CHAPTER 1
All they wanted to do was buy some fruit, a maté cup,and maybe some of that weird milk that comes in boxes. They never knew what was waiting for them on the second level of the grocery store. And by the time they did, it was too late.
The sight was repulsive; dozens of slimy purple-brown bodies, dangling in someone's wretched idea of an "artistic fashion." But that wasn't all.
Sometimes, things that are seen cannot easily be forgotten.
CHAPTER 2
Once I was an innocent theatre. People loved me. Every night they filled my seats and shivered with anticipation when my red curtains drew open to reveal fantastic scenes and characters. I was popular. I was appreciated. I was ALIVE.
But one day they stopped coming. The spotlights flickered out and the laughter faded away.
Cold, dark, and empty.
Years passed and I slowly became accustomed to my desolate state. But I could never shake off the memories of my former glory.
Then I met Doctor Herbelschlein.
He offered me a chance at a new life, at heights previously unattained, at glowing, glittering majesty.
"It won't hurt much," he assured me. "Just some cosmetic work-- a little pick-me-up after your years away." But it would be more painful than I knew.
Herbelschlein went to work with a scalpel, carving off my aged features. Over the horrific scars he plastered and painted until I was unrecognizable. Better, one might say, than before.
He resurrected my curtains, staining them red with our pain and triumph.
Then, the biggest change: he ripped the velvet seats from my floor. Each chair screamed horrifically as its nerves unraveled and snapped. Like pulling teeth.
I cannot describe the pain and the emptiness I felt afterwards, as I surveyed the cavernous space made even more lonely by the absence of a thousand padded seats.
In that moment, I knew I would never again know the joy of an audience.
Herbelschlein ran his hand lovingly along the ornate curves of my railings. As if he knew my worries-- indeed, as if he could see into the most secret parts of my mind-- he whispered to me, "Don't worry your pretty little head. They will come back. We will fill you with something much more precious than frivolous stage shows. We will fill you with books. And they will come."
And they did.
CHAPTER 3
Do you know what it's like to lose the one you love most? To spend every moment of every waking hour searching crowds of faces for that one face-- knowing all the while that you'll never find it?
Now I do.
They called it a Botanical Garden, but I call it torture. Dozens of eyes followed me as I walked the wooded paths. But I knew none of them were Your eyes. I felt lithe, silky bodies slide under my fingers-- but none of them strike me with an electric jolt born of passion. The way You did.
Without you, a cage of desperation closed around me. It kept me preserved from passersby, but it also hardened me.
Only you held the key that unlocked my true person. Now I am wandering without direction, seeking the shape of your face among the marble statues and knotted trees.
I feel something. There is something here.
An energy, you could call it; an aura, a sensation. A knowing.
You are nearby.
I step towards the metal carcass of the building and a shiver runs up my spine. I am not wrong. It feels like you.
At the door, I close my fingers around rust and dirt. This frame is fragile. The way I am fragile without you. I put my lips to the door-- there is an empty space where a glass panel once was.
I call for you.
"Here kitty kitty kitty! *kissing noises*"
A flash of color; I only have time to inhale once, a breath filled with hope and desperation...
.... and you are there.
These stories dramatically and exaggeratedly retold by yours truly. Don't take anything in this post at 100% face value. You have been disclaimed. Please continue on. Nothing more to see here.
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