. . . . Isaiah paused, realizing the comfort of his environment. He was warm, he felt relaxed, and he felt solid, eyeing his sister. This stranger would have to go.
Harlem thought about the expectancy of her birth, the green of the forest sharpening the feel of the baby kicks. She looked around. She was alone. Her house was decades away with no phone. Her husband was even farther. The anger in her stomach continued, drawing strength from her legs. Would she even have enough energy to drive? She could have the delivery anywhere, but at least she wanted people around. She wanted her husband. She felt so stupid. She shouldn't have even been out in the middle of nowhere nine months into a pregnancy, hearing the sound of water falling over the agitated irritation of baby kicks. Her knees wobbled as her hands slammed the hood of the car, realizing she wouldn't be able to drive. But she couldn't panic. To panic would be to lose control of her situation.
Isaiah's hands pressed hard against Sister's mouth, his feet pressing her knees toward the exit of the womb. Sister pressed the walls of the womb from her brother's force, the inside lining ripping as both twins embraced each other in a hug, their feet printing against the inside navel of the womb. Harlem dropped to her knees, the waterfall echoing in her ears.
Maybe it was a fetish. Maybe it was the peace, and serenity Harlem felt the water would provide; a loud noise that would drown, and suffocate the pain.
From the corners of her eyes, the noise from the water drop traced a trail through the cluttered trees, presenting itself as reassurance that she knew what she was doing. The short, plump figure rose to her feet, breathed, and stumbled into the yell of the forest. It was unexpected, and it sounded crazy, but Harlem was about to have a baby in the middle of the wild, by herself.
The thoughts weighed heavy as one hand guided her steps, with the other hand easing the pain of her affection. Her palm warmed cool the trail of trees as each footstep dug heavy into the damp of the thick dirt.
"No matter what I do, I must not fall," the thought adding on to the short list of others.
"Breathe," she finally told herself. "Just breathe." Through the exit of the bush, the waters greeted Harlem with a welcome.
Zulu's feet planted firmly in the mud as his hands began the slow pull of the crab to within netting distance. He was tense.
"Get it right the first time," he repeated to himself. The spoken thought appeared amongst the mental positioning of his tools, the crab net placed directly next to his boots.
Squatting, Zulu touched the staff gently with the arc of his back. He could see the crab bucket directly next to his staff, within arms distance, but his mind, the only sight he had that was most keen in its task, lay concentrated on the distance between the baited crab, the edge of the embankment, and the scooping swing of the net. Zulu dropped the baited string onto the watery bank's edge, wrapping the loose string in successive loops around the lion staff. He had counted nine loops total around the staff, with a straight line from the knot of the wood to the edge of the water's embankment, where the bait laid, and where the crab laid resting on the bait. Stretching the string with a pull might make ten, but Zulu would just have to make up for the slight difference in distance, positioning himself with the swing of the net. And he hadn't quite figured how he would swing exactly, and he still didn't know.
"Should I scoop?" His hands remained steady as the tug of war continued.
"Should I slam down, and drag?" Two more loops around the staff. Zulu totaled four loops.
But a drag might damage the crab against the muddy rocks," easing from the pulling match, resting on the heels of his feet to give the string no leeway. But neither did he pull, remaining focused on the positions of his tools that surrounded him. The string continued to pull tight to the left, and right in a walking back, and forth motion. Zulu, in thought, questioned whether the crab could actually see its fate, see the trap that had been set. Apparently not as his prey continued in the back, and forth motion from left to right, and back from right to left. He had to admit, the crab had strength, and he had held a crab before. One time at some seafood restaurant he had felt the hard of its shell. Its defense armor his father had called it. The small dinner had been without its claws, but even with them attached, Zulu imagined, the crab was small. And it was there at the restaurant table that his father had explained to him that crabs could be caught in the river in the forest located directly behind the house. That when the weather would permit, he and Zulu would go crabbing. The weather had permitted, but Zulu had been just too impatient to wait for the procrastination of his father. So here he was, and he was loving it, cracking the bones in his hands, realizing that it had been a blessing that he had thought to use the staff to keep the crab at an appropriate catch distance. After ten loops, he would release the string, keeping the crab at an exact distance, and spot, and use both hands to control the net, whether it be a scoop or slam.
