Death Does Not Become Me....

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Green Eyes

Magic. Oh how I miss magic. I know now what Zillah meant when he said I shouldn't use my magic here. These people from the future wouldn't understand, they'd panic. My voice can't muster the spellwords, anyways, even when I try hard to think of them and bring them to life.

Patrick, my dear friend, procured me a set of fire poi. He had seen my entranced stare at a couple of street performers, and presented them knowing somehow that they would make me happy. I'd often sit in my cardboard shanty and hold them, feeling the leather grip, the linked chain, and the coarse fabric that was used as a wick. I'm not sure how Patrick found them, or could afford them for that matter, but they were the one thing I carried with me everywhere. At night, I'd find a secluded place and swing them about, tensing and stretching out muscles I'd forgotten existed. Swinging them around into curlicues, sweeps, and twists was the closest to magic I could muster.

It was on such a night, when I was lost in the reverie of the dance, when a subtle light caught my eye. A misty glow filled the air, scattered orbs that floated about lazily like fireflies coalesced to the spot right before me. Then the greenest of the green stared back at me, a soft child's face framed by dark locks. She was young with such innocent eyes, and she let out a little giggle and smile when she looked up at me.

"It's you, what are you doing here?" she mouthed, my voice coming forth from those little pert lips. My... voice? She clutched something tightly in her little fist, which she opened slowly, exposing my amber nose ring. She smiled down at it, then looked back up at me. The flickering glowing halo that surrounded her brightened, and she slowly disappeared, still grinning at me with those lime-colored eyes.

Lime scrawled again at 1:46 PM 0 remarks...

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Sea-at-tel Proper

There are so many people in this town that look like those that are in the Party. Multi-coloured hair, stylish but crazy clothing, metal piercings and tatoos on all visible spots of flesh... I fit in pretty well. Somewhere along the way, though, I had lost my nosering. Better it gone anyways, with all the memories it held.

At the encampment, we’d play games like Charades. It’s a game where you gesture a predetermined word or phrase, and there’s no speaking involved. The other team, the guessers, had to yell out what they thought you were trying to gesture. I became very good at gesturing, at trying to relay what I was saying with my body language, but on the guessing end, I was horrible. I knew the answers, but I couldn’t just pipe up.

The days were interesting. The future is filled with things I never thought possible. Everyone walks around with these little boxes up to their ears and talk to no one visible. There’s electricity everywhere, and even more litter on the ground. The days are rainy, and I spend a lot of time in my cardboard paradise. The younger boys in the Derelicts bring me presents all the time, little baubles and flowers. I only put them on display to appease them, even though they are nice, presents just don’t mean the same to me anymore.

My favorite spot is by the boardwalk, where I tease the seagulls with my gestures to throw up food... even though I have none. Well, ok, sometimes I feed them, but I have to get my kicks somehow. One day, a boy about my age, Jorge, wanted to bring me to a seafood restaurant. He seemed nice and all and said he would pay. So we get to the restaurant, and everyone stops and stares at me as if I was from a different world. But some things never change, and I still don’t care what others think. We sit down at a lovely table, and he orders a bottle of wine. The waiter asks for our... “Idee” cards.

I gestured to Jorge that I didn’t understand what this Idee card is, with a well practiced look of confusion. Jorge glanced over embarrassed, “It’s a card that says who you are.”

I shrugged, frustrated that I couldn’t just say, “I know who I am, can’t you just look at me and see who I am? I mean, c’mon, who would confuse me with someone else?” So, we didn’t get our wine, but it was then that I realized I was starting to have a hard time understanding this future place.

Lime scrawled again at 6:26 AM 0 remarks...

Sunday, June 17, 2007

In the Caravan

It took awhile to recognize that when they said "Zeph," they were refering to me. I would have giggled had I the voice to, when I heard them tangle my name into all sorts of sounds. The general consensus was "Zeph" in the end, since it was the easiest.

It was a few weeks before my smiles became more genuine. The Derelicts called me one of their own. They were especially pleased to learn that I wasn't afraid to pickpocket those in crowds that seemed to have heavy wallets. It was so easy, because I would just limp slowly down the sidewalks, since it still hurt to move, and oblivious pedestrians would walk on past, not realizing they had lost something precious. Alcohol was abundant on nights that I brought home a big profit, but it still didn't suppress the pain. Physical pain I didn't mind, but my heart still felt as broken as it had the second I saw ... them.

