficult to write about anything exciting or important when there's no apparent danger in my life.
"Can we hangout?" She asks. "Yeah sure, just come pick me up," I say, finding it strange for her to be up at this time of night. "Okay, but wait, can you keep a secret?" She asks. "What do you mean?" she was acting strange; I knew something was up. "Like, you won't be offended by any drug use at my apartment, will you?" Not thinking of much else but seeing some buds or a bong, I laugh to myself.
But the morning that followed,
and that look that she gave me,
impacted my thoughts and my conscious so greatly,
that there was surely no chance,
it could ever escape me.
______________________________
So take a good, hard look, and stare straight in, through the depths of the girl who can’t seem to win.
Is this the same little girl who once lit up the world with those light-up purple sneakers she wore?
I swear they shined so bright with each step that she took; she was soon the envy of every kid on the block.
Is it same little girl whose mother kissed her good-bye every single first day of school by the flagpole? How naïve they both were of the embarrassment it would bring to her later on at lunchtime, in the elementary school cafeteria.
I can still see the shoes and kisses, buried somewhere deep down in there, but it seems as if she’s found herself stomping about in an endless fight for her own city, caught in the climax of a kind of disaster which even the boldest of superheroes would quiver at the sight of. No one was there to save the day for her, not this time. You see, this particular city has become engulfed with corruption and chaos, and it has damn near collapsed.
I’ll put it this way; let’s just say a romantic sunset for this girl nowadays would consist of her city’s toxic-waste filled facility standing high and mighty in the distance, as massive amounts of raw chemicals spew from tall, sleek, silver towers, bursting their way into the musty orange horizon.
As endless sludge begins to seep its way into the skies, she now finds herself trapped, underneath the layers upon layers of accumulated filth and grime. This exact same grime has glazed over her mind, from the sounds and images of filthy bass-lines, overdrawn synths, and green laser lights.
But at least for now, a bathroom stall muffles the presence of these sensory overloads while she torches her long overdue fix of high-grade methamphetamines through the low-grade glass tube she never lets leave her side.
I can’t help but see the irony in all of this.
Because in almost certain probability, this particular batch of chemicals was synthesized with care, by a fellow drug addict; a villain creeping somewhere around the depths of this deadbeat city who at one point in time, like most children, had a beautiful and intricate dream of being a superhero, the one that some day rises up to save the city.
But in an unplanned turn of events, this man has now found himself a hero gone rotten, overturned by dirt and greed. Her dreams had gone cloudy with temptation, and this greed, it was only fueling the storm.
His overly tinted aviators rest gently on his face, masking his true intentions from the world as he watches her city slowly fall to flames. He’s laughing to himself as he sits in his middle-class apartment, which rests right outside the city limits, allowing him a front-row-view to the carefully tailored shit show of her life.
What did he care?
His entire lifestyle has become fully funded by these vicious demolitions, as he becomes wealthier with each city that falls. He lives to watch these cities die. The corrupted, chaotic cities belonging to the ones that just can't seem to stay away, living their lives from one shard to the next. Much like her, the little boys and girls that once shined within them remain trapped underneath the toxicity and slime of their unsaved cities. The saddest part of it all is that most of them don’t seem to mind the smog.
So this continues on, one dose at a time, her dreams slowly sinking deeper and deeper, until the day came that they had been fully submerged into the radioactive lake of her mistakes and there was simply nothing left. Nothing but the black plates boldly dangling in her eyes, as she glares into the deep midnight sky, standing alone on the outskirts of her once beautiful city with a certain sense of feeling empty and misunderstood lingering around her persona.
She’s been up for nights, catching cold eyes from strangers that will never give her the time of day to stare straight in. Staring in hopes of maybe catching a quick glimpse of the little girl who’s still trapped inside. The girl that once had a dream.
So I’ll drag the lake that lies under these nuclear skies,
and keep the ongoing search for the little girl alive.
Though she may seem helpless upon first sight,
I try to look past
those dinner-plate eyes,
still dilated from the blur
of her previous nights,
filled with feel-good music,
and huge rips of ice.
I guess it’s true what they say, “we all got our rough times…”
But I’d bet you the world,
if you were to take the time to stare straight into those eyes, those plates, they would crumble to pieces, and the shattered remains would slowly dribble their way down her hardened face; the same face that’s grown strong from her many struggles and mistakes.
Finally, just as the dust begins to clear from her disaster of a city, and the very first glimpse of the sunrise comes near… painted perfectly onto the white canvas that lies behind where the plates once hung, there she would stand. The same smiling little girl that once lit up the world with those light-up purple sneakers she wore. So the next time you see her lingering the block, or in the ally behind your favorite coffee shop...
Take a good, hard look, and stare straight in, through the depths of the girl who can’t seem to win.
____________________________
I couldn’t bring myself to show this story to the girl that inspired me to write it.
However, about a week after it was finished, my phone vibrated and once more, to my surprise, was another text from her, only this time; the sun was shining brightly outside:
“(1/2) Hey, can we talk? I was just going to say, what you saw the other day, wasn't cool, and I'm done with it. (2/2) I mean, I know it sounds dumb, but if you're bored or whatever, please hit me up. I need to be around different people.”
As I read her brief message, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The smiling little girl had made it out alive.
Posted on 04-10-13
