soliloquy

Draft

Draft. 

I'm like that, I suppose. Made up, before placed in a pile and left to be forgotten while other drafts are brought in the hands of an artist and used. 

Draft Girl. 

How perfect. 

Anybody hear read the Virgin Suicides? No? It's about these girls, who kill themselves at the end. Happy ending, hope you liked the short summary. Hope I didn't spoil too much for you. 

Ah, dictionary. Let's put you into good use, shall we?

Draft. 

It's a noun. Means preliminary version of a piece of writing. Except I'm not a preliminary (whatever that means, it's a terrible word) I'm a draft. 

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Her eyes shine, 

Like the brightest of stars, 

Away from the cluster of polished jewels,

Left alone, years wasted wistfully thinking, 

And, just like a bright star, 

She was left to rot. 

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Ants. You know, annoying bugs. 

But I find them beautiful. One of them, the bravest, goes out to see if the path is clear and leaves a chemical trail for everybody to follow. But when I stamp on it, mess it up, ants go bersake and fret. Until they find the line again. 

Just like me. But there was no chemical line to begin with. 

I was left, wandering on my own. Through thick, mossy forests and inside damp and abondened buildings that hold such beautiful scars. Scars that I trace my fingers over, and feel the roughness beneath my fingertips. 

God, I jus-Look, it's a pretty bird. 

A songbird, to be exact. Chirping away happily, it's soft, brown feathers flapping. It looks at me, tilts it's head and I try to blend into the trees. But as it spreads it wings slowly, ready to take flight-there is a loud bang, and the bird is dead. 

Ding, dong the bird is dead!

Killed by a man, 

With a shiny pistol, 

With a vicious sneer.

I stare at the shooter with the sleek pistol. He stares at me. And I wish, how I wish I was the one he could have shoot. Ready to spread my wings, my short-lived happiness shot by his sleek, black pistol. 

Slowly, he flees. 

So he killed the bird for no apparent reason. 

I stare at the bird, and chew my bottom lip. I rip a part of my dress, before covering the dead bird. Blood soaks through the fabric. 

I think I started to cry. 

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"Hello, I'm Draft Girl. Pleased to meet you, sir"