"It just keeps getting worse!" Kennedy cried out. Michael was standing over
her, hovering anxiously, his towel hanging around his waist. Water
cascading down his taut chest and abdomen, he kept running his hands
through his hair, unsure of what to do.
"Kennedy! Oh shit, what the hell?" Maria and Cera had just made their way to the top of the stairs, after a heavy make out session it seemed by their tousled appearances. Maria was standing stock still, mouth agape while Cera rushed forward and knelt down beside Kennedy. Shock was obviously reverberating through Kennedy's entire body as she took on the appearance of an epileptic on cocaine, shaking and convulsing.
Kennedy gripped at her head, shuddering and gasping for air. Her hands running down her neck, sweat dripping from her arms and forehead, tears coursing down her contorted face. Pain resonating from even pore of her body she started muttering, "Blonde hair. white light. blood. BLOOD EVERYWHERE! Blonde. beautiful. whispering. blessed. be." She forced the last word out through a cough.
As suddenly as it started, it ceased. Kennedy curled her body into the foetal position and began to rock back and forth. The raging ache still ripping her muscles into nothingness. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she wen out cold.
-Kennedy POV-
So we wait. And it's cold, it's raining, and we're all sick of waiting. So we wait. My Mother tells me, almost on a regular basis that life is all about waiting, and taking the opportunities that present themselves. Well, this could be interpreted in so many different ways. You could always just sit on your ass and stare at the TV, or get out into the world, stand and fight for what you believe. You could even just work yourself into the ground and then in 20 years find yourself exactly where you started. I think that's why my Mother didn't belt me on the head when I was born. She's so full of wisdom, but lacks the stories that put her wisdom into practise. I love my Mother.
But we're here. Freezing, pissed off and generally kinda moody. It's dark, the rain beats down around us like bullets in Iraq. Nothing seems to be moving except this torrent of wind and chilling water. For a moment the world allows itself to rest. I wish I could just go to sleep.
22 hours ago I saw myself in 20 years. Sitting with my fucked up friends, drunk off my face, still searching for a meaning in a futile existence that has none. And my revelation was that I'm not going to turn out like everyone's expecting me to. My life can't be ordinary, because I'm not ordinary. And I know I deserve better than what my life seems to be giving me at this stage. But I need to find what it is inside me that's allowing me to tear myself apart, and I think this is what I need to do.
So with this stagnant numbness settling on my limbs, I finally feel like I can fly. Something of a revelation filling my lungs with fresh air. I can finally breathe again. In my previous life I'd never run out of things to say. My mind would always me working and I'd drive the people around me absolutely insane.
Here begins my search for happiness.
So what the fuck is happiness? And why are we all so caught up in fantasising about our perfect lives, and then not getting up and doing anything about it? Because we're lazy, ignorant sons-of-bitches who need to learn where everything starts from and everything ends. There are, of course, those blessed few who have the drive to do it. Refuting my previous attempt at having a go at all of mankind. And there are others who couldn't really give a rat's cock. But, all in all, I'd say we're all just a bunch of non-existent losers with no motivation except what out heart is screaming at us to do.
Standing here still, in the below zero temperature. Grasping at my pockets trying to find the fucking lighter I know is in there somewhere. I adjust my hat, spinning it around to face the front, so as to shelter my cigarette from the persistent rain. I honestly didn't know the earth had the capacity to store this much water, let alone belt it down on a group of gangster looking teenagers in the middle of the night. Why we're on the street at the moment, I'll tell you later.
I love about people my age is that we all seem to be able to see things a lot differently to adults. We're always right, even if we're lying. We tend not to care if everything goes on around us, we can be happy just hovering in our corners bing sheltered from any kind of decision making, because that would take a few neurons more than we have to actually process the task, let alone fulfil the requirements of the result. Oh give me a break. We hate it. We hate that older people don't let us be who we are. This constant fear of rejection can push us so far into ourselves that to extract our minds we have to use tongs and a spatula.
Since this kind of thinking requires no actual train of thought, and mine is consistently succeeding in the action of derailment, I'm going to blurt out any shit that comes into my head, and then refer back to my predicament of being cold in the rain, trying to find my fucking lighter before the rain properly kills my cigarette. Not to mention the waiting. What we're waiting for isn't relevant yet.
