Wednesday, May 17, 2017

#9: All Good Things Must Come To An End

The electric doors slid open with a gust of air, Joon tumbling out with the hysteric crowd. Her feet stumbled beneath her, mind racing faster than her legs could carry her.

"Jennifer!" Someone was calling, but Joon's ears were ringing too loudly to respond. She didn't look behind her. She didn't look back at the IKEA bleeding out with people now escaping, she didn't look back at the woman calling for her with a name she knew wasn't hers. She didn't look back at the guilt building in her chest, thinking of her parents she could barely remember. Phone calls, red blood, metal handcuffs. A circus, a monkey, a scream. Star Wars macaroni in her pale hands. David Bowie blasting in her ears. Is there life on Mars? Drugs pumped into her until she couldn't even remember herself.

Joon could barely feel her legs but she kept running. The sky was dark, stars twinkling above her with bright light. Joon had always loved the stars. She grew jealous of them, their spot high in the sky, away from all of the world. They kept twinkling. She kept running.

Joon couldn't  remember why she was running now, but she knew her name wasn't Jennifer, and she knew someone, something had taken her. She reached into her brain, prying away at the cobwebs to find something, anything to remember.

The Winthrop town buss noise of the incidents occurring, the stars still shone above.

Suddenly there was a bright light in her eyes, shoes still hitting the cement sidewalk.

Joon swore she heard a thump in her ears, then a screech of tires. She finally looked back.

A girl lays still as stone in the street, a car close to her. Headlights blinded her vision momentarily. Someone was opening the car's door.

Joon turned away. She was tired of looking. She was tired of saying sorry. She was tired of being a shadow in the town of Winthrop. So she kept running, her body floating away. Joon Rawlings was getting out.

Monday, May 8, 2017

#8: All Boxed In

Locked inside yourself
Footsteps on the tile floor
Don't stop to look back

Her hands brushed along the plastic coverings of the door nobs on sale, eyes trailing over the rows and rows of lampshades. Shoulders and arms brushed passed her, bustling to get to the sale before the day is up. For whatever reason, the town seemed to love lamp shades and door nobs with a passion.

"Jennifer Rawlings to the registers. Jennifer Rawlings to the registers!" The intercom rang in her ears, her head whipping up towards the ceiling where the sound bursted from. Jennifer's heart stammered in her chest. She walked forward, head feeling dizzy like a feather fluttering from a tree top. Her fingers fumbled at her sides. They were looking for her.
People continued to rush past her, but now in the opposite direction of the new products.

Hushed shouting echo through the isles. Her friend said that a quick trip to IKEA would be a nice change. Jennifer has grown tired of her room, a window leading to a empty courtyard she wasn't allowed into. She hated the needles they put on her arms every morning. Fingertips on her skin, crawling across her shoulders, neck, spine. Sometimes her mind went away, far back in her brain, foggy glass that she tried to claw at. They were doing that to her. But something stopped her before she said anything.

The people around her were growing frantic, yelling and running towards the door. Jennifer knew they were looking for her. She wanted to run. Her body floating through isle after isle of furniture, kitchen ware, windows.

"We're locked in. It's a hostage--" She heard someone yelling. It sounded far, so far away. Red cheeks on a rainy day. David Bowie blasting in her ears. There was screaming, Jennifer knew it was there. Somewhere behind what they had done to her. It was yelling, and crying, and blood. It was colors and scrubbing hands until they were raw. It was opaque glass, and she was clawing, scratching at it.

"Stop! Stop it!" Her mind screamed and burned. Her mouth never opened.

The hysteria was quickly growing in the store, and in Joon's heart. Joon. Her name was Joon. She saw the women running towards her from down the isle, coming right for her. Joon felt her converse shoes hitting the tile before she realized she was running. She had to get out.