I'd thought I'd do something because Ben, Michael, and Cory left today. Plus, I haven't done much in a while.
“Fame > Demise” Woe, Is Me
As selfish as it sounds, she was a liar. I wasn’t particularly the most honest man around but I didn’t tell blunt lies to people just because. She did that. And even though it was completely pointless now and it shouldn’t matter, it still did. It mattered. Why? I’m not particularly sure. It just did. It mattered. She lied and that was all I could think of as the grayness floated around me.
Death was exactly like I’d imagine it. She hadn’t though. She believed in Heaven and Hell. She made me want to believe in Heaven and Hell.
There was still that chance that she was correct and those religious-based places existed. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to get into Heaven (I doubt many people are) and yet not bad enough to get sentenced to an eternal burning or whatever. I was in purgatory. That made some sense.
The grayness was boring though. There was absolutely nothing to do other than just feel and think. I didn’t mind thinking much, but there’s only so much thinking one can do until you start going partially insane.
I figured that if I was in purgatory I could move around. I could observe, that’s mainly what I wanted to do. I wanted to observe the people I had never fully understood. I wanted to observe them and do something with the eternal time (or maybe it wasn’t eternal, maybe I’d eventually fade into the grayness).
I tried concentrating. Thinking of Macy and her lies. Her face blurring and concentrating again and again.
I felt myself stretching; my limbs felt like they were being torn off. They were being yanked and pulled in every direction. It hurt like mad but it was a numbing feeling. I couldn’t feel it physically, it was an emotional pain.
I became whole again, and the pain receded. It was like a dream; I was at an unmarked bar. It didn’t really matter where it was or who else was there.
Macy was seated in a ripped leather stool. Her short skirt left almost nothing to the imagination. She leaned over the bar, her eyeliner messy and her red lipstick perfect. She was talking to the bartender who was eyeing her with pity. Every word was slurred.
“Get me another,” she mumbled, shaking the glass drink she had. It slipped from her fingers and crashed into the countertop. She giggled uncontrollably as the bartender took it away, throwing the shattered cup into the trash.
“I think you’ve had enough.” He muttered as he poured her another glass and handed it to her.
She hadn’t heard him. She giggled a bit and took it from him, drowning it in one go.
The bartender turned away from her, either ashamed or saddened. Probably a bit of both. To see such a young girl ruining herself was something. It was disappointing.
I felt myself moving towards Macy and the countertop. Maybe, in some deep corner of my mind, I missed her.
Oh, who am I kidding? I did miss her. As broken and fucked up as she is, she was Macy. She was all for me. And plus, weren’t we all a bit broken and fucked up?
I was next to her. Just a spirit, a soul, next to a broken and beautiful girl. She stiffened a bit. I half-hoped she felt my presence, the other half didn’t want her to hurt more.
“You should go.” At first I thought it was the bartender warning Macy before she got picked up by some random guy. But he was speaking to another customer, a man who seemed to be on his way home from work.
I looked at Macy and she was staring dejectedly into the cup as if suddenly she had completely sobered up.
I felt a chill pass over my body. I’ve felt it before, I couldn’t recall when though. But the feeling was familiar, it created chills to travel through my spine.
I felt hot breath in my ear as the raspy voice spoke again, “You need to go.”
I felt myself stiffen almost as much as Macy had when I’d first drifted over. “It’s over for her, you have to fade now.”
Death. I had felt this spirit when I was dying. I’d heard him before. He had reassured me about death. He had made me feel better. He had taken all the pain away.
It had been lovely.
He would take away Macy’s pain.
I looked straight ahead, seeing the black figure in the reflection of some bottles. It was shapeless and dark, floating calmly. I was slowly fading away, so that the black was all that was reflected.
He’d take away Macy’s pain. That would take away my pain, my thoughts, my feelings. I’d fade.
“Kill her,” I said as I started to fade into the grayness.
