Her smile was effortless as she stepped onto the platform. The demons were already dead she just needed to kill the rest. In war with her mind she just knew her body had to go. She needed to be intangible. She knew the body was the cause of pain. She just wanted to be star stuff. The wind on her face never felt better. Everyone around her more beautiful than ever. She wished they could see themselves the way she did in that moment. She almost let herself believe in god. Almost. The train approaches. Her smile grows wide. This is it. Finally about to be free.
She jumped too soon but she didn’t make it home.
The conductor flew out of the train, rushing to the woman’s side. “You fucking cunt! How fucking dare you?” Her legs mangled, her bones shattered, swimming in pools of her own blood. She looked into his eyes as if she knew what he would do to his daughter when he got home that night. But she didn’t know. Her eyes begged forgiveness. Colors began to blur. “You fucking bitch! I’m going to be fucking late because of you, you worthless fuck!” Her eyes, still begging but this time they weren’t begging for forgiveness. They were begging for him to stop, to hold her, to tell her he loved her, to let her die. He refused. His dirty boots dimming the red beauty that was her blood. She was unresponsive for awhile before she died. The last things she heard were his screams; the way they echoed in the tunnel haunts the lives of those present.
He got two weeks suspension and mandatory drug testing. Apparently, that’s all that happens when you scream at a person to death. Laws didn’t account for how evil a man can be.
In the car on the way to the diner he tells his daughter the story, expecting her to soothe his rage with her eyes. But she’s had dead eyes for awhile now. As she listened she went further and further away in her mind burying her heart in her stomach. His scent made her want to vomit. She knew what he’d need to relax. He wanted to push his darkness inside of her. “Can you believe this bitch, Meg?” Laughter. She didn’t respond. She was gone away. She was with the woman, holding her, telling her she loved her.
That night she took mushrooms and cried for hours. The sun was on her side but she couldn’t leave her room. For nine hours she drew like a mad woman. She tried to create an image of a woman who’d been screamed at to death. She wanted to have an image to apologize to. Her mind couldn’t come up with such beauty. She put out her cigarette on her leg and admired the burn. She made a game of trying to catch her tears in the new cave in her leg. This made her laugh. Hysterically. She went between sobbing and laughter. Any person watching would have thought she was insane but she was just trying to stay alive. She wondered if she was doomed to be like him. Even when he wasn’t inside her, he was. Half her cells belong to him, the other half to her mother. Nothing left for her.
She sang herself to sleep that night and dreamed of a world where people didn’t scream at people to death, where fathers loved their daughters with their minds and words as opposed to their hands, where true love never died. She pretended Mike was there with her. She believed in him the way some people believe in god but his words and body couldn’t stay. She dreamed of his eyes and cried herself to death in his arms; it was the first time in months she didn’t have a nightmare.
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