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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
EXPECTATIONS
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Today's Document
will byers stan first human second
Discoholic đȘ©
Aqua Utopiaïœæ”·ăźćșă§èšæ¶ă玥ă
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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KIROKAZE
#extradirty
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Love Begins
NASA
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@parisblacktea-blog
Recently Graduated, or Recently Unemployed?
The title should say it all, the problem plaguing our new graduates at this day and age, is we are all over educated and all under employed.
This is coming from someone who has been actively searching and applying to jobs since I graduated in 2012 â and as I am still complaining, you can see I am still unemployed.
This problem is fast growing and fast becoming realised by students in their finalâŠ
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She Can't Motivate Herself.
She Canât Motivate Herself.
âI havenât written in awhileâ She says like it makes a difference.Â
âI guess I have just been busyâŠâ Continually, she tryâs to convince herself its for a reason and not just lack of motivation â or that annoying word people use nowadays âdriveâ. She has no drive, as if sheâs going to put her foot to the peddle and smash through a book at 100km/h.
âSometimes I question, should I bother? Or is allâŠ
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Elements
Elements http://wp.me/s3m1FR-elements
Her eyes were drooping, sleep forcefully taking over. But her mind kept ticking, rolling on like thunder.
Thoughts spiralled, whipping up the settled dust They engulfed her, dragging her closer to the mental cusp.
She tried to shut them out, but her head kept quaking splitting her temples in two, the walls gave up their shaking.
Her heart joined in, raising panic in waves, flushing over herâŠ
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Winter Blues
(Blazer - Marcs, Skirt - Les Petits, Shirt - Husk, Boots - Paul Green, Bag - Vintage)
I love wearing silk shirts. They are easy and you can dress them up or down without too much hassle. I donât often play around with textures and prints and although tweed is not technically a print, I thought Id give it a try. Result? I love!
I got this skirt in Lyon, the shop had so many to die for pieces I walked out with about 3 shopping bags⊠oops.Â
Buddha Bar - FlashBack
If you reside within Europe you are probably all too familiar with this franchise, but as a kiwi it was well worth a write up.
I went to Buddha bar first in Monte Carlo to fill up on some of their specialty cocktails.
I didnât get the full experience until heading to the one in Saint Germain, Paris. Although when in France you should be eating baguettes, cheese and snails I would highly recommend changing the base with some Asian inspired food from Buddha bar.
Not only is everything so delicious, the atmosphere is just next level â I may be a little bias (as an absolute lover of every thing Buddhist related) â but a two story golden Buddha certainly made my mouth drop.
This place is a little pricey, but well worth the money spent.
Love My Boyfriends
(Jeans - One Teaspoon ~ Top - Alice McCall ~ Shoes - Beau Coops)
I hate using the word âtrendâ but I suppose you could say boyfriend jeans are very trendy. As here in kiwi-land we are officially in autumn, they are the perfect way to ease into covered legs for winter.
Despite the slouchy look, I donât think there is anything sexier ⊠plus they are possibly the most comfortable pair of jeans I have ever owned. So much so I am plotting to buy the same pair in another colour. Why not?Â
Monaco - FlashBack
 (Image one: Walkway by the Palace - wearing Decjuba silk maxi dress, Country Road leather belt and Arlington Milne leather bag with Converse shoes ~ Image two: Hidden beaches along the coast ~ Image three: Private wharf  - one of the many places to see super yachts bigger than your house ~ Image four: Monte Carlo Casino step - wearing Ricochet sequin dress with Arlington Milne Clutch)
By far one of the most gorgeous places I have ever been too, Monaco really lives up to its lavish reputation. Picking the tourists, from the people who clearly were meant to be here, could be done in a glance. Determined not to be noticed as the latter, I made sure to leave the fanny pack and the map behind. Strutting around the streets of Monte Carlo like I owned the place â except my bank account was a few billion short of being a true part of this principality.
Mediterranean beaches, designer stores and roof top bars (Check out the Billionaires Club if your in town, incredible views, with a generous selection of champagnes to choose from) what more could you possibly want from a place?Â
A silk dress and unfortunately a pair of converse â as on this particular trip these were the only shoes I bought with me â was my choice for daytime attire. âEffortlessâ was the look I was going for, though the heat made that exceptionally difficult.