More likely, he would scoop the crab while not trying to drag the net on the river's floor. Zulu again began the patient pull of the crab as Vision stared at the boy's actions from atop the tree root. The moon had completely rose high above the soldier of trees, highlighting the entire scene of wilderness. From down the river, pass the waterfall, to back up the river into the mountains, Vision could see yet remained focused on the young child just across the river.
She had wondered how deep the waters actually were. Not to deep if one was able to crab, that's even if he was crabbing. She was curious still. Extremely curious, and she didn't even know his name, pulling the at the bottom of her shirt, breaking her concentration on someone else's pleasure, and not the misery of her own depressed life. She hated how her shirt always pulled up on her belly. Many times, it would just be unattractive, especially in public. At school it was such an embarrassment that she now sat in the back of class or wore dresses. And what was worse than her too small shirts were her too stiff dresses. They would never fit right no matter what size she brought, and the sophisticated dresses came in one size too small. It had finally dawned on her that all the big size clothing were made out of cardboard material, and all the small size clothing were made out of fancy names like silk, or satin, where as she would only touch polyester or some other synthetic put together. To be her mother's size she sighed.
And she was only fourteen, and big and fat. Well, short and fat. How big would she become when she turned twenty-one or even when she was her mother's age? Vision shuddered at the thought as she imagined herself with the body of a pig that rolled in filth and mud, and that only ate slop, and someone else's nasty trash. She knew she just had to slow down on what she ate, and be more particular in what her body digested. But at this point in her life, she thought her mind weak, and not strong enough for the discipline that controlled her pleasure. Somewhere in her young life, Vision had let pleasure take over, and dominant in the form of food.
Maybe she ate in large amounts because of the teasing, and laughing she constantly endured. In her brief moments of serenity, and happiness, she still ate. She would eat more. She had to just look inside herself, and feel the inside of herself, and capture the feeling, and learn it, and to stop, and exert discipline. When that was going to take place, she didn't know. She really hated to think about it because she knew it should have taken place the first time she saw the outcome of her gluttony. To not know was one thing, imaging the roll of a pig in her mind, but to know was to know the truth, and that's what made the tortured pain mentally increase, stretching her shirt.
In the backdrop, the great oak remained motionless. Across the water, Zulu continued in concentration on the pull of the string, counting seven loops total, finally wrapping the final loop around the staff. So far everything had happened just as he had imagined, tugging at the string to make sure the crab was on the bait.
Through the vibration of the string, Zulu could feel the crab's gripping claws nibble,and pick at the fish head as it pulled against the stand of the staff. In reaching to pick up the crab net, Zulu had the sudden urge to grab the crab with his hands. To capture the animal with his bare hands would eliminate a lot of hassle of worrying where to put this or how to grab that. He would get to feel the crab, and touch it while it was alive, allowing him to feel like he was capable to do anything in spite of his blindness. A flood of questions drowned the use of the net. Would he be sure footed enough like when he, and his grandfather wrestled in the grass? Would he know where to reach? Would he get wet? Would he fall in the water? What would his parents say if he came home wet? What would his parents say anyway about his coming home late or his crabbing by himself? No doubt, his father would be upset about that one.
Zulu grabbed the net with both hands. What if he went to grab the crab with his hands, and fell, hitting his head on a rock, and drowning?
"That would be awful," he thought, cringing internally at his own death. His parents would definitely not like that, and only because he wanted to crab by himself, deciding to go with the initial plan. In the farthest extreme, he didn't want to lose his life over something as close to trivial as the establishment of pride, and self-esteem. Death was certainly a way to forget about one's own pride, the net hanging heavy over the water where the suspected crab, and bait were.
"Man," he thought to himself as he steadied where he would swing with the feel of string. It continued in vibration in a backwards pull away from the river's embankment. He positioned, and pictured himself perfectly. Everything was perfect. Zulu pulled the netted stick back over his shoulders.
"I'm not ready," he thought. He was nervous, and excited. Maybe a little scared that he would miss, and net nothing, but water, and dirt.
"It's ok to fail sometimes," he told himself, even though the first time was special. And if he failed, he just wouldn't leave until he succeeded, letting the word failure, and the pictured scene that followed play out in his mind. He didn't like what he saw. The time, and stress already put into his mission was equivalent to money spent, and he wanted no money wasted. He would just have to succeed the first time, but there was the consistent doubt, and Zulu wondered where it came from. He would seem to doubt himself with everything he tried to do by himself without the watchful eye of his parents. He hoped he wouldn't think like that when he became an adult, living on his own. Especially since his grandfather had explained to him that he was really already an adult, just small in his age. He wold laugh at the thought. It always boosted his ego.
