"Car Radio"

Chapter Two: "Island"

The forest behind my house was something I'd always found solace in, because no matter what I was doing, the world around me was still moving, even if I was standing still. The trees would sway, and the animals would roam, and everything would exist, without me. It was cathartic in a way, it gave me a real sense of reality. As morbid as it was, I knew this was the truth. The world didn't revolve around me, I was put here to do something, but that something wasn't going to effect everyone, but the one person it did effect, would be enough to help change everything.

I let my black sneakers pad against the soggy ground, my eyes never left their trail. Eventhough my mind wandered often, my path always stayed the same. I tried to find a way to live, and that was what I was going to do. I needed to stay on my path, to show everyone that it was what I was destined to do. I finally found small clearing in the forest that I'd never seen before, and I looked at the tree, and smiled.

I'll climb up on that branch.... It's high enough.

Why did my mind want to remember the height of that branch, during that moment? I will never understand, but in that split second, the edge of my mind was foggy and I decided to let fate decide whether or not I should jump, or if I should back down from the ledge. I pulled my slender legs, close to my chest and lay my journal flat on my lap. I needed to begin somewhere. I guess that somewhere, was here.

My pen began scrawling against the manila page as if I were some derranged lunatic, just creating a spastic lullabye to keep my mind at ease. Like a child with a pacifier, I began to feel the anxiety in my mind, sliding into a deeper part of my psyche. The words I wrote down, made no sense, and yet; they were perfectly constructed into sentences that I could say were cohesive thoughts, even if they didn't seem like full comprehensive ideas.

I continued to write, and as I continued to write, my body seemed to swell with excitement, my frustration was finally coming out into words, words I'd never seen before. The confusion felt like I was painting a Jackson Pollock, but the meaning was almost as clear, crisp and beautiful like a Rembrandt.

I finaly put my pen down and began to stare at the words I'd written, almost in awe of my own language i'd created for myself. I glanced over the words; several times, before feeling myself lose my excitement.

Were these really the thoughts inside my mind? Did I really want to die? Were these thoughts that were pent up inside my mind; really thoughts of death? I wasn't angry, and I wasn't sad, and I had a wonderful life, so why does this always come back to death, or confusion? What am I confused about?

Maybe I wasn't confused about life.

Maybe I was confused about why Death exists.