Thursday, September 22, 2016

#3: You're Invited

Stars are in constant conflict with themselves. The collective gravity of all it's mass is pulling it inward. If there was nothing to stop it, the star would just continue collapsing for millions of years until it became its smallest possible size. Joon, like a star, was in constant conflict with herself.

She had chickened out of going to the circus, too focused on self-destruction. So just as the sun rose, Joon watched the tent fall. Joon pulled her blue jacket tighter to her small frame. She held the invitation in her hand, re-reading the words over and over. Someone had invited her to an environmental forum? "Your'e Invited...", The syllables on the invitation brushed goosebumps all over her arms.

A plum hat and stripped pants pass by her as dusk grows near, the man's mustache curved into a wicked smile. A girl's drops her grocery bags, white milk splattering the pavement in flashes as Joon's body floats by.

She'd been in Winthrop for over 6 months now. No one had any idea where she went, for she never left a note or letter.

She held 4 markers in her hand tightly as she walked. Blue, green, red orange.  Joon had began to write on herself. Words and ideas covered her forearms, the Star-Wars macaroni had been scribbled multiple times. Joon still couldn't find any.
She found herself at the community green house, a man wearing a scarf was briskly walking out of it. She bumped into him, her ghost-like body floating without her control.
"Are you okay?" the man asked. Wind whipped around him, his hair dancing gracefully. For a moment Joon saw a blotch of blue by his right ear, and  darker blue trailing down his upper neck to his scarf. He gave her a cramped smile, a flash of sharp teeth made her breath catch. The hallucinations had apparently begun.
Joon closed her eyes to make them leave, and found herself in front of the bar. The sun had set in the sky. Blue, green, red orange.

There were brochures inside, advertising Energy Star washing machines. She picked one up to have something to hold. She gazed up at the lights on the ceiling. She listened to the sounds of the people pitch energy efficiency. Joon heard muted yelling in her skull, her dad yelling for her to stop. Her brother was crying big fat tears.
She'd been in Winthrop for over 6 months now. No one had any idea where she went, for she never left a note or letter.
Her apartment was 70.12 degrees. Her pencils were lined perfectly on her desk. Her arms and hands were scrubbed raw and clean, washed 6 times with yellow soap. Her fingers itched to draw again. Blue, green, red orange. Blue, green, red orange.

'Dear Dad,' Joon wrote, 'I'm sorry that I killed you.'