Love, Sweet Tender Words

Image: Pixabay

How am I doing, love? Oh very well I suppose. Are you sure? Well positively, who else can do what you do? Well, what do I do, love? (cuddles) (strokes) Am I the spark in your eye? You’re the bonfire in mine. (smooch nose) Oh dear, oh dear… What? Why am I not greater, more magnificent – an incandescent supernova lighting up the drama of outer space…? Well, you are, my love. Am I? Yes,…if not quite as dramatic. Am, I not? No, my love, you are my earthbound angel. Am I? (paces) Yes… But why – But, yes, love? Why am I not more? …What more would you like to be…cheese? I beg your pardon? A celestial body, a certain one, hangs out every night, reeks but you never smell it. (…) I never…I’m sorry. No you’re not – we’re breaking up. I…what?? Yes. But – No ‘buts’, you’ve had your fill. I’m … sorry, but I-? No ‘buts’. -I see. Yes, don’t you. Yes. It’s over. It’s the end. Well, (gets up, walks) I’ll be seeing you – Not before I’m seeing you… (flips hair) for the rest of my stuff. Ugh. (under his breath, walks off).

She sat down and wept, wept her poor damaged heart out, wept for herself, and her husband, but mostly for herself. For her pity, for her pitiable condition – how they loathed her, how she loathed herself. She would not stand it. She would take her life into her own hands – take action.

She strode up to the precipice, the 44th storey, angling the camera far below by remote. Viewing the feed on her stomach mount iPad. And when it had locked onto her form (with a little help from nighttime calisthenics – there were limits to tech in low light) she prepared to strap on the Hollow Goggles – though her hands shook. Shook – oh they sh-ook.

And she put them on, the felt elastic snugging at her, clipping over her ears, tugging a little at her hair, but the sensory inception was already underway-soon she only saw and felt the view from the ground. Just like the brochure said, she thought emptily.

And she swung her arms, marvelled at only being a spectator of her body from a distance, reached across to touch her toes and nearly stumbled off the ledge-whew. She caught herself, or saw the figure catch the parapet with its black fingers, grip-tightly and ease back.

And yet she felt elated, and scared, and also detached from the situation, like she could look away from the person(herself) on the roof, and casually observe the world as someone else, with a new view. But she had things to do.

First she gauged the distance from the edge with her foot, her alter ego’s foot-the foot of herself viewed from not inside her body- and felt the warning trigger, the slight electric jolt, the warning red strobe and high pitched feeling in the temple and ears. That was right. She could turn it off when she had made the choice. She knew that was just a safety measure to prevent false choices made by error.

And she unbuttoned her stomach iPad, saw the figure above slowly reach over and toss it gently over the edge like a bottle into the deep sea-saw it shatter and heard it as though it had broken at her feet(not forty feet below her feet).

And so she swung her toes, sat at the edge, feeling no high tree breeze, only the calm glow of the void deck and the sight of the distant figure swinging its legs, daring itself(her) to leap, to cast it all across the void, to render all choice to the abyss, to die.

But she did not do it. She got up, casually picked up her wallet (slipped the ID back in) pulled the Hollow Goggles off her hair, threw it, with barely a glance and head toss over the edge, not caring if it hit anybody – it clipped and damaged the SelfView camera below by the way – walked all the way, the-live-long-day back to the stairs, climbed down, made it to the door, deigned to open it, walked in, threw herself down on bed, and watched her tears/life bleed into the covers and pillows and overlets, bleed and not return.

She knew she would get up in time, wipe off the snot and wetness, and continue with life. But for now she would just lie there, she earned it, she beat herself, she beat death. And now life was to be lived, and she owed it to herself to whine and weep a bit. Before going out to face the mean tempestuous world again. As herself, and not someone else.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s