Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Lock Down

What I'm listening to: Fall Away (the Fray) As I left second period today, my mind was on school shooters. I considered writing a book about psychology and depressed teenagers for about six minutes. Then I went to class. In the middle of third period, the announcement bell sounded and an important, grave voice said, "This is a lock down. Teachers, please lock your doors. Code yellow." Well, it was something along those lines. And, of course, I just burst out laughing at that (and got a few you-must-be-an-idiot looks from some fellow students in the process). I must be a fortune teller. Or a freak. Either way, I'm not going to think about school shooters while at school again (which, of course, means I will). But, good news, my writer's block flew the coop and I penned the beginning to a fabulous poem called Sixty-Four today. I'll let you read that later, though. I still have to publish the rest of After the Crash. Well, here goes: Forever Twilight I awake in a shroud of hazy light. I know I'm not in heaven, for I've heard it's blissful there. It's not hell either, because the one person I know I would see doesn't materialize. I guess I"m stuck in limbo; serves me right. Gradually, the surrounding light funnels into pinpricks in the corners of my vision. I'm in another hospital bed, in another room. Just out of reconstructive surgery. I should have remembered their wheeling me out of the room. The blue-and-white hallway. The mask. The fog. But I don't remember any of it. Yet. "Where am I?" I ask groggily, my voice cracking in seven different places. No one answers. I suppose it's because I'm supposed to be sedated. Or dead. Whichever the doctor decided would be a better option for me. I abstractly wonder when my eyes are going to clear up and my mind will stop feeling like the after-effects of a nuclear war. Minus the pain. There never seems to be any pain anymore. I always await it--almost anxiously--because, for a few, brief moments, I am freed from my world of forever twilight. I wish I could say that I was emotional. But you see, I can't stand pain. Or crying. Or lying still in bed, like I am right now. At least, that's how I used to be. But things have changed with me. And with everyone. It's odd--the pain is always there, but it never quite emerges. Just a thought, an idea in my mind. Yet, at the same time it's so potent, so bitter, it churns my stomach. I used to have dreams, hopes...love. But they were dashed to pieces on the shores of reality and time. Now it hardly matters whether I live or die, but I wish for one or the other. I am like a ghost, a phantom of the gray and lifeless, but condemned to eternal being. I suppose I will be better soon. Like they say, a little surgery fixes everything.

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