The net remained heavy over the water, watching as if he saw the crab directly in front of him.
Inhaling deeply, he swung in a sideways dip, and scoop. All he heard was the splash of water drops as he pulled the net over the solid ground. From across from where she sat, Vision watched the young child place the net over the water, pulling it back across his shoulders, dropping the pole in an attacking position. She watched intensely, squinting her eyes to see more clearly the child drop the net into the water, pulling up in a jerking motion to bring the net over the bucket, holding the pole motionless. Vision scooted closer to the water, rubbing her butt against the bark of the tree root. Rubbing her bottom, she stood up, feet wet, soaking the root underneath. Vision leaned forward, placing her face directly into the darkness.
"Had he caught anything?" she wondered, forgetting that the child was blind. Zulu should have heard Vision stand from the water, but he didn't. Instead, at first he heard nothing; maybe a splatter of water dropping to the ground. He was too nervous to concentrate on anything other than the crab he pictured in the net. Through his lost eyesight, he saw the bucket exactly where he had placed it. He could feel the wooded staff run up the side of his pants leg, the night air cutting across the back of his leg, his socks dropping around his ankles having completely worn out the elastic in them.
For some reason he could see, and that he was seeing clearly. But what he didn't know was what he had captured, if anything, besides the water in the net. The water dripped the inside of the bucket, making a distinct hollow pluck. The young child smiled at his precision in movement. He had aligned everything perfect. Vision watched closely, studying the young child's stance.
Zulu steadied the net over the mouth of the bucket, scared to turn its contents over. Moving closer, Vision's toes dangled just beyond the edge of the root. She wanted to see, her face further slicing into the night air as if held by the force it created. One by one, the pool of rabbits began their exit from the mouth of the great root into the caves of the tall stalked grass that would provide them cover. It is only the last one to leave that is of most importance as the furry animal looked at the rather heavy set female that appeared to lay against the dark air just above the water, before finally jumping through a circle of root to snap a branch, plummeting into the jungle of grass.
The distinct snap ricocheted in sound in the ears of Vision. She had been caught off guard, unprepared for the soft blow that appeared as a loud trumpet, twisting her entire body. There was nothing her feet could do, but follow sideways into the catch of the water. And even as Vision slammed into her clumsiness, the distinct snap paused within her brain, allowing her to hear it over, and over, and over, and over.
Her face smacked the water first. Zulu breathed in, and out, and in, and out. He was no longer scared, but rather nervous. He didn't want failure, he wanted success, but it's like he felt the wind from Vision's fall before he actually heard the loud splash that appeared just across the bank of the river, turning the net, and its unknown contents into the bucket. As the sound from the splash rang loud in his mind, Zulu heard the distinct thump in the bottom of the crab bucket. He wasn't sure whether the sound was from the tied fish head bait that had fallen into the bucket or was it from his catch. But his curiosity no longer laid in the contents of the bucket as his eyes wandered blindly across the surface of the water.
Zulu placed the crab net beside the carved staff. Comfortable in his squat, he glanced in the direction of the splash, listening intently, staring blankly into the closed netting of his eyelids. His brain reached across the river to where the young girl had fallen head first, slamming through the roof of the water to the floor of the shallow water housing, both elbows sinking into the mudded underwater bedding.
The sting she felt hid the initial embarrassment of her once too often clumsiness. Scared to open her eyes at first, Vision peeked at the magnificent underwater kingdom, exploding up through the weight of its enclosure, and out into the freedom of the night air, her mouth wide open, inhaling excitedly. The water poured back into the river from the top of her head, her legs remaining in the water cover. Completely standing straight, the level of the water climbed to the bottom of her thighs, slicing the cold liquid against her legs. She coughed slightly, eyeing the watery drench of her shirt, and shorts. Coughing again, the water shook from her matted hair. What once was a puffy afro, hung matted together over her face. She had wanted to cry, but the inhale of water through her nose left her head throbbing, shutting down all other functions of her face. Her eyes squinted, straining from the sting in her brain as she looked at her place in the river.
She had fallen a few feet from the edge of the bank where the root formed just atop the bank's edge. To get back to where she had been, Vision would have to pull herself up over the edge of the bank where the root dived underground, dragging on her stomach.
