Got My Dress, Got My Boots

“No.”

The sound seems almost foreign as the vibrations in her throat erupted past her lips, cracked and pitched. She clenches her fists and straightens her back, determination leaving its mark on her palms. Each step to the door is accented by the heavy thuds her boots drum on the wobbly planks and flooring that was her prison. The doorknob, still warm, beckons to her. Twist me, turn me. She reaches out and roughly wrenches the knob around and pushes the door hard, not letting herself think it through or reconsider. The knob squeals a complaint as she turns it, protesting against the rough treatment, but she is in command now, and the world does what she wants it to do from now on. Hinges screech, wood creaks, and the stale air presses her forward as it is sucked through the aperture that for so long had remained sealed closed. Defiantly, she looks into the blinding sunlight, but Mother Nature wins the battle of wills and Jane is forced to cover her eyes. The white hot glow penetrates her hands, eyelids, and brain. The world knows her before she even sets foot out into it. Stumbling blindly out of the house, she grasps for something but only swipes the air. The breeze is cool on her arms and through her hair. Eventually, she finds her footing and stands on the curb of some random road. The streets are clear, but the area is in no way abandoned. The signs of life are everywhere, creeping from under benches and fluttering in the wind, poking out of trash bins. Jane takes a deep breath and finds a seat to simply enjoy the touch of the sun on her skin. The bench is hot from being out in the sun’s baking glare, but she doesn’t mind. As the wisps of heat lick her skin and the breeze kisses her cheeks a squealing sound jolts her from her woolgathering. A bus pulls up and the door is screeching open. Jane smiles devilishly and with a contemptuous glance back to the door she once knew as home, she stands up and finds a new seat, one that will bring her into a world ripe with the unknown.

As inspired by this deviation by Scott James Prebble.

I hope it will suffice.

As I Push Past My Feelings

The cold metal slowly warms under Jane’s tentative touch. Relieved, her fingers crawl back, inching away from the doorknob. A breath, held for too long, breaks free to mingle with the stale atmosphere. Jane gulps air frantically, the burning in her chest reminding her of all her dependencies. As each inhale comes followed by a retreating exhale, she sees the universe sparkling all around her in the dusk and shadow of her hovel. For a minor instant, it had seemed breathing was not important, not necessary, only to find out that this notion was incredibly wrong. In a dazed stupor, Jane backs further and further from the door, her legs knocking into a cabinet positioned against the wall. The shock of the collision snaps her mind back into reality, the sparkling beauty fades. The need to run from the portal to the outside world consumes her. Her skin screams to rip itself away and hide in some filthy gutter. Her bones vibrate the urge to rattle their way to some dark, cluttered closet. Darkness envelopes her vision, her own lids trying to hide the truth and fear from her mind the only way they could. Spinning around abruptly, she plants her hands against the cool walls, her breaths coming rapidly, unwanted panic consuming her every thought and action. She knows that she will remain in this place forever. Where she thought she might feel assurance, she only feels a deep sadness and loss, as if something very important to her had just been ripped from her unfairly and prematurely.

As inspired by this photo by Scott James Prebble.

I hope it will suffice.

Off the God Damn Rails

Bathed in the unnatural light of a sole lamp situated in a lonely corner, Jane searches the immediate area for cloths of any sort. Her gaze is often pulled to various translucent windows. The memory of the outside world is still fresh in her mind. The warmth of the sun on her skin, the heat of asphalt crawling up her feet, the smell of grass and dust dancing in her nose, all of it lingers still, torturing and tempting. To stretch out like a cat in the sunlight, clear blue skies smoothed out and eternally wrapped around her like a favorite blanket, the thoughts and sensations wriggle free despite the effort to hold them back. Jane searches frantically for clothes to cloak her body in darkness. Stop it from yearning the sunlight. The promise of freedom and joy is too much for her to beat down. As she slips each piece of fabric over her slender limbs, she stares at the door. Barely hanging from rusted, brittle hinges, the door creaks just sitting there, begging to be pushed, pulled, turned. She wonders if the freedom is still there or if it was just an illusion. Looking back down the dark hallway to the dingy bathroom and the other cluttered, garbage filled rooms of the house she begins to wonder if the outside world might be everything she remembered, or much worse. This home may be a desiccated husk of what it once was, she admitted, but it is still home. Will walking through that door be worth leaving it to come back and find it gone, like so much dust and tinder, collapsed under the weight of some many years and neglect? Or would the illusion become a dark reality, crushing the one pleasant dream with the realization of a hard reality. Jane touches the dust caked door knob, her breath catches in her throat as the gears begin to awaken once again.

