Friday, May 10, 2019
Who are you? A new face appears...
She stumbles into the room, clothed entirely in black. Her face a distorted expression of exasperation and trepidation. She catches a quick glimpse of me and I see loathing in her eyes. "I am anger." She sneers at me. Anger picks up the vase where 18 white roses had wilted and hurls it towards the wall shattering, it into jagged pieces. Water trickling down the wall, pooling onto the floor. Seemingly unsatisfied she pics up a picture, holds it in her hands a moment. I think I see a tear in her eye as she too hurls it at the wall. Again, the shattering of glass and the jagged edges fall along the floor.
She wails loud guttural sounds, sounds I have never before heard. "There is nothing left here!" she roars. "I want to burn this place to the ground!" Her fists swing into the air, punching at imaginary demons, she slams her hands against the walls of the tiny room. "F*ck this! F*ck life! I can't do this anymore!" I stand back in the corner as not to provoke her. She is ferocious, snarling her teeth at me, "I hate you!" "I know," I whisper.
She sits down, the strap of her black dress sliding down her shoulder, her shaking hands try to light a cigarette. She grits her teeth and inhales her smoke quickly, she throws her head back and lets the smoke blow from her mouth forming a cloud over her head. This exhale is the tiniest sense of relief I have seen her allow. I cautiously sit down next to her, her face weary and I see droplets forming in her eyes. I'm intimidated, nervous to say the wrong thing. I sit with her in silence, she continues to put the cigarette to her lips and each exhale she let's go a little more.
Black streaks of makeup now smeared down her pale face. She lets them flow, never breaking to wipe them away. Her gnarled face, now more tender. she slides down in the chair, her chin towards the ceiling, she slumps back, her long hair hanging down the back of the chair. She doesn't make eye contact again, her words float up towards the ceiling. "I don't know how much more I can take" her wails, now whispers. She isn't talking to me, my purpose is just to observe. There aren't any words for me to say if she had wanted me to say anything anyway.
She let's go, her body completely slumped back into the chair. She stares blankly at the ceiling, her eyes are vacant, lost. Her body gives in, surrenders, she slides onto the floor. Her back against the chair, tears cascading down her face. She is breaking down and I am seeing through her veil. "Who are you REALLY?" I ask her gently. Without making eye contact she quietly divulges, "My name is Grief."
on May 10, 2019