Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
┏━━━━━ CHAPTER SEVEN ━━━━━┓ ★゜・。。・゜゜・tell me of better days ──── Chicago Rhee
▌│█║▌║▌ ║▌║▌║█│▌
❝ When we were young we were the ones The kings and queens oh yeah, we ruled the world We smoked cigarettes man no regrets Wish I could relive every single word ❞ — brother, kodaline
▌│█║▌║▌ ║▌║▌║█│▌
IT WAS A LIKE BREATH OF FRESH OF AIR THE NEXT SERIES OF MORNINGS I WOKE. With each inhale, oxygen coursed through my bloodstream and I no longer got a whiff of that putrid scent that emitted from the corpses of human beings. If I closed my eyes or ignored the blatant appearance of the prison I now resided in, I could pretend even if just for a fleeting moment that I was back home in Michigan. I'd linger on the front porch, rocking in the old swinging chair my dad had made as I was buried nose deep into a book. My siblings and parents would be chatting away inside, the boisterous belly laugh from my dad would reign over all other responses to a joke that was just made. Oh, how I wish we could transport back into that time, perhaps I'd finally listen to my mom when she urged me to put away my stories.
Yet, here I was once again sheltering myself in my personal bubble. This time, however, the only difference was that I now locked my sights on what was in front of me. Beyond the prison yard was an expansive line of trees. What was out there was stored within my sore muscles and creaking bones, the trauma I endured not letting me forget their prior experiences. I had healed physically but my emotions were still a work in progress. How many people were stuck out there that were just like me? Floating along in a void until the wind carried them above the treetops or they found their own version of salvation. Perhaps I was one of the lucky ones.
Sometimes I still had trouble differentiating between reality and the make believe. For every odd reason, my mind seemed like it desired to convince itself that it was all fake, that I had not found Glenn and was content for the first time in a while. When you spend so long in your head you forget that there are tangible things right in front of you. Maybe I had already gone insane. Life isn't always what you think it is: words I've taken to heart. But the one thing I had going for me was that in the end I righted the screwed up mess in my brain.
When you begin to believe that someone is actually dead a piece of you is ripped away. Knowing that no matter how much dirt you haul from the ground in your quest to find them, you will always be led to the same exact end. It's a crossroad. Do you diverge here and move on despite the hollowness in your heart? Or do you plant yourself into the ground and live in ignorant bliss, pretending that you can change the outcome of what has already been set in stone? In a lot of ways I used to believe death was the ultimate marker of permanence, but even that has its time to be reversed. Why or how it happened, I wish I knew.