The frowning root appeared to smile in the face of the young girl. It was bad enough that she was wet from head to toe, water dripping from her clothes, but what would be worse when she pulled herself back on top the root of the tree was to scrap her stomach, and legs, possibly leaving marks. At least she wasn't going to die, she thought.
Vision could still see Zulu, now staring directly into the embarrassing sting of her face.
"Help," she said to herself, feeling vulnerable, another loud cough coming from her mouth.
First the splash, and now a soft cough moved across the surface of the water. It felt as if the air had stuck its fingers into both his ears. Zulu stood to the sound, facing the water to stare into the cry of Vision. He could hear the waterfall through her soft cry. And from directly behind, he could also hear a loud rustle from the bucket, the snatching, and clawing of movements sounding like something was alive, and trying to escape.
"Was the bucket tall enough?" he thought. He hadn't expected that the crab would climb or try to escape after being captured. What he did know was that he had placed the crab in the bucket with all his bait. He would have to remember that next time, a flutter of scrapping echoing in the drop of the bucket.
"I caught a crab," he thought. Yet the thought appeared as nothing. Zulu knew that he had heard 'help' amongst sounds of coughing, and crying. This time the crying continued directly in front, appearing extremely close. The soft sobs sounding more like a woman than a girl. It sounded like a woman in pain.
Vision stood against the edge of the cliff bank, the branches of the great oak hanging directly overhead the soaking teenager. She could no longer feel the sting of the water splash in her face. The tears had also begun to dry. Only the chill from the water reminded her that she had fallen, eyeing her sandals laying lazily across the grass, next to the root where she had been sitting. At least they would be dry, spitting in the direction of the waterfall, removing the mildew taste of forest water out of her mouth. She looked into the blank stare of the only one around, probably for miles, that could help her situation. Not feeling desperate or helpless anymore, she faced the young child. The water felt extremely cold as the currents waved against her legs. In her brief cry for help amidst the crying, and the coughing, she hadn't really wanted to alarm him, yet he had heard her exaggerations, and there he stood watching.
Vision backed up quietly against the dropping bank, the razor of the rocky bottom jabbing into the soles of her feet. Over the years, the quiet wash of the river had eaten away at the taller ground level, exposing the earth's insides. Directly below the ground's cliff, one of the great oak's many roots protruded visibly underneath the covered ground, intertwining through the underground of earth. Vision could imagine the crawl of worms, and crickets, even maggots, in the exposed earth that lived directly beneath the oak tree.
Standing against the wall of the earth that went up, and over, giving into the solid of the ground, Vision eyed Zulu. She turned her head slightly, her matted hair dragging the dirt of flat ground that began at exactly her height. She could barely see the hang of bush that reflected in the shine of the moon. Had she really wanted the young child's attention? She could even feel her excited pulse grow calm as she tried to silence the splash of the subtle night waves.
Zulu moved forward cautiously until he could hear the lap of water against his boots, making sure not to walk too deep in the river or lose the positioning of his staff.
"Helloooooo?" There was a short pause in the air as if he had awaken everything around him. "Hellooo, is any one out there?" Again the young child listened for a response. Vision said nothing as the water lapped across her legs in a rhythmic pattern. Now that she had his attention, she realized she still wanted to be alone. She didn't notice that he couldn't see her, staring into each other's face.
Zulu knew he had heard a distinct cough, and soft cry that sounded like a woman. Maybe the woman thought he was a threat, laughing at the thought. A blind child a threat in a vast world of many directions. That would definitely be a first.
"I only want to help? I heard you cry out for help. I can help you. Are you hurt?" Silence.
Zulu moved further into the river, looking back at where he had started from. He would just have to find his spot again. The crab clawed anxiously at the bottom of the bucket, his captor having giving him the chance to escape. Vision pressed her back against the exposed dirt.
"Shhhhhhhh!" she quietly told herself. She had clumsily fallen, her hair was matted, her clothes cold, and wet, and she was still fat. She could feel the dirt cake in her hair, and around her neck, soaking the back of her shirt, and shorts, making her feel nasty. Quieting her breathing, she didn't know what the young child had heard.
Zulu dared not go any further without going totally into the river, and he didn't know how deep the river went. Maybe a woman was trapped underwater? Maybe she wasn't trapped, but just couldn't speak? Maybe she was dead? Zulu hushed at the last thought. He had never imagined death except with animals; the food he sometimes ate. Those animals were killed, but human death was unfathomable to him. Even in his grandfather's explanation of a human's death, Zulu had been unable to comprehend, and imagine his dying, of his family dying, his mother or father, his grandparents. So he had put it in the same category as his being born without the use of his eyes, thinking about the blessing of the staff, and knowing that if there was a woman, she was not dead.