My consciousness is currently marvelling at the fact that we collectively call 24 hours of time 'a day'. But then we spilt 'a day' into a morning, a midday, an after noon and a night. Then there's midnight. Lunchtime, dinner. All that. But we don't take into account how much we sleep. "Only so many hours in a day". Ok, sure, there are, but I slept for 7 of those. What in god's holy name am I thinking about NOW?
Then we have our weekends, don't get me started. I'm a bandie. Typical Donnas type. But I'd like to think I'm more of an Anti-Abercrombie political punker. I guess I do have a bad attitude. Probably because I have to live in this pathetic consumer driven society with absolutely nothing to offer me but a bigger TV [not saying no]. I like to kick people's asses for being bastards. Most people need someone to beat the shit out of them once or twice. But it's probably not my place to do it. Oh well. Not my problem if they have a low pain threshold. BEAT THE BARRIER!
-Third Person-
"Kennedy! God! Kennedy?!" Maria's distorted voice echoed through her mind space, wrenching her back into reality.
-Kennedy POV-
I looked around. My bedroom was at least 10 m x 6 m, imitation wood panelled walls, and fluffy carpet on the floor. Couch, TV, bed, desks, stereo, computer and phone. Everything I needed accept a sink to splash water on my face. There always seems to be an exception when I'm describing something. My life seems to be filled with not quites and almosts. Nobody ever noticed the cuts up and down my right forearm, or the fact that I cried myself to sleep every night. No matter really. I never wanted anyone to notice. But in the end someone did. She saw right through me and it made everything different. Everything I'd ever worked hard to conceal deep within myself, it all just came out and I just wanted it all to end. Then she again saved me. She saved me from what I wanted so much to do. She wrapped her arms around me and held me until the tears were all drained away. She said if I did it she'd have to as well, so as to make it hurting her in addition to me. She alone stood by my side when everything hurt so much I could've quietly curled up into a ball and rotted away into the nothingness that I felt was surrounding me. I was pulled away from the darkness that rested inside my mind and all around me. She's not here now. And I'm so lost I can't even find the ground to put my feet on.
We used to hate each other. We'd fight and bitch and scream until our throats were raw with blood and pain. I'd strike out and she'd strike back. It was the way we worked. But then one day the fresh pain seeped through my skin and everyone saw what I'd tried so hard to cover up. My one true inner sanctum. My haven. My own personal secret Eden. My tears.
She stared. Everyone thought I was insane. The 100 or so times I'd let myself succumb to weakness that made me feel more human than any medication ever could. I consoled myself in the faded non-reality of my dreams. But my life went on, even if I remained empty and so close to soulless, and I couldn't look at anything without feeling disgust well up in my stomach.
My existence was plagued my guilt and hatred, that no one could erase from my mind. I wandered around aimlessly, trying to think about anything but what I had become. It still made my brain throb and heart even heavier. There was never anything that made me feel better about who I was. Who I had allowed myself to become. What I had allowed myself to become. I was barely human anymore. To be human, it's required that you're alive. But then I realised that corpses were still classified as human, so I suppose that would make me one.
So I lived my life, lived it in music, in drawing, in uniformed pretend. My Lie. My Truth. But as I lived all I wanted, more and more each day, I knew my destiny was to die. I wanted to die. Most people would then call me suicidal. Another stupid label that just divides society that one step further into our own cataclysmic destruction. But I wasn't in anyway going to kill myself at that point, I just wanted someone else to do it for me. But there I was again, expecting other people to do everything for me.
So I turned away from my cutting. Turned away from the one thing we had together. Because when somebody dies there really is no point in holding onto them, because they're sure as hell not coming back to make you feel better. God's fucked up like that. It seems that life can't be fast- forwarded, erased or rewound. The amount of times I've craved some kind of difference in the monotony that had become my existence. I knew that without her I was nothing. I still know this. I am absolutely, completely and utterly nothing.