Come night we made sure to put our best foot forward, though I was still regrettably stuck with the converse shoes amongst glamazons in 6inch stiletto heels. Sequin mini dress from New Zealand designer Ricochet shown in front of Monte Carlo Casino (excuse the instagram snap, no cameras permitted in the Casino, which I may add is far more decadent than the Palace itself).Â
Next time I'll make sure I come prepared with a bigger suitcase. Â
Eavesdrop Conspiracy
The cold, chrome chair that I uncomfortably placed myself onto, offered no relief from the tedious wait I anticipated. Three minutes late for the train. Now 40 minutes early for the next. IPod dead, book finished, nothing to do but wait.
I shut my eyes and listened to the sounds around me, they mainly consisted of people walking, people talking and the echoâs that followed. Useless jabber,âŠ
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Noire
Noire http://wp.me/s3m1FR-noire
Recently graduated, or recently unemployed, regardless I found myself plunged into the disappointment of an uncertain future and an empty bank account.
With everyone I know returning to the grind, not only did I have no purpose, it seemed as if I had no one in the same situation.
For the third night in a row I lay on my bed looking at the celling on the verge of tears. The realisation that theâŠ
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Stuck
Stuck http://wp.me/s3m1FR-stuck
They fight like children, hidden under the veils of night time silence. They donât think. The urgent voices heard through the shelter of the dark. Gripping at the last word as each defamatory leaves their lips. Parted and close but never touching. They part ways with earthquake steps, Rigid beings, forced together but wanting to run. To the hills, to the horizon, if only to grasp onto peace ofâŠ
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Lingers
Lingers http://wp.me/s3m1FR-lingers
Traipse the outline, never quite committing. Dance upon the senses, Im Battling flutters and Turmoil curdling insides. You Build me up slowly, Writhing in felicity, I clutch on to you, Clawing your back, Forcing you to melt Into me, but still, The tips only touching. Just Keep Lingering on my skin.
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The Door
The Door
She was looking at him expectantly, eyes cast downward; her shadowy figure looming over what little height he had.
                 âWould you like some more dear?â Her melancholy voice hushed singsong words over his head.
                 âYes please.â His response came instantly, as if it were predetermined.
 His face attempted to hold composure, stomach churning at the thought of forcingâŠ
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Tiger Tiger
Tiger Tiger
The little girl stood there mesmerized. Her scruff of brown curly hair swayed with her small frame. She continued to look out the window, mouth agape and eyes wide. Her tiny hands gripped the wooden banisters, as if they were supporting her from whatever shocking vision she had just witnessed.
The mother, tall and slender, approached her from behind, lifting her up and placing her on her hip intoâŠ
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Too Much Thought
Too Much Thought
TRAIN STATION -Â LATE NIGHT/EARLY MORNING
 MAN ONE is sitting on a bench. There is a lot of noise from crowds of people in the background. The only lighting is the fluorescents on in the station â everything has an eerie glow. The camera faces him straight on.
 A train on its way down the tracks, getting louder as it comes closer. The screen is then engulfed by the image of carriages passing atâŠ
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Beautiful Chaos
We stood, clutching the cold bars, swaying with the fast movement and falling into complete strangers. I inched closer to Him, leaning softly against his broad shoulders. The curve of his back ebbed and stiffened as the steel cart rattled along the tracks, I pushed myself closer, resting my forehead on his torso. It was hot. My clothes clung to every curve, sticky with the daysâ residue. The cart came to a screeching halt. The force flings your body, each person who wasnât able to sit would stumble, standing on others feet, standing on their own, until balanced was regained and the automatic doors creaked open. This journey we were in for the long haul, nine whole stops. The nameless crowds of faces rushed past to get out of the doors before the timer went and they beeped themselves closed again. A space cleared, I grabbed his hand, warmth on warmth for the middle of the summers night. I sat down first, and encouraged him to sit next to me. Though I suspected he preferred surfing the movements as the carts snaked around each bend. I closed my eyes. But didnât let go of his hand. We started moving what felt like backwards and forwards simultaneously. A small voice from the other side started muttering to himself, insensibly in disjointed French. Speaking manically repeating himself in disdain as he battled with his own inner torment, recently disillusioned, but stuck in a loop playing over in his mind. Next I heard a twining violin, it came and went in intensity as I assume the player lost balance. The two morphed together like a poorly stitched song, chaos kept in time by each screech of the metros wheels, tackling the corners with a familiar aggression that couldnât be denied. My head swayed in time as the violin reached its crescendo, the anonymous player, plucking the strings for his own heartbreak. Yet a subtle sobbing edged its way into my ear canals from a woman close by, seemed to suggest he was playing for everyoneâs heartbreak. And Parisians