Moving on?

I've felt every minute of the last few days. Normally time would fly by (was I really having fun?) but it's in slow motion now.

I can't remember the last time I ate anything. Can the human body survive off cigarettes and coffee? I've this horrid taste in my mouth from these cigarettes. Cigarettes back in Sea-at-tel were much stronger, but also had more chemicals in them; maybe that's what made them more addicting.

I've had a few encounters with a gentleman named Imri. He keeps finding me at my usual spot at the cafe in Paris and striking up conversations about things I'm not ready to talk about. He's managed to seduce me into saying more than I should, especially since I've vowed not to trust anyone. In passing, he mentioned my friend Jorge from Sea-at-tel, and after much confusion, he admitted he played the Cards in reference to me and my situation. He has the Sight as well, and foretold some information that I can't quite take to heart. I can't believe I agreed to go to dinner and the Opera with him to learn this Telling. I don't even like the Opera! I know that Cards don't Tell names, and my distrust sunk in after hearing Jorge's name. I've since then written him a lovely note retracting my participation in this "date," and hope he takes no offense to it. I'm in no state to go on a social call.

I also feel guilty associating with Imri at the cafe. Memories of the past haunt me in this smoke and clatter-filled room, but I can't seem to tear myself away. There's a little heart carved into the table with a lopsided L & Z that I've tried to scratch out, but I guess his switchblade cut deeper than I can smudge out.

So I sit here in this cafe, staring at this dumb carving, and try to brainstorm ways to go back to Sea-at-tel. There has to be a way, and if I have to die trying, then so be it.

Comments

Imri said…
How very depressing. The first true friend to offer themselves comes along and you don't know what do do with it. I suppose I can't fault you too much -- you have come to expect the worst from people because you've seen nothing but the worst of them for a long time.
1:23 PM
Zillah said…
Stay.
8:01 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Goodbye

Image
I've come to realize that I've been used. You doesn't really care for me as you claim. Hell, you never claimed. You only griped and complained about my actions. So goodbye, Zillahface. Relationships are not important to you, and you aren't afraid to express that. That's ok... for you. That's not ok for me. You've disappeared for long periods of time, only to be condescending and threatening to me when you come back. I'm not an expert at relationships, but my ideal man would miss me, and show it. I've been nothing but accepting to your ways, and might I add they are not the norm. You said I'd be back. No, you'll be back. Lime.
Read more

Gypsy Down for the Count

Image
I had another friend that I trapped in my cottage. An older gypsy woman by the name of Sway. She liked to sway around, so I guess that's how she got her name. And don't ask me about my obsession in trapping people in my house. It's not that I trap them, I just kind of lock the door so they can't get out. Anyways, me and Sway got along real great. She'd be there hanging out in my garden practicing little jigs, and here I'd come and jump in on the dancing. I'm hoping that someday I can use the little hip tricks she taught me to seduce some boys. I must admit that she did distract me from my fire-dancing practice. She had no interest in such things, she said. She felt that it would singe her hairdo, and some gypsies won't ever risk that. But then the ... i want to say inevidable... happened. She was slaughtered. In front of my eyes. The murderer callous and irrational. Of course, he didn't care. Apparently I'm not allowed to have friends, no matter ...
Read more

Easy Does It

Image
I wasn't afraid to kill myself. Not in the least. It would have been easy to just slip into the bathtub at the cottage, and not come back up for air. Or just bleed into my freshly growing flowers that are starting to grow back in the garden. Ironic no? Taking life on fresh life. It was easy to envision. Some wandering soldier (since there's so many that like to trifle through my things) would come into my home, find my corpse, and raise the alarm. Oh no, another gypsy dead. Not like there aren't handfuls of them around Romania. And they'd take my body to the waste and dump it with all the other unidentified bodies. Some sentimental fool would come to my house and out of respect, burn my house to the ground. I would have liked that. Hey, I'm still thinking of just burning down my house for sport. It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. The letter wasn't a cry for help, it was a declaration of what I was to do. I was ready. Completely. But m...
Read more