Burning, searing, anger raged through my veins, I had to throw up so violently that I thought my internal organs where going to explode with the force of it all. Then the floating. The eternal twists and turns, arrivals and departures, 2 years later and I still don't know what I'm doing.
But the fact that I can't breathe, my body twitching and convulsing with the intake of every breath and how much it hurts to look through my eyes. My eyes scalding me with flashes of my past, memories I wish would fade. Things that I'm not sure even happened becoming so real that I can't control the emotions that rush through me and find myself curling up into the foetal position again, just so the throbbing subsides, even just a little.
Someone, anyone. please just kill me.
-Third Person-
"KENNEDY!" The combination of Cera and Michael hollering at her brought her mind back down to planet earth again.
"My head." Kennedy squeaked out. The thoughts blaring around in her mind so blatantly not her own. Why was this all still inside her? Why wouldn't it go away? This burning, this all-destroying pain. "Make it stop, oh Lord, please make it STOP! Somebody's tearing my head apart."
The girl, helpless, curled up even tighter and started to cry.
-song-
Evanescence - My Immortal
I'm so tired of being here Suppressed by all my childish fears And if you want to leave I wish that you would just leave 'Cause your presence still lingers here And it won't leave me alone
These wounds won't seem to heal This pain is just too real There's just so much that time can not erase
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears You screamed I'd fight away all of your fears I've held your hand through all of these years You still have, all of me
You used to captivate me By your resonating light Now I'm bound by the life you left behind You're face it haunts my once pleasant dreams Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me
These wounds won't seem to heal This pain is just too real There's just so much that time can not erase
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears You screamed I'd fight away all of your fears I've held your hand through all of these years You still have, all of me
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone But though you're still with me, I've been alone all along
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears You screamed I'd fight away all of your fears I've held your hand through all of these years You still have, all of me
-end song-
"Why? Get out of my head. get out of me." Kennedy wailed, the meaning of her words lost in the translation to her best friends. It made them all wonder what she'd been hiding about her past that could cause this kind of reaction. It had to be bad.
The last image Kennedy saw, before she passed clean out, was the face of the astonishing red-headed angel laying on a floor so similar to the one she was currently encased in. She smiled and whispered, "Cotton case for an iron pill." Her final chuckle so bitter and heartless. So cold.
"Kennedy! Oh shit, what the hell?" Maria and Cera had just made their way to the top of the stairs, after a heavy make out session it seemed by their tousled appearances. Maria was standing stock still, mouth agape while Cera rushed forward and knelt down beside Kennedy. Shock was obviously reverberating through Kennedy's entire body as she took on the appearance of an epileptic on cocaine, shaking and convulsing.
Kennedy gripped at her head, shuddering and gasping for air. Her hands running down her neck, sweat dripping from her arms and forehead, tears coursing down her contorted face. Pain resonating from even pore of her body she started muttering, "Blonde hair. white light. blood. BLOOD EVERYWHERE! Blonde. beautiful. whispering. blessed. be." She forced the last word out through a cough.
As suddenly as it started, it ceased. Kennedy curled her body into the foetal position and began to rock back and forth. The raging ache still ripping her muscles into nothingness. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she wen out cold.
-Kennedy POV-
So we wait. And it's cold, it's raining, and we're all sick of waiting. So we wait. My Mother tells me, almost on a regular basis that life is all about waiting, and taking the opportunities that present themselves. Well, this could be interpreted in so many different ways. You could always just sit on your ass and stare at the TV, or get out into the world, stand and fight for what you believe. You could even just work yourself into the ground and then in 20 years find yourself exactly where you started. I think that's why my Mother didn't belt me on the head when I was born. She's so full of wisdom, but lacks the stories that put her wisdom into practise. I love my Mother.
But we're here. Freezing, pissed off and generally kinda moody. It's dark, the rain beats down around us like bullets in Iraq. Nothing seems to be moving except this torrent of wind and chilling water. For a moment the world allows itself to rest. I wish I could just go to sleep.
22 hours ago I saw myself in 20 years. Sitting with my fucked up friends, drunk off my face, still searching for a meaning in a futile existence that has none. And my revelation was that I'm not going to turn out like everyone's expecting me to. My life can't be ordinary, because I'm not ordinary. And I know I deserve better than what my life seems to be giving me at this stage. But I need to find what it is inside me that's allowing me to tear myself apart, and I think this is what I need to do.
