Of Age

She had a fleeting thought that it was bound to happen. It was, after all, everything she had ever known. As it all stood around her, she wished it would suddenly combust and burn — slowly, painfully, for the longest time ever. She wished it would all burn down so that in the end the ashes would cover her hair when she walked through everything that was her life. The ashes would make for ever changing white and gray streaks in her already crazy, wild hair. It was with such a passion that she hated that it was unbearable to conceive a similarly powerful emotion.

Steps were not difficult to take, what was difficult about them was the concentration needed to understand they were steps; it was difficult, she had perplexedly found out, to make something of those steps. It was good, she was at least moving, a certain degree of ease in one foot in front of the other, the prints on the now real ashes far from each other. It was almost as if there was nothing more than those steps. But there was. She knew there was because it slayed her insides with every step. It reminded her of childhood — that was a lie, really. It reminded her of the time immediately after her childhood, when there was no spring, no transition, no slow warming of the weather, no budding and no flowers in bloom. It was as if she was winter and immediately after she opened her eyes — surely they were closed no longer than a moment –, her life had taken the garish qualities of the Hell that is summer. She wished she never opened her eyes then.

Needless to say, she tried blinking as many times as she could, just on the off chance seasons might have a right order again. Her hair grew instead. Her boobs grew instead. Her tears had a more salty taste now and the innocent natural scent of her skin was replaced with the heavy stench of cigarettes and sweat.

At the end of her walk, meaningless as it was, all she knew was the dull ache in her heart — she knew what it stood for, she knew how to live with it: slowly, one blink at a time — but she had no idea how she got where she was standing.

On her own grave.

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