Title; Cecilia and the Silhouette Saloon
Summary; Interpretation of The Blood Brother's "Cecilia and the Silhouette Saloon." The world has been spiralling down. Cecilia could very well be the only person allowed to come back from the grave.
Note; Probably makes no sense and has horrible grammar mistakes. I'm not the greatest self-editor, haha.
Dedicaton; Mckoy-boy. :)

The world was full of garbage. That was a given, and everyone knew it. Everyone had had the thought, once or twice or a dozen of times, that the world would be better off without a few choice people. Of course, the suspects changed depending on who was asked. But, regardless, the world was filled with useless, hypocritical, harmful people.

So the people who considered themselves more important took it into their hands to rid the world of this garbage. The word murder could easily be a synonym to white-out, a means to rid the world, the paper, of all the mistakes. Blood was like a second skin to the asphalt covering the streets, deaths slandered at every moment of the day, every area of the town. Anyone was capable of the murders, but only the constant, law-abiding hard-asses known as police seemed to care. With so many cases, though, it was hard to find a lead for one while twenty more slaughters were committed.

It was then reasons started to arouse from the citizens. And with these sudden reasons came new thought processes. Mothers began to hate the thought of raising their children, no longer harboring that maternal care for the life of their offspring. It was as though the child's whole existence was to be a parasite to his or her mother. Married folk began to abhor their spouses, looking in the mirror each day and believing that reflection was the only perfection they could ever be granted; the only relationship closest to perfect would be with themselves. It was no longer a relationship for the sake of a relationship; it was only for the intimacy. With the view of the world shifted to a disgusting aspect, someone covered in something as revolting as greasy, vile oil could be treated like a diamond found sparkling in the crystal clear ocean. (Even if, at times, it was only for the intimacy.)

And, if that wasn't enough, with everyone capable of murder and with motive to commit, it seemed as though the crime and guilt and injustice could be solved with a simple form of cleansing. Like a simple bath could rid them of the crime. Like the water washed the blood off a culprit's hand, the believed "justice" washed away the guilt and remorse. It was as though, through the hidden pain and bitter feelings the citizens felt for the new view of the world, death stifled that pain, eased away the misery, and rationalized the act.

Then more thoughts began to flood in people's minds, thoughts that had laid dormant for quite some time. It seemed this new light shining upon this town was something akin to a revolution.

Television programs, broadcasts, speeches only did one thing: manipulate. It turned into a brainwashing, a test to see who was worthy, who would fall under the spell. Consciense had been lost; there was no right or wrong. The only time anyone witnessed what they were truly doing, what they had truly become, was one split second when they saw their reflection in the mirror. And no one could handle it; no one would dare look at what was happening. People started forgetting their lives, forgetting to care, and moved to other things. The whole town even appeared to become something resembling a whore house. The only good in this world, in their minds, was to indulge in intimacy and love with whatever tainted meaning of the word. But the only thing that would ever become of love was death.

Death, in and of itself, was a tricky thing. All the deceit and romance in a relationship would fall after a death; all doubts would be proven true, and the living lover would move on and forget. The love, inevitably, would be lost; the feeling of such purity, however tainted in its view, would be forgotten. Opportunities would be wasted; short-cuts would have long since ceased to exist. Death was the very opposite of life, of course, filled with the unexpected, unknown, and unforgettable. Life, as pure as an infant, was so alike, yet nothing but an antonym.

Cecilia knew this, understood it, but would never accept it.

Her life, however bleak and ridiculous in that cruel town, had been taken from her before a scream could escape her lips. Maybe someone had labeled her as garbage, or maybe she had gotten in the crossfire of a battle. But, that night, a knife ripped through her throat, the skin opening like her mouth that begged to scream. Blood pooled everywhere, but no one was near; the murderer had escaped. Her only thoughts prayed there was a Heaven, prayed there was another life waiting for her, as her current one poured from her lips. Cecilia wished and hoped as death claimed her, like a ghost clinging to life, fearful of all the deceased and dead. But she was ignored.

Time moved on, passed by her. It claimed the lives of many without a care and left the shadow to be the only imprint.

But, maybe because of her prayers or regrets, she existed to see another day. It could have been hours or days, or weeks, or years later when she defied her death. The coffin buried deep in the earth rose to see the cruel town again. And the place she stayed the longest during this second chance - a saloon that seemed filled with shadows rather than people - was where she swallowed her sorrows. While the pianist played broken tunes and the widows in the corner envied the ones who had not lost, she sat against the bar atop a metal stool. Her decaying fingers carressed the locket latched around her neck.

He was gone now, just as she had come back. The man, her lover, who had given her, with deceiving devotion, the locket spun around her neck was buried in the earth, muted by death. But she was not dumb, nor blind, nor stupid, and she knew. His life, after her death, was filled with nothing but unfaithful passion and desired forgetfulness. He had lived in this very saloon more than any where else. He had whispered in many women's ears, laughed blindly to ensure enthrallment at many women's words, and persuaded with sex rippened lips many women's passion. His mark could very well still burn on those women's necks.

Cecilia released the locket from her aging fingers and gripped the glass in front of her. Lost in the broken tunes and jealous banter, alcohol burning her throat, she ignored the world around her. Where was love now?