So with this stagnant numbness settling on my limbs, I finally feel like I can fly. Something of a revelation filling my lungs with fresh air. I can finally breathe again. In my previous life I'd never run out of things to say. My mind would always me working and I'd drive the people around me absolutely insane.
Here begins my search for happiness.
So what the fuck is happiness? And why are we all so caught up in fantasising about our perfect lives, and then not getting up and doing anything about it? Because we're lazy, ignorant sons-of-bitches who need to learn where everything starts from and everything ends. There are, of course, those blessed few who have the drive to do it. Refuting my previous attempt at having a go at all of mankind. And there are others who couldn't really give a rat's cock. But, all in all, I'd say we're all just a bunch of non-existent losers with no motivation except what out heart is screaming at us to do.
Standing here still, in the below zero temperature. Grasping at my pockets trying to find the fucking lighter I know is in there somewhere. I adjust my hat, spinning it around to face the front, so as to shelter my cigarette from the persistent rain. I honestly didn't know the earth had the capacity to store this much water, let alone belt it down on a group of gangster looking teenagers in the middle of the night. Why we're on the street at the moment, I'll tell you later.
I love about people my age is that we all seem to be able to see things a lot differently to adults. We're always right, even if we're lying. We tend not to care if everything goes on around us, we can be happy just hovering in our corners bing sheltered from any kind of decision making, because that would take a few neurons more than we have to actually process the task, let alone fulfil the requirements of the result. Oh give me a break. We hate it. We hate that older people don't let us be who we are. This constant fear of rejection can push us so far into ourselves that to extract our minds we have to use tongs and a spatula.
Since this kind of thinking requires no actual train of thought, and mine is consistently succeeding in the action of derailment, I'm going to blurt out any shit that comes into my head, and then refer back to my predicament of being cold in the rain, trying to find my fucking lighter before the rain properly kills my cigarette. Not to mention the waiting. What we're waiting for isn't relevant yet.
My consciousness is currently marvelling at the fact that we collectively call 24 hours of time 'a day'. But then we spilt 'a day' into a morning, a midday, an after noon and a night. Then there's midnight. Lunchtime, dinner. All that. But we don't take into account how much we sleep. "Only so many hours in a day". Ok, sure, there are, but I slept for 7 of those. What in god's holy name am I thinking about NOW?
Then we have our weekends, don't get me started. I'm a bandie. Typical Donnas type. But I'd like to think I'm more of an Anti-Abercrombie political punker. I guess I do have a bad attitude. Probably because I have to live in this pathetic consumer driven society with absolutely nothing to offer me but a bigger TV [not saying no]. I like to kick people's asses for being bastards. Most people need someone to beat the shit out of them once or twice. But it's probably not my place to do it. Oh well. Not my problem if they have a low pain threshold. BEAT THE BARRIER!
-Third Person-
"Kennedy! God! Kennedy?!" Maria's distorted voice echoed through her mind space, wrenching her back into reality.
-Kennedy POV-
I looked around. My bedroom was at least 10 m x 6 m, imitation wood panelled walls, and fluffy carpet on the floor. Couch, TV, bed, desks, stereo, computer and phone. Everything I needed accept a sink to splash water on my face. There always seems to be an exception when I'm describing something. My life seems to be filled with not quites and almosts. Nobody ever noticed the cuts up and down my right forearm, or the fact that I cried myself to sleep every night. No matter really. I never wanted anyone to notice. But in the end someone did. She saw right through me and it made everything different. Everything I'd ever worked hard to conceal deep within myself, it all just came out and I just wanted it all to end. Then she again saved me. She saved me from what I wanted so much to do. She wrapped her arms around me and held me until the tears were all drained away. She said if I did it she'd have to as well, so as to make it hurting her in addition to me. She alone stood by my side when everything hurt so much I could've quietly curled up into a ball and rotted away into the nothingness that I felt was surrounding me. I was pulled away from the darkness that rested inside my mind and all around me. She's not here now. And I'm so lost I can't even find the ground to put my feet on.