Patrick had asked me on occasion if I wanted to go back home. The only response I could give him were sad eyes and a slight shake of my newfound white dreadlocks. He could read me so well, and put his arm around me and say in his gruff but gentle voice, "Oy, Zeph, you're one of us now, ya can't be leavin' anyways." At night, he would tell grand stories of his adventures under bridges, and dodging "authorities," and taking medicines similar to opium. It sadly reminded me of Uncle Tio... which brought me to thoughts of my sister Kizzie and my caravan back in Romania. They were lost... and I was a million years away. But there's no turning back, and I've settled into my new life. I blend into the sea of dirty smiles. Here I belong, here no one will hurt me or stamp all over my feelings. Here I am new.

Lime scrawled again at 11:18 AM 1 remarks...

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Tzafirah

My friends took me in readily and happily. They brought me to a nice, green park with a magnificent view where cliffs met the ocean. I washed up carefully, noticing that my wounds were healing more quickly than they had before... youknowwhat had happened. They were all smiles and ogles as we paced slowly back to the encampment, acting like they'd never seen a girl before.

The Derelicts made me a nice structure out of cardboard and other miscellany items. Someone had even drawn a picture of a curtained window on the side of the cardboard with chalk, to make it a bit more festive, I suppose. But it was a place to rest my head and dwell. Dwelling on my past turned my stomach in knots. Soon, I was unable to tolerate the thoughts running through my brain, the visions that I don't even want to mention, and had to leave my little ramshackle hut to be among my new caravan.

Very few questions were asked, but I couldn't muster the voice to answer them. I had to write in the dirt with a stick, or spell words with pebbles. They wanted to know my name, and I gave them my birth name, a name no one knew back home. No one could pronounce it properly, but Patrick, the Derelict that found me, said it perfectly.

Tzafirah.

Lime scrawled again at 4:45 AM 0 remarks...

Saturday, June 02, 2007

Derelicts

"Aye, girl!"

A gruff man with disheveled hair and ratty, holey clothes waved at me, trying to get my attention.

"Yeah, you!" He motioned for me to come towards him when he caught my eye. I tentatively walked over, concentrating on each step since the pain lingered. As I cleared the distance between us, he looked me over, noticing the deep red smeared all over my person.

"Dear lass! You've got blood all over!" he flailed with wide eyes. I caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath when he stooped over to catch me in my faint.

When I came to, I was sprawled out on a pile of cardboard and newspapers. Seeing newspapers reminded me of him. How he'd drink his coffee, and turn the pages of the paper just so without burning it with his cigarette. What a way to start the day, thinking of how that bastard lied and cheated! I looked around, seeing a struggling fire in a metal basin, and the old guy in rags sitting across from me, eating a bruised banana.

"You hurt yourself pretty bad back there. Luckily I saw ya before them police did. They'da taken ya back to the station and asked ya a million questions." He paused, stuffing another wad of brown banana in his mouth, then continued, mouth-full, "We don't take kindly to too many questions 'round here. Welcome to the Derelicts! The largest union of Homeless in Seattle U. S. of A.!"

Some hoots and hollers followed suit, and I realized I was in an encampment of people, all dressed like my new Derelict friend. It was just like the caravan...

Lime scrawled again at 10:41 AM 2 remarks...

Friday, May 25, 2007

Is This What Happens After Death?

The world was dark, almost a shade of blood red. No wait, it was blood red. Blood had seeped into my eyes, shading my vision from the look of horror upon that bitch's face... and his.

It was over. His dry and cold heart was gone and I had let it go. I never realized that he had let his heart stray. I knew he had his... escapades... but he always came home. I had turned into what my mother had always warned against. Don't nag your man about the other women, she said. It's a part of life. But he actually said the word ... love... in reference to her. He had never said it with me. I suppose it was just understood. And a child... they were to bear a child together, and they were... excited.

Beyond that, I knew any breath I took from that moment on was wasted. There's a satisfaction in terminating your own life, that release of not having to worry about anything anymore. You can only do it once the correct way, and there's no turning back.

I found myself not dead, but in an alley. Realizing I wasn't dead and in the pits of fiery Hell confused me. The alley around me loomed, filling its stench in my nose. It was just as dirty as the one in London, if not worse, and others had spraypainted the walls in a hand I could never compare to. Blood had followed me. It was on my clothes, which were the same I had worn in London, and in my hair. My eyes widened as I noticed my hair was no longer black with coloured streaks, but white. I went to shriek, noticing the pain had lingered, that my heart felt as if it were bursting. No breath with substance would come out.

Panic Panic Panic

I shuffled up, amazed that I could stand. How am I... alive? The paint splattered brick wall was my support, and it felt as real as anything. A few timid steps later to the end of the alley, and I saw it. The Space Needle.

Lime scrawled again at 5:27 PM 3 remarks...

Monday, March 05, 2007

Lime is Dead

Goodbye.
I love you all.

Lime scrawled again at 6:05 AM 8 remarks...

death does not become me ...