Zulu cut through the silence again, "I'm sorry. I can't see you because I'm blind," the word 'blind' sounding in the night air, redefining the night's glare.
"So he is blind," she thought to herself, relaxing at the reassurance that the young child had been unable to see her clumsy ways. She had never really been in danger she figured, but to hear the young child concerned for her safety where his safety was more important, was definitely more of a concern. And looking around at the seclusion of the night air, what could she say? She knew it was dangerous for a blind child to be about in the wilderness, especially at night. It was dangerous for her to be in the wilderness at night, and she was possibly a lot of things, but she wasn't stupid even though her weight told different. Zulu began to wonder if he had actually heard anything at all. In his enthusiasm, he imagined the coughing, and crying, the asking for help.
"Hello? I said I'm blind. I can't see you, but I can still help you. Hello?" pausing through his concern. Vision remained motionless. The waterfall continued in its silence.
Harlem could feel the water run down her legs, stumbling amongst the trees, drawing closer to what sounded like the splash of water. The pain within her stomach increased as she slumped her back against one of the oaks, her legs placed in a straddled sitting position. The more she thought about her childbirth, the more she realized she was drawing farther, and farther away from her comfort zone. First, there had been the exclusion of doctors, and hospitals, leaving her to recline in the comfort of her husband, and her home. Nine months later, she had decided to leave the comfort of her home to drive, and be by herself, something having pulled her out of her shell into the womb of the world, and into the obscurity of the wilderness. She had left her car, the only form of adequate transportation to the reassurance of her husband, and a healthy child delivery. She had left everything behind because of the life inside her, yet she was still moving, shedding the fear. and doubt. The last of the possible mental shackles that kept her attached to the illusion of the world she lived in.
She breathed in, and out through the directions of her thoughts. The night air chilled her lungs, cooling the entire inside of her chest. In her moment of peace, she realized that the sun had set, and the white of the moon hung overhead. A brief flash of wild animals; bears, and lions, and tigers, lingered her calm, bursting out in laughter at the thought of lions, and tigers in the american wilderness. But no doubt, bears were present, and definitely a threat to her fragile physique. Her hands smoothed across the smooth of her belly as the twins continued to struggle for space in their mother's womb. Isaiah could feel a powerful pull from the underneath of his bottom, shifting his body around in a slight twirl, his feet placing directly in his sister's face. Sister could also feel the strong pull from underneath drag her feet toward the bottom enclosure of the womb, swinging her body into the undercurrent of her brother. She was moving down, and falling as Isaiah's feet lay comfortable on her nose.
"Fine," she thought. She would be happy to leave. It was too crowded, and not enough room to breathe, and always being poked or punched by this stranger who looked like her, and this cord was always tangling in her way. Sister's chubby hands pulled at the floating cord that connected her to her brother. "Yeah, it was time to go." The bottom pull dropping Sister down, and around, swinging her knees up, and her head down, pressing against what appeared to give way to some kind of opening. From an up side position, Sister could see the full figure of her brother.
Isaiah remained curled, knees tucked into his stomach just above where he had first laid, noticing the sudden availability of moving room around his head, and chest.
Looking down at his sister, he could see the cord that connected the two together, reaching out to grab with his fingers to peek a better look at what she was doing. He could not actually grab the cord, but his hand movement caused the object to float, no longer distracting his eyesight. Isaiah studied his sister's position. Her legs were tucked into her stomach, resembling the knot of the cord.
Another heavy pull caused both to shift in movement, drawing them closer to one another, the extra room in the womb disappearing as Isaiah rested just above Sister's bottom. Cramped again, and hated it. No matter how hard he tried to climb back into the vacancy that lay just overhead, the pull of his sister was greater. Sister's head seemed to push the lining of the womb as if she would actually go through the inside of the protective flesh.
"What was she doing now?" hoping she wasn't causing any type of damage. Space was already limited. To damage any part of where they were would cause trouble for both of them as Sister's head pushed harder against the womb lining.
"This can not be good," he thought.
Harlem could feel her child forcing her way between her legs. It was pain, and there was pain, but there was also a strain that existed around her waist up through to her chest. The strain created an agonizing sensation that wanted Harlem to push, and let go; another sudden push, and pull of the babies in her womb.
