Mother Mother
February 12, 2005, 7:32 a.m.
Mother:
It has been 13 months that I've been in this place... Thirteen months since I stepped through the threshold that was your arms, dangling there from the rafters of your fingertips like a babe sacrificed unto the wolves.
The air here is thick, impregnated with cancerous air floating from the mouths of strangers where I have no choice but to take it into my lungs and expel it again in some sadistic cycle. I held my breath for so long, mother. Held it until I could hold it no longer. Now my words splay like vomit onto the walls already painted with the filth of others' confessions. There are no omissions here, only repurcussions for words left unspoken.
I hear that father has fallen ill again, and I fear to tell you that I too have seen better days... better sunrises on better horizons. This sickness that spews from the throats of those that I hold dearest has finally clawed it's way into my chest...
There is insipient sadness slipping like smoke from beneath broken doorframes onto every street. on every block. in every city in this place. It curls its wispy fingers round my neck like a noose... not quite taut, but with enough pressure that I have begun to find it difficult to breathe. Difficult to speak.
So we stumble-step and side-wind, silent creatures all-consumed. self-absorbed. enamored by the sight of our tears careening down our cheeks in store windows. I am just another face in this flock... you should recognise it... it's the one you dropped me into 13 months ago. Those that you left behind.
I'm sick, Mother. I'm sick. I'm sad. I'm hungry. I'm dirty. I'm losing my mind... But truly, Mommy Dear. Everything's fine... Don't worry your tired little mind. I'll call again when I find my voice... find some way to slip my fingertips under this noose that i can't quite grasp.
Lovingly.
The Youngest of the Flock.
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