As inspired by this photo by Scott James Prebble to be exact.

I hope it will suffice.

Helpless To It

Desperately attempting to silently traverse the oppressive darkness living within the hall, Jane’s thoughts absently drift to the man she once knew. Did she love him still? Did she ever truly love him? She remembers the dark tortured look perpetually etched into his cold face. His eyes always search for the right thing to say, the right emotion to portray, but the pain of love, hate, and life seeps through tainting everything. Jane feels the shivering wall just beneath her finger tips, using the surface to guide her down cavernous abyss or mortar and plaster. Soft, rotted wood and plastic force her fingers to skirt around the frames of pictures marking the past, moments frozen forever. Ghosts contained in glass and glue, looming from the walls of familiar places. Did one of these pictures contain a bit of him? Did her fingers touch the glass imprisoning a small part of him? Her warm flesh softly caresses the fragment of soul that live forever mounted on the wall like a trophy. The light ahead brings her back from her reverie. He left her behind a long time ago. The days and months since flew by, leaving her to wallow in her home. But the smell in her nose lingers, the touch on her skin still tickles, and his words reverberate in her mind still. A half smile touches her lips and the muscles strain at the awkward action. Where is he now? Is he happy? Is he sad? Jane wonders if she could help him, but sulks onward through existence, never questioning what if, only lamenting: What next?

As inspired by this deviation by Scott James Prebble to be exact.

I hope it will suffice.

Tension

Dried and clothed, the door looms open, the hallway beckons. Jane looks into the darkness, the light from outside illuminating her tiny white room only to cast deeper shadows to the places she must move on to next. Fiddling idly with her freshly cleaned nails, the soft clicking tapped out between them counts down the seconds before she can no longer wait. Soon the soft padding of flesh and floor will to move down the hallway and force her to face the day. The same day she’s faced before, countless times, always the monotony of horns blaring, mouths chattering, screams reverberating throughout her mind. She looks into the mirror. Her eyes stare back at her, understanding, but accusing all at once. The clicking of the nails subtly becomes louder, each tiny tap drilling deeper into her thoughts, shredding whatever ideas, hopes, or dreams she once held in her now numbed mind. Still, the dark hallways loom before her, waiting for another brave soul to explore its secrets, daring to know the mysterious enigma. She has walked the slim, cramped space countless times, the shadows and cool emptiness pervading her very soul. It never gets easier. Creaks and whines come from the inky blackness, a flutter of black on black, the flash of light reflecting oddly from the window to the mirror, illuminating a wayward demon grinning back at Jane. Slowly her lungs fill with air, her chest tight with anxiety, excitement, and dread. The first step may be the hardest, but the second isn’t any easier.

As inspired by this photo by Scott James Prebble to be exact.

What Can I Say?

Jane awakens in the morning to find the world brand new. The window, a small glass portal, shows a landscape outside swimming with vibrant colors and sounds permeating the soil of the earth, giving birth to glorious new life and energy. She crouches down into her grime coated tub and looks around at the leaky walls and flickering lights that make a small part of her home. Her mind wonders at how such splendor could exist so effortlessly outside these walls that serve as her prison. Wouldn’t some of that beauty seep through the cracks and change her surroundings, remake the world she occupies as well as the world she sees outside? Would the world outside be just as beautiful when she steps out into it, or would the dank and dilapidated hell she calls home stain her perception of that world as well. Through the bars of her prison cell even a most mediocre thing seems sublime, but when that object for her admiration is within her grasp, it mysteriously becomes hard and painful to hold. The playful, kaleidoscopic rays of sunlight bending through the glass of the bathroom turn harsh and piercing to her delicate eyes, so used to the soft hues that cascade throughout her tomb. Curling up tighter, she sighed her relief, averting her eyes away from the panorama of life cruising past her window. She was safe in her cell, cocooned in her bathroom, crouched down inside the grime and filth of the bathtub. Waiting to break free, become the butterfly she dreamed to be. But for now, her empty, cold basin was enough. For now, it was all she could hope for.



This entry is inspired by this photo by Scott James Prebble.