Harlem stood from against the oak tree. To walk was difficult, leaving her to wobble from foot to foot, from tree to tree. The pain increased as she removed her hands from over her womb, allowing the further sag of her belly. She was about to give birth. To witness what her, and her husband had started so long ago. Even upon first meeting each other, they had wanted to have children, and here she was. Her thoughts had become flesh as her hands pushed away from the trunk of the tree to the thick of the bushes. Passing through the breeze way of elms, she was redirected to the beauty of the waterfall.
From where she stood, it appeared as if she had been placed on a mountain top, looking out over the edge of the cliff ground into the dark vast of woods everywhere. The river continued through the path of tree openings for what appeared like miles.
Harlem walked the edge, and from where she stood, she could almost see over the entire field of the forest. Even in its darkness, the pattern was wonderful. This is where she had been led to deliver her child, looking over the edge of the drop, staring into the overhead of the tree tops. The way each tree grew from the dirt into something beautiful. The splash of water roared in the bubbling white of the river catch. Harlem backed away slowly, the pull of wind against her legs making it difficult not to follow over. Isaiah kicked hard against the inside of the womb, just above the head of his sister. He had not meant to, but had suddenly become heavier, kicking again, this time striking her in the legs with his head.
Another heavy pull jerked Isaiah tighter against his sister as both laid together in a curled position, Sister underneath Isaiah. The unborn infant could begin to see the cord that had once lazily free floated between him, and his sister, close in around his face, resting against his throat. He was not sure, but could sense that unless this cord suddenly moved, whatever was pulling him down, would also pull the cord around his neck which wouldn't be to comfortable for him or the cord.
And in this current position, all he could do was wait. All he had been doing was waiting. So Isaiah waited patiently for the inevitable to happen. What that was, he had not a clue. Harlem turned away from the edge of the waterfall, walking slowly back up the river. Just to the right of her stare, away from the river, lay a distinctive patch of trees where the grass mixed in with the leaves of the branches. This time a series of kicks rocked Harlem into a squatted position. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She focused on the beauty of the vastness of the stars in the night air, arching her head to better look at what the pain in her womb prevented her from seeing.
The stars were extremely visible. They appeared as one's reflection appeared in a mirror, the feeling of life inside her stretching further into the constricted area between her thighs.
Looking into the direction of the trees, she noticed how the pine appeared on the ground as a place to sit. Because of the pain, she would sit anywhere, and she knew that once she sat down, there would be no getting back up until there was a new life in this world. With the last of her strength, Harlem wobbled over to the pine tree that stood closest to the ground. The young lady leaned back on her heels, slamming hard on the needles, and grass, the ground, and her bottom absorbing the brute of the weight. A serious of quick breaths, Harlem leaned against the base of the pine tree, the relaxation in her recline releasing the tormenting strain of her womb. The pain, and kicking slowed as her legs propped up around her knees, spreading apart. Her quick spurts of breathing slowed to long deep inhales, the cool air tickling her face. Everything slowed around her. The forest appeared to drag in motion. The blow of the wind no longer blew in shouts, but rather whispers. The flow of the water moving down stream was motionless.
Harlem stared into the control of the water flow by the river itself. The current brushing up against the dam of rocks that stood upright, standing as trees. The rocks in the water stopped the current to a complete stand still. It was only after the water sipped through the openings of the stones that the current picked up speed, crashing over the edge of the fall. The pain drifted away, allowing the exhaustion in her mind to spread throughout her body. Harlem wanted to sleep, in her condition, from the environment. To wake up to a wild animal in her face, sniffing her private parts. What if everything was a false alarm? She would have made a big parade over nothing. What would be worse is she still would have to walk back to the main road to get to her car, and drive home. Drive anywhere. The decisions were too many to think out. She would have to deal with the circumstances as they presented themselves, and she was tired.
"I wish I had a cell phone," she thought as she closed her eyes quietly.