We used to hate each other. We'd fight and bitch and scream until our throats were raw with blood and pain. I'd strike out and she'd strike back. It was the way we worked. But then one day the fresh pain seeped through my skin and everyone saw what I'd tried so hard to cover up. My one true inner sanctum. My haven. My own personal secret Eden. My tears.
She stared. Everyone thought I was insane. The 100 or so times I'd let myself succumb to weakness that made me feel more human than any medication ever could. I consoled myself in the faded non-reality of my dreams. But my life went on, even if I remained empty and so close to soulless, and I couldn't look at anything without feeling disgust well up in my stomach.
My existence was plagued my guilt and hatred, that no one could erase from my mind. I wandered around aimlessly, trying to think about anything but what I had become. It still made my brain throb and heart even heavier. There was never anything that made me feel better about who I was. Who I had allowed myself to become. What I had allowed myself to become. I was barely human anymore. To be human, it's required that you're alive. But then I realised that corpses were still classified as human, so I suppose that would make me one.
So I lived my life, lived it in music, in drawing, in uniformed pretend. My Lie. My Truth. But as I lived all I wanted, more and more each day, I knew my destiny was to die. I wanted to die. Most people would then call me suicidal. Another stupid label that just divides society that one step further into our own cataclysmic destruction. But I wasn't in anyway going to kill myself at that point, I just wanted someone else to do it for me. But there I was again, expecting other people to do everything for me.
So I turned away from my cutting. Turned away from the one thing we had together. Because when somebody dies there really is no point in holding onto them, because they're sure as hell not coming back to make you feel better. God's fucked up like that. It seems that life can't be fast- forwarded, erased or rewound. The amount of times I've craved some kind of difference in the monotony that had become my existence. I knew that without her I was nothing. I still know this. I am absolutely, completely and utterly nothing.
Burning, searing, anger raged through my veins, I had to throw up so violently that I thought my internal organs where going to explode with the force of it all. Then the floating. The eternal twists and turns, arrivals and departures, 2 years later and I still don't know what I'm doing.
But the fact that I can't breathe, my body twitching and convulsing with the intake of every breath and how much it hurts to look through my eyes. My eyes scalding me with flashes of my past, memories I wish would fade. Things that I'm not sure even happened becoming so real that I can't control the emotions that rush through me and find myself curling up into the foetal position again, just so the throbbing subsides, even just a little.
Someone, anyone. please just kill me.
-Third Person-
"KENNEDY!" The combination of Cera and Michael hollering at her brought her mind back down to planet earth again.
"My head." Kennedy squeaked out. The thoughts blaring around in her mind so blatantly not her own. Why was this all still inside her? Why wouldn't it go away? This burning, this all-destroying pain. "Make it stop, oh Lord, please make it STOP! Somebody's tearing my head apart."
The girl, helpless, curled up even tighter and started to cry.
-song-
Evanescence - My Immortal
I'm so tired of being here Suppressed by all my childish fears And if you want to leave I wish that you would just leave 'Cause your presence still lingers here And it won't leave me alone
These wounds won't seem to heal This pain is just too real There's just so much that time can not erase
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears You screamed I'd fight away all of your fears I've held your hand through all of these years You still have, all of me
You used to captivate me By your resonating light Now I'm bound by the life you left behind You're face it haunts my once pleasant dreams Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me
These wounds won't seem to heal This pain is just too real There's just so much that time can not erase
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears You screamed I'd fight away all of your fears I've held your hand through all of these years You still have, all of me
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone But though you're still with me, I've been alone all along
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears You screamed I'd fight away all of your fears I've held your hand through all of these years You still have, all of me
-end song-
"Why? Get out of my head. get out of me." Kennedy wailed, the meaning of her words lost in the translation to her best friends. It made them all wonder what she'd been hiding about her past that could cause this kind of reaction. It had to be bad.
The last image Kennedy saw, before she passed clean out, was the face of the astonishing red-headed angel laying on a floor so similar to the one she was currently encased in. She smiled and whispered, "Cotton case for an iron pill." Her final chuckle so bitter and heartless. So cold.