down the rabbit hole

It's disturbing at first, not to hear your own footsteps, but then you start to wonder how you ever put up with the constant pounding, thudding, and scuffing of souls - pardon...soles - on the unforgiving sufaces of the city. I never noticed how stiff I was, either, until the give of the sound-absorbing pine needles on the uneven spongy loam of this Forest of Forgiveness let my joints lose the jarring defensive tension and my hips began to sway and roll with the lope of my mind. Unrushed. What's their to rush to? I still don't know what I'm looking for. But I know I'm looking out for something. That feeling of being hunted by mediocrity and meaninglessness is the only thing I took with me, the rest of the diamonds of my life all rusted already by the back door of my discontent for all I know or care.

I suppose at some point I'll need something to guide me. Yeah...to what? To what not? Whatever. Whatever for? Whatever for? I'm sick and tired of asking. I've been asking myself this crap all my life. You know what I want? The one thing I know for sure that I want is someone ELSE to ask...someone what aint got no reason to lie. They aint no such person, I know. Everybody got something on the mind. Something they want and gonna get by getting what you shoulda had coming to you. Yeah, "shoulda". We all get messed up over that word, getting all up in knots inside, worrying about what we shoulda had, but all that fury and upset never makes us do what we shoulda done, or stops us from doing what we shoulda not done. I've come to the conclusion that that "shoulda" is a bad joke we all ought to stop telling. Stop telling ourselves, and stop beating others to death with it. Just a bad joke.

And I'll be honest with you; I'm a taker just like everybody else. In my heart, I've always been a taker, but I've been a coward, too, so I never hijacked anyone else's credit or good fortune or hard earned whatever, not 'cause I'm not willing to walk away with Yours, but because I always wanted people to think I was too good to do anything like that. Better. Better than. Arrogant. Prideful. Playing the nice girl but never feeling it, fantasizing about stealing your man and scratching your eyes out. You gotta be careful a me. That hot ass bitch comes out a little sometime. But I'm her keeper, her handler, her cover story. But if she ever - hey...what's that? Down in that hole? It looks like a doll. What the hell is a doll doing stuck out in the middle of nowhere?

"Waiting for you. I'm yours. Come and get me. I've been waiting."
Nothing surprises me. Nothing really surprises me, you know. Except kindness, sometimes.
"Okay. Just a minute.
...You're dirty. For something I suppose is special somehow, you're dirty and you don't look like much."
"I could say the same about you."
"I don't care."
"Yes you do. You're just tired of caring. But you care."
"Oh LOVELY! A million miles on the other side of inhibition and I dig my conscience out of a fucking rabbit hole. Or would you be Little Cindy Psychiatrist? Doesn't wet the bed, but tells you why you do?"
"Oh stop it. You know who I am. You've always known. You're the bastard who keeps dumping my body in all these filthy, cool kinda places where you figure no one'll spot me. I'm cold. I'm tired a this. Why don't you just take me with you. Tuck me back inside somewhere. I'll tell you what you're looking for. You're right: they aint no such person. I'm the only one who knows. Let me tell you."

No more words. No more words. No more words. No more words. No more words. Won't be no more words. Not now. No how. No. Just no.

She was maybe fifty yards away and over a small hill, already out of sight, but that damn dark hole where she stuffed herself was too obvious, too much a part of her awareness. There comes a time, there comes a day, when no "hidden" is "hidden enough". Standing still, sore, sorry, alone, lost and looking in that awesome Forest of Forgiveness, her mind ached and throbbed to the rythm of that familiar desperate mantra: I'm tired-Leave me alone-I'm tired-Leave me alone-I'm tired-Leave me alone-I'm tired-Leave me alone-I'm tired-Leave me aLONE!!!! Crashing down inside herself, she turned and ran back to the dank hole. Without looking inside or looking back after, she lit a match and tossed it in. She heard the whoosh of the rejected, ragged, damaged doll going up in flames and felt nothing but relief as she ambled away, unguided, uncaring, unwilling. Safe from knowing for a while longer.

Steph