The thumping continued against the exposed flesh of Vanity. She was sure that the necklace had dug its way underneath the first, and second layers of skin, driving to the bone of her chest. Her neck was burning. Her shoulders felt as if they had been chopped off. Her breast were numb. The sensitivity in her nipples was not present. The blood, still dripping from the open wound, only dripped, but the repetition was continuous. The pool of blood that had at first only splattered the tops of her feet, had amassed in a puddle, barely covering the tips of her toes. The blood filled dream had stained Vanity's brain into the flesh of her mind. She wondered would she die before she drowned. There was laughter in the thought. No humor, just laughter, even though both paths of thought that led to any type of escape resulted in death. She felt as if she should cry, thinking desperately. Maybe the tears would stop the blood drip. Maybe the tears would stop the madness, and torture that excited in her mind, knifing at the base of her spine. The point of a two edged knife softly pushed into the brain. A slow, silent push that would not take away her breath, but would remain as pain until the full sheath of the knife was no longer visible. The handle would be visible, allowing the torture, and madness to grip the knife with its hands, shaking her mind violently. Unnaturally, never splitting the yoke of her brain yet the stab existed deep. She tried to breathe in, filling her lungs with the exhaust of sweat, and blood.
The breath tasted bitter as her stomach compressed, and contracted, elbows pressing firmly into her ribs. She felt as if her whole body was exposed, that the top layer of her skin never existed. The nerves of her flesh, underneath, breathed into the solid enclosure where she remained transparent. Vanity squeezed her palms against the surrounding wood wall. She pushed from her waist, feeling the weight of her enclosed prison. She could hear bones crackle in her fingers, the quick exertion of force leaving her heart racing.
There was a feeling of something faint as her thighs collapsed on top her knees, digging further into the wooded wall, but with no give way, simply reinforcing on top themselves causing the bottom of her legs to lock outward straight on her feet. She could feel the separation in the joints of her entire lower half. The tears began to flow from the paradise in her eyes as the dagger in her brain throbbed with its flow. She no longer stood with force on her feet, but rather the wooded wall held her by her knees, damming the blood flow to her bottom half. Agony. Pain. Exhilarating terror. Tortured entrapment. She would not be free, passing out from the strain. Her eyes closed tightly. Her breathing slowed. Her brain eased. Yet somewhere inside herself, where she had always been, but never noticed or acknowledged that another part of her existed, remained awake.
It was dark in this place in her mind. It was cold. The cold was numbing, but deafening. There appeared to be no sound, but there was the appearance of the outside of herself. Because as Vanity sat in the corner of her mind in the dark, she could feel the splatter of blood drain in its own pool across the floor of what she thought.
"I don't want to die," she told herself, but it was not death Vanity was running to, it was life she was running from. So as the tears stopped flowing on the outside, in her mind as she sat, the tears became as a sign that she would no longer exist without the realization that there is a certain purpose that she would never be able to define because of her death.
Zulu squinted both of his eyes as if he was using them. Wiping his face with his hands, he could hear the continual splash of the waterfall, hearing the peculiar sounds that the night made; the crickets, the rustle of the trees. Sometimes when he felt the cool of the night air, he could just hear the night itself, what the outside dark said to him. His father couldn't hear it. His mother couldn't hear it. His grandfather only pretended to hear it, but Zulu heard it constantly. Even through his bedroom window, with the covers pulled up way over his head, he could hear it. It was nothing like the dark of his room. That was artificial. Not natural. Even the dark of the closet couldn't compare to the long conversations he had with the night, and though he couldn't see its amusements; the moon, the stars, he could see them through the distinct sounds they made when they came out. That he felt he heard them. That he could hear them as his grandfather described, and they sounded beautiful, and they were beautiful. Zulu could hear that he too was in the beauty of the night with the stars, and that too made him feel like he could do more than just see, but he could be as great as that which the night revealed.
The cries for help had stopped, leaning forward on the tips of his toes knowing that he might fall. One thing he hated more than his blindness is when he had to crawl on his hands, and knees to search, and find what he needed or had misplaced because of his helplessness. It made him feel less than human, remembering when he had actually dropped his staff in the front yard of the house, and had not totally memorized the entire design of its entrance. He had to crawl around the yard as an animal to try to find the staff or the front door. It was only after their neighbor had seen him crawl in the yard aimlessly did he come over to pick him up, taking his hand, that Zulu made it to the front door. He understood the meaning of pride that day as he left the neighbor, and his mother at the door, hurrying up the stairs to his room, where sitting in the closet, he could cry the humiliating pain away. What was worse, Zulu imagined as the dark enclosure of the closet always made him do, was what if the neighbor had been watching him the entire time, laughing at his blindness in some dark hiding space. Worse than that was to wonder if his mother had watched his mishap through the front windows, only to laugh with the neighbor at his misfortune . . . . page continue