I, Death

Tuesday May 1, 2012 - 11:58 PM

I didn't see Monica at school at all yesterday. The day was mostly just a big blur, it was like my ears were stuffed with cotton and I was seeing everything through a smoky haze. My heart kept racing every time a girl passed me because I thought it might be her.

But I saw her today. She was far down the hall, and I don't think she saw me. But I saw her, and my heart burned, it ached, and I wept. I wept to see this once strong and confident girl, sexy, bright and cheery, slowly slink down the hallway, her head down-turned. Walking tight to the lockers, she moved down the hall with these little brisk steps like she was afraid someone was going to step on her.

It broke my heart. This wasn't Monica. No, not anymore. There was barely nothing left of the Monica that I knew as I watched this meek person scuttle down the hall.

And the guilt returned to me full force.

I wonder if that's how Hamlet felt when he came upon the grave being dug for Ophelia. It's funny, someone left a comment about whether or not Hamlet was mad or if he was just allowing others to think he was. Honestly? I actually think it was a bit of both. I'm sure that he played up his madness because it made others uneasy, but I also think that there was some truth to his affliction. He was filled with anger, confusion, guilt.

And, of course, I think back to my own situation, my own anger, my own confusion, my own guilt. There was that horrid dream, that awful nightmare of hurting Monica. I feel guilty for having it, but not because I believe I actually hurt her. No, I think that was my unconscious mind telling me I was responsible for her getting hurt. That she was hurt because of me, because of this curse surrounding me.

I just can't get the image of her slinking down the hall like a fearful mouse out of my mind.