loved to love. I opened my eyes again to find the one whose hand was still attached to mine looking at me, interested. The woman crying was sitting opposite us, she fiddled with her thumbs, listening to the song. Each minor bought along a new set of tears that cascaded down her face. I looked away and back into his eyes. The muttering man had now began to hum along with the surrounding noises, it sounded like the song was stuck in my head, it seemed too intimate to be coming from a complete stranger, too personal to be in the exterior. A glimpse of a kiss in the far right propelled my head to face them. A young couple, clutching onto each other as if they would sink into the steel floorboards, amongst the years of foot prints and grime, if they let go. Iâve never known such a desperate love, they seemed oblivious to the sadness surrounding them and only seemed to take into account the exultant notes our entertainer would play for us. The girl giggled as he leaned in closer and whispered some âsweet nothingsâ into her ear. I gagged. I wanted to pop their bubble. My companion grabbed my hand again, and forced me to look back at His face. It was un-assuming, it was static and frustratingly I could not read what lay behind it. Our eyes lingered for a moment, speaking with our pupils. I was first to pull away, in fear we would be like the sickening couple â oblivious to the world. The squealing scratched through the background noise, disrupting the symposium of street sounds. Our heads thrust forward as the cart came to another sudden halt. The coupled dashed off, still not breaking eye contact. The mumbling man muttered his way through to the door. He dragged his left leg with him as he walked, laboured in his movements. Broken mind and broken body, I yearned to know his story. The violinist stayed aboard, ready to keep our metro soundtrack going. The woman crying seemed to sink lower into her seat, as she let her heartbreak wash over her, melting the little composure she had left. Before we reared off into the darkness of the tracks, a tall lady bounded on the train, jumping through the door before it shut tight. She grabbed on to one of the polls in the centre and swung her self around it, her eyes lolled into the back of her head, ash-blonde, matted hair falling over her face. When the train started to move again, she lost her balance completely and stumbled backwards falling into an old man in the corners lap. She made a noise of shock, laughed loudly and smiled at him. Uncertain of what to do, the manâs eyes starred blankly at her, wide with surprise. He blinked, she laughed again. Nothing could rip away at her spirits. She stood up off his lap, tugged at her little shorts and latched herself back onto the poll and continued to twirl. Now we have a pole dancer to add to this underground party. Though the music playing did not quite match her swaying style. I watched her throw her body around the carriage, her movements were loose and free, seemingly unaware of the bystanders, or the fact the carriage was moving. Him and I looked at each other again, without words we understood perfectly the others thoughts; sheâs influenced. His eyes smiled with satisfaction, though his mouth did not move to join them. He bit his lip, chewing at it as he his gaze faded and his mind wandered elsewhere. He did that a lot, starred blankly, not really seeing. His thoughts must be interesting. A man, unnoticed previously, was looking at the girl intently. His eyes were dark, glistening with possession as she continued to spin. He stood up, relinquishing his seat to the crowds and lurked his way next to her. His face was rough, uneven skin morphed over his features â almost like a mask. He wormed his way through the people and slid up next to her. Upon her next twirl, her body was thrust into his. She stumbled backwards and his arms wrapped themselves around her, clutching on tightly. My companion touched my face, turning it to his. The heat from his hand spread over my profile, already steaming. I let my eyes linger on him briefly, then turned back to watch the scene. So engrossed with these new eccentrics, I could barely hear the music from our entertainer anymore. The two of them, woman and man, now stood talking to each other in French. Though my skills were limited to the classroom, I tried to listen. She seemed confused, racking her brain for recognition. In comparison, he was jovial, reassuring her soothingly, his sly smile creeping up the corners of his face. No conclusion was reached before the train touched its next stop. The blonde, inebriated girl turned and bounded through the doors, not looking behind her once. The man on the other hand, looked around himself nervously, and slid off to follow. Slightly panicked I watched through the window. A new character had materialised at the stop. Sitting on a chair he got up to greet the intoxicated woman and they embraced. The man from the train was nowhere to be seen, vanished into the night now that his conquest would be in vain. Relieved, I turned to look at my companion as we took off through another tunnel. The crying woman had silenced herself, she now sat with her head between her knees, unmoving. Had she given in? âWhat are you doing?â he looked at me accusingly as he spoke. âI am watchingâ I smiled at him again, and he shook his head in a mock disapproval. âWhat can you see then?â His tone was testing, teasing me. âEverything.â I lay my hand on his thigh, feeling his skin, his warmth. Four stops down, five more left. Riding this chaotic circus home, I sunk further into the chair, waiting for the next show to begin, our musician picking up his bow and playing his next tune.
