Sad Blue Eyes

Another group therapy session that starts with a depressing comment as to why people feel the need to kill themselves. Opening up is the best therapy they say while I'll just feel like "why are you not going to kill yourself after going through your life like that". I guess that is where I need to rethink and refocus myself on the positives.

While we were sharing our life experiences, in walks a new member to the group who was transferred from another institution due to financial reasons. Long dark hair with a slender frame like someone who hasn't eaten in months looking down on the floor while filling up an empty chair. She would look up every once in awhile to show acknowledgement of any life. Finally it came for her turn to speak and she looked at everyone with sad blue eyes opening her pale looking lips.

New Girl: I'm Sandra.
Everybody in the room: Hi Sandra.
Sandra: I made a pact with my best friend to kill ourselves together.
.......................................

Sandra: I survived.

Blocks

It's been a couple months now and they have placed me here. When I say they I mean Maria. She says that its the best thing right now. How could this be any better? Being with people who had gone through the same shit as you just amplifies the fact that you had gone through that shit. I think she just thinks this is a good idea as how the world sees fit plus it gets me off her hands.

Its the beginning of another day with highly medicated therapy, the sun was out but I wouldn't have noticed it. Perhaps living like this now is how I can see myself for the next decade. Looking into a mirror I see an image of myself, or at least what is left of it. These guys around me seems to be the same. A body without a face. Aimlessly walking around trying to find answers for our own paths.

I was in my bed looking at the ceiling when Maria pops in.

Maria: Hey, how are you feeling?
Allen: I am.
Maria: Good. At least you're realizing something.
Allen: Whatever works.
................................................

We walked outside through the park making small talk. Mostly to smoke.

Maria: So you wanna tell me what happened that night?
Allen: Not much did since you guys brought me here.
Maria: We were saving you.
Allen: I didn't need saving. I was gonna die young. Living rock and roll.
Maria: Your too old to die young.
Allen: Fuck.
......................................................................................................

Awaken

Eyes blurry. Barely able to see what's happening. Everything is turning white. Am I dead? Again there was a loud shouting of "Clear!" with sounds of electricity charging. I was slowly beginning to regain consciousness. Slowly but surely the white background turns into shapes. Some shadows emerge.

Just when colors begin to fill up the surroundings, a white pasty hand swung across my face. Slap!

Allen: What the hell?
Maria: Good your up.

She starts slapping me again and again.

Maria: You son of a bitch! Wake up! You can't die now. Why are you doing this?
Allen: What the hell is wrong with you?

Tears falling from her face as she reduces the force of the slap eventually.

I have awoken onto a bed that seemed vaguely too familiar to be recognize as my own. Now attached to some kind of robotic device dripping down blood.

Allen: Okay fine I won't. I'm up. Stop yelling. Your voice is all nasally, it's annoying.
Maria: Asshole.
Allen: Well that was uncalled for.
Maria: Only assholes slit their wrists.
Allen: I thought it would be easier and melodramatic and stuff.
Maria: Fuck you.
......................................................................................................

Somebody Else

The room filled with people chatting away. Mostly white walls covered with paintings and pictures spaced apart to make them look more stand out. Perhaps this was the main reason why an art piece looks better in a gallery than it would on your house wall. Marketing.

There she was with a champagne glass in one hand nodding to the nonsense that the guy in front of her was talking about. French art perhaps. Maybe too stereotypical of a black t-shirt wearing guy with a beret. Marketing.

All I can think about was how her hair swerves flawlessly while nodding. It has been 4 years and I have seen that long soft hair grown itself from a bob. I gave a tap on her shoulder just to notify that I was there. She turned around showing me her beautiful light green eyes that when people talk about going green, this is what they meant. Her face gave an expression of confusion and of shock. Not in the good way.

Carmen: What are doing here?
Allen: For you.
Carmen: What?

................................................

Carmen: You're not suppose to be here! (after review by ieraLEE...haha)
Allen: What do you mean? I'm here for you and this is the response.
French Dude: Who's this?
Carmen: This is Allen whose not suppose to be here.
French Dude: Oui.

..................................................

She took me by the hand and dragged me away from the french dude who was twirling his mustache that he seemed to have grown during their conversation.

Carmen: Look, your not suppose to be here. Go back home.
Allen: Why? I'm here.
Carmen: Because its not your time.
Allen: What? What do you mean.
Carmen: Its just not your time yet. Go back home Allen. People are waiting for you back home.
Allen: Who? What people? What are you talking about?

.......................................................

Sounds of rubber souls on white marble flooring like players changing directions on a basketball court.

White uniformed guy: Clear!