She opened the door and there he lay with a peacefulness on his face like she’d never seen there. He had let go – or had she? Somewhere in the night there had been a great release, but by whom she wasn’t sure. What was she feeling as she gazed upon his body? What a magical moment that occurred just hours before. She had met his every crest and valley – as he had hers. The moon had shown brightly through the sheer curtains as if lighting the stage of performance. The stars glimmered as camera flashes from a respondent audience. Does she feel full now or sudden emptiness. Such a fine line to walk between the two sensations. As he had looked at her – his eyes had been full of trust and soft caressing tenderness. She knew she would never live up to what those eyes were looking for within her.
What had she come this far? The road back would be all up hill. Again, she had let herself become distracted from the level easy route that she had planned. These excursions drained her so. She tries to remember when she had first begun the journey that led to this place. This place where she stood in the early morning, listening to the world outside wake up with gentle greetings to this new day. As she stood here, calmly looking towards the lifeless body of the soul that innocently crossed her well plotted path – causing her to veer into that crater of vile anger that had replaced her soul. She must again retrace the steps that let her here – hoping to prevent the consumption of yet another innocent life. She turns and walks away, knowing that no amount of strolling down the same road again will prevent her return…
Funny how people buy whole buildings – homes they prefer to call them to hold all the things they have collected like the possessions serve as a life line of some sort. Allie was thinking such thoughts as she placed every item she truly felt was all she wanted from her life into the trunk of her car. A handful of pictures that place her in scenes she can hardly recall at this point, a small box with some treasured trinkets like jewelry, ticket stubs to events she at attended, a small address book of people she’d never call or write. She had a couple bags packed with clothes, shoes and cosmetics. There were a few books that would serve as moments of escape from this hellacious life she had woven for herself. She closed the trunk – squinting as a sharp ray of morning sun peeped from over the tree line that surrounded the house. She slid behind the steering wheel, gave the motor life with the turn of the ignition and placed the car in reverse. As she is about to pull the car into a forward motion and move down the road, she glances back towards the front door, as if someone is about to appear there, waving, wishing her well with her journey. She knows she will find no movement at the door. The small amount of warmth that remained in his body would not be enough to create any type of movement. She remembers the last movement. The memories of those last movements burn into her reflections. At the time she never knew which motion would be the last. She always anticipated the moment when she would feel the last weak breath leave and enter her. What power to ride the dance of death – sway with the fight spirit until it surrenders. She is one of the few that can endure the dance and move away more powerful than when she entered the dance floor. She’s driving now – this part excites and renews her – the idea that she can go any direction she desires, but chooses instead to remain on the predestined course she knows she must follow.
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