Reliving a Nightmare
Reliving a nightmare. le cauchemar vivant. la vraie vie She sat upright suddenly, stiff, eyes wide â a deer in the headlights. The vacant expression emphasized her melting facial composure, gaunt features seeping through her taught skin. The pallor that had set in seemed like that of a living nightmare. Her head twitched from side to side, as she scanned the room, Bed-hair sticking upright upon her head as if electrocuted out of a dream. Shoulders rounded, hiding any figure beneath the loose, worn t-shirt that seemed to cling to her unforgivingly. Her head bowed slowly. A small tear escaped from her right eye and trailed down her cheek, landing on the crisp white sheets that covered her slim figure. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut, little wrinkles formed around the corners of her watery globes and above her brow. The sunken mouth gripping tightly to the little control it had left. No one could see her, she was alone in the unnaturally darkened room, but she struggled with keeping her equanimity. She shook her head solemnly and sat still. Brow furrowed, and face twisting with anguish. She sat for what seemed like an eternity, writhing in a physical pain that she couldnât escape. Eventually the rough concrete features of her face relaxed as she slumped slowly back under the sheets. Pulling them up over her face, hiding from the monsters beneath her bed. The teardrop stain had dried, as her body slowly gave into the jaws of sleep, crumbling under the weight of her duvet. le rĂȘve She lay asleep, beautifully positioned in her turquoise pedestal, Midnight red velvet encasing her frame. Gold dust settled upon her eyelids, so heavy in slumber. I had painted them with colours so many times. They never ran when she cried. Her hands were placed elegantly together, sitting on her lower stomach, clutching the scent that she dosed herself in daily. Each of her long nails painted perfectly. Liquid gold to match her sparkling eyes. Her pointer on her right hand encased in a bandage â a prick from a spindle. Her face as white as snow with burnt orange brushed on her cheeks, as she lay, still, asleep. I sat next to her, un-phased by her lack of movement. It was normal, someone sleeping didnât necessarily have to move. I myself lay perfectly still, with sheets unruffled when I awoke every morning. âHey Christie, Iâm sorry we never organized that lunch catch up with Anya. We were a little slack at organizing those things werenât we?â I let out an awkward snigger, waiting for the reaction. Her face stayed still, waiting for her prince to wake her up with a kiss. And that certainly wasnât me. Had she even found her prince yet? Silence resonated around the shoebox room. I sat next to her awkwardly waiting for her to wake up so we could plan our lunch. It wasnât like Christie to sleep in longer than me. She was usually awake at the crack of dawn ferreting through the freezer to find the leftover ice cream from the night before. I pulled out a permanent marker from my pocket and wrote on my hand. Thinking, I should probably remind Christie too. Dislodging her slender arm I printed in black ink âCALMâ. I often forget this⊠looking to her I waited for a response. A movement. Anything that showed me she would wake up soon so we could talk. We had to talk, why else would I be here other than to talk. I sat next to her fiddling with the permanent marker, thoughts flying across the rails in my head. Thunderous noises creating havoc. Such inner turmoil, and she slept. So perfectly. I let myself slip down in my chair, placed just a little too close to her ocean plinth. The mullingâs of real life silence overpowered the cacophony or hysteria in my mind. Soothing waves pushed and pulled me from daydream, to a dream world where whatever I came here for dispersed into the wide depths of the sea. Drifting off beside her, just as we had so many times before. le rĂȘve dans un rĂȘve Fireworks exploded above us. Short, sharp, colourful bursts encasing the night sky in sparkles. The noise was frightening, the sight was beautiful. Each explosion being propelled into view by a hand held rocket, grasped by hundreds of strangers. Her bright blue eyes looked up at the sky, glistening, unaware of the crowds. Simply concentrating on each and every of the fiery blasts miles above us. âTo whom do I owe the pleasure of you two lovely girls attending this event?â The dark, tall boy walked towards us. Midnight eyes snatching stares at Christie. I didnât trust him. His face was too pointed, his lips too thin. I opened my mouth to speak but no amount of force could muster the words that I wanted to say. Tongue dry, and eager as I strained my vocal chords in vain. âJust here for the showâ she said. Her sweet voice, unassuming and calm. I tried to scream at her. âDonât trust him!