p e n u m b r a (discontinued)

Chapter 12: When Love Gave Birth to Poetry

 "So, here we are." Jolie leads the way inside, holding the door for me and turning on the light. It's surprisingly everything I expected, even the very lighting of the room makes sense. It's dim, illuminating only pieces of the cramped space. For a number of times, it flickers on and off, unleashing little buzzing noises and sparks. The space itself seems to posses a "creative" sort of clutter. The objects around really say something about who Jolie Clarke is. There's a guitar in the far left corner, and a skateboard with a lime green deck and a signature that said "P. Rod".

"I didn't know you skate and play."

"Well the skateboard isn't mine, it's my brother's. He stole it. It's signed by Paul Rodriguez, so it's pretty valuable. I thought about selling it but it looks cool in my room. As for the guitar, that's mine. An acquaintance sold it to me. You might know him, Zane Manchester? She's you're friend's brother... Sarah? Sharon?"

"Scarlette. I know of him, but we never met." My gaze wanders to the walls. There are so many pictures and posters around.

"Haha I knew it! I figured that you were a Beastie Boys fan."

"Ha! You know it!" She lazily flops herself on her bed. I scan the pictures on the wall. I see her, a girl with long white hair and gentle white skin. The makeup she wears in this picture is horrendous, but there is one picture of her without any make-up. She and Jolie together. The girl was beautiful with the white hair. She has no shirt, and is only wearing jeans. Her arms are wrapped around Jolie, who wore only a black t-shirt and red panties. They're laughing, but instead of smiling at the camera, they're smiling at eachother. The way Jo looks at her-- with awe and admiration-- with affection and lustful thirst, it's the way she looks at me in my dreams. It's the way I looked at Dominic, and the way I look at her. But in reality, her eyes simply scan over my skin mechanically, like papers onto printers. There's never any emotion in her eyes, not when she's looking at me.

"Is this Clarity?" I ask.

"Yep, that's her. Gorgeous wasn't she?" She jokes, but my stomach turns with disgust.

"You guys were really close huh." Instead of asking, the phrase comes out as a sad statement.

"As close as close can be." I really want to change the subject now. I twist on my heel and plop next to her on her bed. At this moment, Jolie already has a cigarette in between her lips. She takes out her lighter, and my pupils dilate when watching the flame illuminate the end of her sickening stick. I can't stop staring at it, it's beautiful. Jolie gives me a concerned and questioning look.

"You want a smoke or somethin'?" She asks cocking her eyebrow at me.

"No thank you," I quickly turn away, "So um... oh! I've been meaning to ask you. How did you come to love poetry?" Before answering, she takes a long drag and releases the smoke from her mouth. She gestures to the picture of her and Clarity.

"I fell in love with her." I feel my pulse pause, and suddenly I go cold. I begin shivering in the shock.

"You, Y-Y-You loved her?" I ask.

"I guess it's about time you knew. I like girls. Well to be honest, I had no idea I liked girls until I met her. I met her about three years ago. We lived in the same home. It was her who got me into the poetry... I remember the first time I saw her. I walked into this cafe. There was jazz music in the air, along with the scent of cigarettes and champagne. And I walked in deeper to see a stage, and there she was. She was performing a slam poem. Watching the way she spoke and her hand gestures, listening to her strong yet tender voice, I just... fell, fell like I've never fallen before. No guy has ever made me feel the way she did. I wanted to be like her, and stand beside her on stage." Every word silently stabs me in the chest, plunging through my heart mercilessly. "...Now she's gone... Anyway, how did you fall in love with poetry?