True Insanity

A lone girl sat and stared out the shadowed window-her eyes shining like black opals, oily and dark but swirling with colors. The swirling came from the quiet tears, so subtle, softly cutting down her cheeks, stinging her skin as they burned all the way down. She didn't know why she was crying, or didn't seem to realize it. The room was in shadow, all around her, velvet night, caressing her in a deathly embrace. She shuddered, feeling the hairs on her arms raising, though she was not cold.

She stared back into herself. A meek figure, dark-skinned with hollow eyes that had seen too much, hair a rich-charcoal color with a tint of maroon when it played in the light, and a small mouth done up with purple lipstick. Her hair, partially highlighted by the stars peeking out in the sky, glinted black and cherry-red, like ink and crimson blood blended together. She admired her eyes, the way they were slightly slanted the way her mother's were. She noticed the unnatural sheen of her cheeks, and knew she was silently crying. Not that she cared. She saw her mother again, in the blackened mirror. That was all that mattered.

The city below was a rush of neon lights, zooming this way and that, never ceasing, but always in such haste. There were people laughing in rooms below her, in other buildings, around the world. But not her. She could not find the strength to smile. To laugh would surely spell death. She had not the energy…she had not the desire. Did people laugh? She couldn't remember if they did or not. How could they, when this woman was dead? How could the world continue to live as it did, when she was no longer here? This world wasn't the same without her. Her craziness, her zaniness, her tittering laughter….it was all gone. She fingered her long hair, obscuring her face in doing so, smelling it as it passed over her nose and mouth. She breathed in, longing to smell her again for one last time. She smelled nothing, to her dismay.

She met the eyes of the woman staring back at her, and let a sob catch in her throat. This woman wasn't her mother. Her mother was dead.

"Charlie," her brother called from the other room.

She turned slowly, feeling as if it were hard to move. Was the air made of custard? Or were her veins simply congealing with blood? Was she already dead? But no, she finally turned and looked behind to see her brother through the moonlit-dust dancing in the house. That was it. The air was so dusty she could hardly move. Yes. The tiny particles did a little jig in the silvery-blue beam that streamed in through the window on her left. Charlie looked at it instead of her brother, drinking in the light through her eyes and tasting its smooth, melancholy, yet pure taste. Like lemons, but also cool, and crisp, like a breath of wind on a lake.

"Charlie!" he spoke again, this time more urgently as he came rushing to her side. "Charlie, what's the matter? I called you five times, and still you didn't answer," he scolded mildly, rubbing her shoulders, though she remained unresponsive.

He looked at her blank stare, reflecting the orb of night and absorbing nothing else. He licked his lips uneasily, averting his eyes from her vacant ones. She had not heard a word. She was somewhere else, far away.

"C'mon," he grunted, standing up and gently helping her to her feet. "Why don't we get you to bed, hmmm?" he smiled at an attempt to be cheery, even though he knew she wasn't there.

Still not looking at him, but out the window, she began resisting, worming her way out of his grasp, moaning in a low guttural sound that wrenched your very heart out to hear; a sound that James was fairly certain humans were not supposed to make.

"Charlie stop it," he slapped her arm forcibly. "Stop it right now, I won't put up with this tonight!" he growled. She continued to moan, sliding her hands out of his grasp whenever he tried to grab her, avoiding his grasp like an eel, and still looking out the window unblinkingly.

"Charlie! Look at me!" James cried "Look at me!" he repeated futilely, now struggling to wrap his arms around her torso. She grunted, pushing him away when his eyes tried to meet hers. He grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. Big mistake. Upon gazing into the abyss of her portal-like eyes, something in her snapped. She went crazy, her black irises went wild, insane with movement. She struggled savagely, kicking and punching blindly, thrashing her head about ferociously like a caged animal. Her hair whipped about, gleaming like blood, and then like a black waterfall cascading down in the shadows. He resisted her, still holding onto her face as her eyes danced wildly in their sockets. She went limp. A moment of silence.

James sighed, finally letting go and leaning down to hoist her body up over his shoulders, but suddenly…. she screamed, her cry echoed strangely throughout the old house. Her scream was the essence of sorrow, it weaved its way into your heart, it filled your head, it vibrated in your very marrow, it tore you up inside. She screamed so loud and so hard that blood should have spewed forth, spluttering from her lips and spattering in chunks onto the floor. Her entire face beamed red with the force of her scream, the blood vessels in her eyes broke and gave her a demon-like appearance, her lips turned blue. She wouldn't breathe. She couldn't breath. All the life she would have liked to live had been lived already, her world was gone; it had vanished, vaporized in a rapid boil. There was nothing else. Nothing else. Her bloodied eyes were swallowed by the liquid-mercury light of the moon. They faded as he oxygen ran dry, becoming more like the moon and less and less like her eyes. Until at last, they closed, cloaking the twisted and mangled wires of her mind, hiding the truth from view in a pretense of angelic sleep.