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Tuesday, January 4, 2011


One foot in front of the other, in a straight line, hips swaying dramatically. One foot in front of another. Following the invisible line that was somewhere deep in a memory, that line that always leads me forward. That's how I knew forward from backward. Walking backward felt like running through sand. You are blind, you are deaf, and you are stuck. By backwards, I don't mean the literal walking backwards like the children do in races to see who has swifter and more accurate feet. The kind of backwards I experience is through memories, and dreams of course.
You can get lost in a memory. It's not that hard, all you have to do is forget how you got there. You can't get away from something when you don't know how (or even if) you got there in the first place. And then before you know it, you're crying and screaming and you have no idea where or what you are. You are lost, in a memory.
There is pain, and you can feel it. You'd be surprised how strong a memory is. Every sense heightened. There is happiness, and it takes over you. Light pours out of you, like a sun. You are a sun. That's how happiness is.
I sit. Because that's what people do when they see a chair, or a stool, or a couch. No one stares at it like an idiot, wondering how many people in a factory touched it before the whole world went around sitting on it. Nope, normal kids don't do that. First thing you should know about me, I'm not normal.
Bend legs... yes I remember how to sit. I think. Voices buzz around me, god I hate that buzz. Music flips to full blast; I don’t even realize my fingers move sometimes. They take over me and they know what’s best for me. Thanks little dainty fingers, I appreciate it.
My name, Willow, is shouted from someone. People, can’t you see I’m trying to take root into the ground and become invisible? What are you doing calling out my name? Stupid children, we’re all so stupid. Great, now everyone is staring at me. Music turns down, fading away, no, sweet clarity and predictability, don’t leave me.
I greet them, those stupid children. I just want that buzz to go away. I hate how all their voices buzz like that. Maybe you can’t hear it, but I always do. It’s always eating away at me. How can these people walk around like it’s nothing, when their voices are causing such chaos?
“Shh…” I murmured to myself. I like to pretend I have power over all of them. That I could just stand up and whisper, “Shh” and they would never speak a word again. But, alas, I don’t.
The worst part of all of this is that my voice too buzzes.
“Hey Willow, how was your weekend?” If I had a buzz-ometer, it would’ve exploded by now.
“Fine,” The buzz settled around my shoulders, and into my ears. What a pain, this voice was.
“Why just fine and not good? You should have more good weekends, Willow.” Who the hell was this kid anyways? I lifted my head up for a better look.
It’s a boy. Great, these were the worst to get rid of. I assessed him carefully. Jet black hair, soft and thin looking, that framed his face nicely. He had big, wide eyes, surrounded by a line of eyelashes, blue eye color with flakes of golden. Interesting eyes I will admit… His body was lean and skinny, not in a muscular way though. Sickly pale skin wrapped around his stubby fingers.
“You checking me out?” He sneered at me. His voice was rich and thick, like a blanket. There was a slight hint of buzz, but not nearly as bad as the rest of them.
“No,” I keep it plain and simple. The less words the better.

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