â my throat catching at every trial. Each attempt ending with a raspy cough, heavy with pain. I had never met this boy before. But his soulless eyes felt wrong. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, to re-gather my thoughts. The fireworks continued to cascade around me, shooting wishes into space, the dark unknown swallowing their light and leaving their shells to drop lifelessly onto the ground. I willed us to go somewhere else, to move away from this boy. His every being sending sickening shivers through my body. My eyes flicked open, and he was standing behind the beautiful blonde, neck craning over her shoulder. A sneer on his face that reeked of possession, his arrogance tumbled off him in an avalanche, joining the empty fireworks shells on the floor. She turned to look at me, her face seemed reasonably composed. Reasonably happy. But there was a glimmer in her eyes that sparkled with uncertainty. I knew that look, I had saved her from that look many times before, just as she had for me. I tried to speak again, but my voice seemed to have failed me. I shuffled closer and grabbed onto her hand, pulling her into an awkward dance â an escape route from the clutches of yet another soul who wouldnât get his chance. She giggled next to me and let out a grin, pulling me away from where we stood on the grass, leading me down a dirt path towards a house. From a distance I vaguely recognized the architecture, and as we came closer I was sure I knew this house. In one life or another. Rambling up the path, dodging the drunken people situating themselves outside, we reached the door. It was already open, ajar just enough to hear the harsh music thumping against the walls, and the squealing girls that where much too young to be there. Stepping across the threshold, we entered into a throbbing party, faces I vaguely recognized circling around us, tripping over themselves â and falling into everyone else. Christie turned her head to look back at me, smile insidiously spreading across her face as she confidently stepped through the door. I traipsed through the archway after her, caution creeping into my awareness like a disease. I racked my mind for any clue as to whoâs this house could be and silently followed her through the flood of people. She clutched my hand and guided me through the pathways of empty bottles and half-alive people lying over various furniture items. She knew where she was going, and I trusted her. We ended up in the far side of the house, a dark room where the stereo subsided, playing its heavy rock tunes that echoed throughout the rooms with the hollow people. We flopped onto the couch, Christie leaning back with a calm smile, head bobbing to the music. I looked around watching the faces blur into one, it was as if I was now intoxicated by osmosis. People passed, danced, stumbled and threw up â none of which making an impact that lasted more than a split second on my already busy system of thoughts. Christie still sat, eyes closed moving swiftly to the throbbing music. Though relaxed, her body still sat stiff, as if anxiously waiting for someone to come and awake her, maybe her prince charming hiding amongst the dirty crowds of people? Unlikely. A screech suddenly pierced my eardrums with its chaos. Soon after a loud, un-tuned rendition of âHysteriaâ began to fill the house, drowning out the already ear-deafening music. Whoever was butchering Muse, should certainly stop, I thought to myself. Frown settled on my forehead at the bleeding death notes. Christieâs eyes flung open, she turned to me and said âCome on! Thereâs someone I want you to meet!â Grabbing my hand again she pulled me towards a smaller room, dark, like a cave and reeking of body odder. Hunched in a corner was a smallish figure clutching a cherry-red, knock off, Fender bass guitar. Next to him the amp sat on the floor, begrudgingly pulsating as each off key vibration radiated through it into the half empty room. His head tilted up for a split second, seeing Christie he admitted a nonchalant âIâm too cool for youâ head nod and continued playing the less than tuneful execution. Christie leant into me, having to yell into my ear for her words to be heard. âThatâs Dario!â she said. I looked at him again, finally putting a face to name for the âinfamousâ Dario. âYou two will really hit it off!â she grinned at me, and turned her head back to watch his poorly performed concert. When he decided he had, had enough, he firmly placed the guitar onto the bed and arrogantly walked over to us. âYouâre the model.