I was alive, under a ray of gleaming sunshine, surrounded by a crowd of people sullied by the joys their money brings. I felt contempt in their eyes as I begged beside the concrete placings that lined the avenue. The air was thick and bleak, the sky covered in the same gray undertone. It was as if the gods were taunting me.
It was cruel to be subjected into the chasms of poverty. Certainly, in this story, I am the rat crawling under dirt ridden rags to find a block of dank and rotten cheese. Bound by the insignificance the miniature size gives, bound by the vice grips of authority. Although it was treacherous, it was a desperate effort for me to gather pennies by pennies to have something my sister, my mother and I could eat.
From the start, it was my brother and I who were indoctrinated into a family who, as a derivative of their anger, expelled us from the house. My mom worked as a waitress in a local bar feeding herself every other day and gets water from the faucets in the downtown public washrooms. My dad was a drunkard who, under the pretenses of love, impregnated my mother only to later have two failed abortions, me and Charlotte.
Charlotte sung songs aloud to keep us from falling asleep from hunger. Her continuous humming led me astray in thought as I wandered from thought to thought.
At one point, I was a knight who assumed the posture akin to Adonis, saving the princess from the fearsome black dragon which engulfed the steel gates of the castle on fire. Charlotte nudged me, as I found myself awoken at the top of her lap.
The unwithering gaze she gave me was joy that obliterated any absurdity that incurs as a result of the lack of inherent meaning found within me. I was certain that surely this was happiness.
As Charlotte and I were nearing the slums, a large commotion was seemingly apparent. We hurried and had found two guards rearing the end of the concrete walls.
As soon as I saw my mother, I dashed and was met by a sword of length that sliced my ear.
I stared at the guard, falling to my knees.
He looked at me unfazed and held no remorse for me.
My mother had an uncanny expression and I was cognizant of the face the guard held to me.
Slowly, my eyes wane as I question the face of my father and the lengths he would take to curse us into an eternity of torture.
Our lives have twisted inside and out in just a moment.
We head south unknowingly passing through the river.
We eat whatever is available whether it be bugs or plants.
While setting up camp near the river, we talk honestly. Where we both trade sentiments to fill up the emptiness that resides within us, whether it carried any importance wasn’t important.
“I want to see them again,” Charlotte says despairingly, where now it is clear that we are both grief-stricken and are forced into an honest conversation about absurdism.
We are both under the moonlight where it is not gleaming but raining.
“Don’t ever let go,” she whispered softly.
Suddenly, fairies surround us dancing among the tiny droplets of rain, calming mezzo-piano plays in the background.
As each chord progresses, I hear the rain droplets crashing harder and harder. I then lie on the head of her lap, gathering any residual warmth her body had to offer.
I can recall that in the festival, I’d offer my chocolate for a pat on the head, it was a nostalgic sensation.
When I felt the warmth from her body, I knew that she was truly dying from pain and anguish.
I slept in the calming serenity that the warmth of her lap brought.
As I wake, I look at my side to see no one beside me. I was under the pale sun, burning my skin as I lie on a marble bench.
I hear humming that soothes me. It brushes my hair as I find myself relying on it for comfort.
She cradles me but as I look up to see my mother, I was surrounded by the greenery alike to the hanging gardens of Babylon.
The most seductive feature were the manicured trees that resided by a lake filled with various plants much akin to classical gardens and was lined with limestone and gneiss.
The garden was an imaginative and refined work of art, but one thing it lacked was the warmth of Charlotte’s lap.
It felt cold. It lacked neither humanity nor meaning. It was a timeless encapsulation.
It was both heaven and hell and it reeked of uncertainty and death.
Literature by Anima
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