10. why I don't notice other's

People can call her all the names in a fat book of popular names. Slut, whore, bitch, retard, yeah I've heard them all. I laugh and laugh or I cry and cry for my feelings which ache under unbearable pressure sometimes. This is my life. You know life don't work that way, right?

The last I saw you I try the hardest to make out that I was invisible and look now, I am. So why are you staring at me again like I'm the most elusive and hard to track down person ever? What, the FBI or nobody else could locate me? I am shocked and I feel too much, please, please stop....

Please baby, you know you do.

* *

It's dark, and it's been dark and lifeless for a long time. How long, well I'm not entirely sure, maybe a few day's. Have I been in a coma? What are these translucent dream's where I see a present time, but not a future time? I died. I remember I was minding my own business, walking along with a smile on my face, just a lucky girl in love; then someone grabbed me up and threw me in the trunk of a car. It sped out on the road too fast and I'm scared because I don't want to be in this trunk and what's going to happen to me....

I'm in a room and this fiend is freaking out and commences to lash at me over and over again with an object that is stinging, it cut's because it's so sharp. I can't stop it and I can't escape this. I am already, in a sad sense, dead. And all he can do is recite the lyrics from a fucking Irish song called, Danny Boy. The sick bastard.

The blood flew all over the walls, the bed, and the carpet. My blood. They went back later on and cleaned up the worthless evidence with bleach like it was a normal thing to do in the run of a worthy person's evening and I was the one who was the disgrace; an annoyance.

I was propped up in the front passenger seat of the car and made to endure a lovely ride home. I was put to bed, my wounds which have lost too many and vitally important amounts of life blood, continued to seep into the bedding cover and the sheets, my pillow. My hair, a fiery auburn or burnt red, was a veil of blood and nothing but. Me, the dead bride. And now I close my eyes, I can feel my heart stop. It's a black and eerily quiet, lonely world. Then I began to walk in the darkness. There would be no stopping me. I wanted my fucking life and there were people that loved me and needed me. I don't hear them but I can see their thought's and wishes in the changing walls, the sky is floating air and I'm stuck as another carbon particle but with a ghostly footprint. I'm allowed to see something. As before where I had no choice in being murdered, I have no choice now thus I'm real in this place. Then it is another train firing along in a steady, fast stream. Time. I'm already here and it won't let me off, ever. If I go back, I must bring this present time with me. I do.