â He starred at me with piercing blue eyes, then walked off into another room. Christie followed him, I nodded my head in approval. I was okay by myself. Moreover, my voice was still failing me. I sat down on the bed. Picking up the bass I attempted to play one of the few songs I had conquered on the heavy instrument. Getting lost in a musical world seemed more right than siting here in silence living this confusing one. The infamous Darioâs words resonating through my mind, I heaved the bass onto the bed in frustration. Model. Excellent description. Just a mindless coat hanger right? Fuming with frustration I stood up. Before having a chance to lift my gaze from the messy floor, I collided into something, someone. And found myself free falling back onto the bed. My eyesight reached his face; the sea eyes bore into me with the same intensity as before. âWhat are you doing here?â his flushed voice merging into one confused sentence. I just looked back at him, still not being able to speak a word. Though via the state of him I donât think noticing was in his mental capacity. âChristie is with Ollie. Theyâre⊠preoccupied I thinkâ he let out an impish smile, revealing a row of his crooked bottom teeth. Eyes glazing over, from the poison that filled his body, yet they still didnât lose their intensity. He sat beside me, a little too close for comfort. âIâve never got with a model beforeâ His tone was an attempt at seduction. But he failed miserably. I looked at him, eyes widened with disbelief, and head tilted with an essence of shock. He leaned in slowly, eyes closing and his neck craned his inebriated head towards me. For I moment, I let him. The tobacco tongue snaking into my mouth, it was like licking an ashtray clean. I pulled away and left as swiftly as I could, Dario still sitting on the bed attempting to tongue me to death. Barely noticing I had gone. I pitied the air in the room. I walked through the house frantically. Trying to find Christie. Grabbing drinks as I waded through the dishevelled halls, drinks left behind by those barely understanding their own actions. Consuming the unknown liquids, all in an attempt to get rid of the fowl taste he left in my mouth. Did he ever brush his teeth? Trailing through the house, leaving breadcrumb bottles in my wake, I searched every room until I could find her. She sat in the corner of a small bathroom, knees up to her chest, head between her legs, sobbing quietly. I tried to say her name, though I knew it was her. I walked towards the crumbled being and sat down. Swinging my arms around her I bought her in closer. She raised her head up, tears streaming down her face. Despite the waterfalls, her makeup stayed perfectly intact, unrelenting, determined not to let go of her small features. âHe got with the Swiss girl.â the words came through fragmented, slipping through each tear. I could only assume she meant Ollie. The pale blonde boy who had tugged on her hearts strings consistently, despite the other boys, and their comings and goings. Ollie was the one that stuck around, the one that created the opportunity then took it away from her, leaving her wondering why and âwhat if?â. This question is what always what drives a person over the edge, in a constant state of yearning and expectation. I wished I could say something to comfort her, but still, no words would come out. As frustrating as it was, I had given up trying. âI thought we could now just give things a try. But he had to get with the Swiss girl! The bloody, half naked, tacky, Swiss girl!â she let out another sob, I stroked her hair; the closest thing to comfort I could do with no voice. The two of us sat their in an understanding huddle, a few people coming in with a wish to use the bathroom, to which they promptly left when they realized it was inhabited by a crying girl adorned with golden eyes. The night slipped by, it was as if I could feel the world rotating, taking us forward into another day; too fast to comprehend. âWe should probably leave now ⊠our curfew was midnight and Iâm pretty sure the sun will be joining us soonâ Christie stood up, she smiled and grabbed my hand lifting me off the cold tiles. I followed her out. The house was quiet. Semi conscious people lay around us, victims left to rot in a battlefield, a teenage wasteland. Ollie and Dario included, comatose next to one another in a âbro-manceâ embrace. We shared a sideways glance at each other, accompanied by a mutual smirk at the sight of them. I guess neither got lucky in the end. Stepping over the bodies, and out of the door, hand in hand, we followed the path home as the sun rose behind us, guiding our way back. âDo you have ice cream at home?