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Flash Forward by Ray Printer Friendly

Flashes.

Of vision, of smell, of noise. What happened? What is happening? The panic builds up inside of me, no release, and I feel like I'll explode.

I remember...what? I remember the party. Did I drink? Was I drunk? The world evaporates, no noise, no questions, only peace.


Flashes. Some guy with bad breath, he's all over me, his face in my face, his hands on my body. I want to tell him stop it. His mouth, I see it moving, but if he's saying anything, it isn't making any sense. He sounds like buzzing, and it reminds me of the first time I got high.

I hear ripping, and I see the fabric of my eight hundred dollar dress tossed casually aside. I want to scream at this asshole, I want to ask him if he realizes what he just did, I want to slap, punch, kick.

Instead, I


Flashes, red and blue, and movement. Awake again, the winter air cold on my body, and the guy with bad breath, he's screaming. I don't understand anything he's saying, but his mouth makes out a word, it's either "pulse" or "puss." I'm naked and alive, so it could be either.

He leans down into my face, and I finally can understand what he's saying, and it's, "Stay with me, Darla. Stay with me, okay?"

No, bad breath guy. I don't want to stay, especially not with you.


Is it death? If it isn't, it might as well be.

Darkness.

Blackness.

Nothingness.

And I gotta tell you, it feels great. Makes the half-day spa trip I took last month seem like getting hot needles shoved into my eyes.

Why doesn't everybody do this?


Flashes, and bad breath guy is telling me that was a close one, and I wish I could move to hit him. Not just for the dress anymore. I feel the tears sliding from my eyes, tickling my cheek, creeping into my ears.

The hate creeping back into my heart. The sadness. The emptiness that takes up so much space.

We're...moving? I feel myself jostled. But I remain unmoved. I just want to go.


Flashes, bright, then brighter, then bright, then brighter. White ceiling, white lights, they're pushing me down a hallway, taking me somewhere I don't want to go, a woman to my right, wearing a white uniform. She says, "She's back. I donít know for how long."

She looks down at me, sees me looking up at her. She asks, "You gonna work with me, Darla, or am I wasting my time?"

I feel the darkness calling, and I want to answer it and I want to answer the woman in the white uniform.

I close my eyes.


Comments:
Entered By QueBella From From the trauma unit
2009-08-24 05:01:36

So many different interpretations possible... well done.


Entered By Ricky From From the trauma
2009-10-08 03:25:18

Wow, this is exquisite. Reminds me of that story you wrote about two gangsters, from the perspective of the male (versus the female gunslinger), where he described his death as "everything inside rusting, and then nothing."



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