Queen of My Pitiful Soul - James Patrick March | EN-US

I. piercing gaze under penumbra

The week had been long. I knew it would be exhausting, a sudden change with no forewarning. But I did not expect such intensity. Well, I suppose I had it coming. May my stubbornness be cursed.

The company I had called home for several years closed its doors in the city. Yet, management saw value in me and offered two options: transfer to a branch or face unemployment. Oh, yes, I could have continue working there. Times have changed. In 2022, many companies have embraced the idea of working from home and even flexible schedules. However, technology has never been my strong suit and, to be honest, it holds little interest for me. Is there something about the internet that cannot be done in the flesh?

This is what I told my dearest loved ones as I bid them farewell. Little did they know that I was in great danger. As it drew closer, I knew that I could not turn back or remain standing idly by. Every fiber of my being screamed for me to run, to escape the impending threat that loomed before me. My heart pounded with fear, but I steeled myself for what was to come. I would not let this danger defeat me. I would not let it consume me.

I must also confess that this opportunity fell into my lap at the ideal moment and provided a convenient excuse to burry that place - and my past - as deep as possible. In any case, it was not in my nature to remain stationary. And so, I made my decision. But it was a radical move, and upon further contemplation, perhaps I was not ready for it.

It was mid-September, the temperatures were starting to drop and the smell of autumn was already present in the air. The cold wind hit me with force before I got into the taxi, causing me to shiver and eventually sneezes through my sensitive nose. It was already clear that I was impatient with the traffic and with the driver who almost got us under trucks a few good times, due to his lack of attention on the track and the excess of it in the rearview mirror.

The man could not take his eyes off me, like a predator eyeing its prey, stripping me with his gaze. I was used to stares, thanks to the alluring force that embraced the boundaries of my body and also due to my own beauty, it was routine. But an unusual wickness overpowered the taxi driver's face, I could see the face of a demon - ironic. The mere presence of him caused a fire to ignite within me. I couldn't shake the feeling that something about him was off. Was he even who he claimed to be? Or was there something more sinister lurking beneath the surface? A normal person would never see such inhumanity with such cleverness, however, I was far from ordinary.

At times, when we stopped at the stoplight, he would turn back to stare at my legs with such a hateful look that it seemed capable of lifting my skirt a few centimeters. As I came to understand that he was, in fact, just a deeply flawed human and not some supernatural entity, I felt no fear - it was he who should have been trembling in terror at the thought of facing me. Rather, I would later discover that his repulsive behavior had brought to the surface a desire I thought I had buried forever ages ago.

The sudden vibration of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. 'Estelle', the screen read. Mother. I counted 15 seconds in my head, hoping the call would drop before I had to answer. Of course, that was not to be.

"I am well [...] yes, Mother, it is excellent here [...] no, you may not come."

The call was mercifully short. After all these years, she remains concerned with the trivialities of the mortal world. In any case, it reminded me of a nostalgiciac time that brought a smile to my lips. A time when I was not Melinda - and I would've never dreamed of being.

As the summer sun began to set, its beauty was undeniable. However, in the city of Los Angeles, the heat can be unbearable and bring out the worst in people, causing tempers to rise and conflicts to erupt. My journey was filled with the sounds of honking and insults from other drivers in the congested traffic.