â she said quietly. I smiled and nodded. La RĂ©alitĂ© moitiĂ© I woke up uncomfortably, back aching from falling asleep in a hard wooden chair. I sat up straight, letting a few stretches aid in regaining my consciousness. Where was I? Vision slightly blurred from interrupted sleep, I rubbed my eyes to clear away the fog. To my left Christie lay, still asleep on her turquoise bed. Make-up perfect, clothing impeccable. She usually fell asleep with full make up, but scarcely ever with clothes. Her one-piece pyjamas, decorated with giraffes, were usually her choice of sleep attire. I hadnât given much thought to this previously. In fact why was I here? I looked down at my hand, âCALMâ spelled out in bold. Christie Alexis Lesley Marceau. Half thinking, half numb with thoughts rearing, my eyes wandered to her unusual pallor. I thought it as white as snow only minutes before. Weirs streamed and pooled down my face. She was gone. I was here to say good-bye. I was here to apologize. Unlike my dream, in reality, I could talk, I could talk well, and I often talked too much, yet I couldnât find the words that I had come here to say. âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry I deserted you. Iâm sorry I hurt you. Iâm sorry I didnât believe you. Iâm sorry ⊠this happened to you.â Not able to hold myself together, muttering incoherent apologizes over and over again, until the words âIâm sorryâ held no impact. Lost all their meaning. âIt should have been me⊠I know I didnât know the fucking asshole that did this to you⊠but it should have been me. I miss you⊠and the thought of you, so scared, so aloneâŠ. I⊠I⊠I canât handle it.â Each sentence muffled through drops, pouring out of my tear ducts, laced with guilt and regret. âI could never imagine the pain. The amount you suffered. You had too much to live for⊠IâmâŠâ The room became dark. Walls closed in, and the light faded to a small beam highlighting her features. A movie image played out in flashes. He was hiding in the midnight. Uncertainty brooding, his hot face tapered with unrelenting thoughts of âwhat ifâ. His dark pointed features, the same as the man leering after her, as the lights exploded into the sky that night. Cascading with innocence as they lit up her once pink face. The crimson raindrops fall regardless of their hosts struggles, each drop falling with precision, each splatter creating another story of the earthly floors. His head twists, distorting his face, as he drops the weapon to the floor. The ear-piercing clink rattles through my awareness. She lets out that scream no one ever wishes to hear. Face tormented as she is forced to feel the anguish and pain he inflicted upon her. I watch hesitantly. Eyes swelling, as I wish I could turn away and go back to the dream world where we were both still happy. Both still Bambi eyed and naĂŻve. Her body went from still and peaceful to violently twitching in an instant. My head pounded as if my heart was now in my brain. Thumping hard in panic, as my thoughts too were a mess of destructive capabilities. The chair was knocked from beneath me as I stepped backwards in fear. âIâM SORRY! IâM SORRY! ... I DIDNâT MEAN TO!â I screamed at the top of my lungs. She was at peace, and I reminded her of that day. That day where she was harshly taken from everyone who needed her. Including me, though it was selfish, I had no right to her; I just needed her to be okay. I couldnât help but think I had forced her to relive the pain. The twitching got worse, inky liquid seeped through her perfect lips, dripping more as the twitching persisted. I continued to scream apologies until my throat was raw. Squeezing my eyes shut to make the image go away. To make everything go away, none of this can be happening. Not to Christie. Breaks slamming, stopping the motion from continuing, it was as if the universe heard the cries. The lights returned, the walls retreated, and she was gone from her casket. The faint smell of Vera Wang âPrincessâ tainted the room. Left lying in the velvety box was the smaller Snow White, still in her packaging. la vraie vie The young girl, jolted upright much like before â eyes wet, body shaking. Her thin arms came towards her face in an attempt to wipe away the tears that had made themselves at home on her cheeks. The darkness in her room cascaded over her, insidiously creeping into every corner. Her physical pain clearly spawned from her mind as she clutched her head aggressively. Beating what seemed as the memories from her thoughts. Muffled thuds echoed through the room as she hit against her temples with her palms. As if in defeat she snatched a pillow from the bed abruptly and threw it against the opposing wall with all the force she could muster. Rivulets of tears falling down her face, she crippled under the pressure. Her lack of control reaching its peak as she lay down and finally let herself cry into her pillow. Realising, she was gone.
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