twisted beautiful things

xii. cherry

xii. cherry

'they're burning all the witches even if you  a r e n ' t one

they've got their pitchforks and proof

their receipts and r e a s o n s'

(taylor).

atticus

After the library, I spend my time lounging about my dorm room, reading arbitrary Wikipedia articles about spirits and the paranormal world. Although the idea of holding a seance terrifies me due to the unknown of it all, it fascinates me as well.

One of the most substantial mysteries of this world is death. The world that lies beyond one's last breath haunts the most inquiring souls late at night, or perhaps when a loved one passes on. Sometimes there are big existential questions in life and well, some of them aren't meant to be answered. In this lifetime, anyway.

I faced death once; It was a sunlit, quiet day at the lake with my babysitter when I was around the age of eight and she'd left me unattended at the muddy banks to grab a towel from her car. This duck floated lazily in the water, and it fascinated me how effortless it seemed on the surface, the way the small creature just glided with this grace that provoked my curiosity. So I'd crouched down to get a better look at him when my sneakers slipped on the mud and I went tumbling into the cold, dark water.

I couldn't swim, and so naturally, I thrashed around in the water, gulping in mouthfuls of dirty lake liquid until my lungs burned and I passed out. Things were kind of fuzzy after that, but my babysitter had retrieved me from the water as soon as my body stopped fighting and she managed to give me CPR.

I still can't swim. Julian, who actually enjoys swimming quite a bit, seemed offended when I told him I can't, and he vowed that teaching me how to swim is number one on his bucket list.

But there is something so odd about knowing that if my babysitter didn't get back to me in time, there is a high chance I wouldn't be here. It's quite peculiar, to think about how many times I must've been on the precipice of death without even knowing it; maybe I passed by a person who was on the hunt for someone to kill, but decided that I wasn't the one they were going to target. Or maybe at some point my car broke down, preventing me from getting in an accident that was bound to happen in the place I was traveling to.

Whatever the case may be, I'm still here on earth. Meaning my time isn't up yet.

Meaning my purpose hasn't been fulfilled.

What was Elsie's purpose? Did she get to fill out her life's mission?

What was the point?

What is it all for?

And so as I rest at my cluttered desk devouring articles about life on other planets and alternate dimensions and about faith and coincidences and guardian angels, the hours slowly slip away from me; my mind goes down a dangerous slope towards uncharted territory filled with what-ifs and theories and questions.

My thoughts and ponderings are interrupted, however, when Kennedy calls.

"Hey KK," I say when I accept her call, but she doesn't return the greeting the same way I did.

"The painting." Hurried and hushed, her voice alerts me into an upright position, my hazy thoughts that had been swirling around the depths of my mind suddenly dissipated.