Close

The smooth, tidy turn of the mall carousel calms me, so I sit, and I stare. Pleasures are few for a shattered mind like mine, and they are simple, and they are fragile. I feel it close again, so close... Like if I stared a bit longer, it'd all come together. I'd finally be one again. I'd feel my own soul again.

But I'm not blessed with that blessing, no. The feeling fades, slips back out of reach, and God and self seem far away again. The innocents and adversaries are now ceramic dolls and demons, respectively. A hard, wicked hand touches my shoulder. I don't fight it; demons are far too common to fight them all. His voice asks me to leave, and still, it seems all too common.

I grew up with eyes fixed on the flickering god in the corner of the living room, but at seventeen, like so many others, I was thrust into a dusty tan reality that I didn't even understand. And this reality had feelings and fatigue, screams that couldn't be turned down with a remote control, and smells.

Smells, like fear dipped in sweat and blood.

Yeah, I'll leave.