one. summer, 2012.
that hot, heavy sun thick with sweat has long faded, bleaching the cornfield with its departure. instead, the humidity - air wet with the stuff - stays behind, bathed white and blue and grey by the half moon above. there are stars above the house, and nothing else as far as the eye can see besides the darkness of trees whispering their gossip among themselves.
two. 11:32 pm.
the edge of the field is the brightest part of the outside world, bathed in the soft, diffused light of the kitchen window. there she is, standing in the centre of it, dark eyes dissolved in purple and pink skin sagging with fatigue. a nose bleed, a flashlight with battery acid leaking from the bottom compartment, scuffed sneakers and a long dress that whips in the wind. she squints into the darkness, into the never, as the trees speak in tongues and the corn listen intently.
three. the film score swells to a crescendo.
nothing, nothing, nothing, and then all at once, the great something. a surge of sound, so loud that it makes her ears ring, her eardrums perforate inside her skull. there is a bright light above them and she cannot see anything except the shadows that her hands cast, outstretched, as they try desperately to block the light that obscures the moon. the torch is gone, now, flickering as it rolls into the knee-high blades of grass, closer to the never that no longer exists.
another one of the enigmatic bipolar pieces. living with bipolar is so weird because sometimes it feels like the easiest thing in the world, like you're totally healthy and normal, and then the whole world is dragged out from under your feet. like the moment of stillness before the establishing scene of a horror movie introduction. the calm before the storm.
