Soulstice

The girl sat by the window watching the rain pour down onto the streets below. The headlights of the cars echoed on thin pools across the road and the sidewalk. Her tears made each light and reflection look like a twinkling star. She held her right fist against her heart as if that could make it stop hurting so much. She wondered if this is what it felt like to have a heart attack. The tightness tore at her and made it difficult to breathe.

Could he ever have loved her? She wondered. It didn't matter now. It didn't matter. How could anything really matter? What was left any more? She sobbed out loud and was slightly surprised to find that she didn't feel foolish in the least for such an outrageous show of emotion. God, but it hurts, she thought.

She wanted to reel back, lie flat on the floor and never get up. She wanted to feel her muscles as they atrophied in place over days and weeks of disuse. She wanted to feel her lungs collapse on themselves as she simply stopped breathing, having lost even the sense to inhale.

Her head hurt, filled as it was with the side effects of such intense crying. Her nose ran, and she inhaled loudly trying to keep the snot from running down her face, even though she wasn't sure if she even cared about that any more. There was a box full of tissues in front of her, but she didn't lift a finger to get one.

The cars moved in their little paths, each one to its destination. They stopped at the stop light and moved when the light turned green. They turned left and right in a dance that looked like it might have been choreographed long ago with loving precision, and that they were now only copying as they had so many times before. The rain picked up and poured even harder down on the city. The droplets sounded like hail as they pounded the shutters and awnings over the windows of the apartment buildings. The cars continued with their dance unperturbed.

The girl took a deep breath and let herself fall from the chair where she had been perched. Her body stretched across the floor, limbs akimbo like the corpse at a crime scene before the chalk markings have been left and the deceased taken away. She stared at the ceiling and wondered how long it would take her to fall asleep if she just stayed this way. She wondered, too, if she could just stay asleep once she got there. Could she just remain in the world of dreams and not bother to come back to reality? It seemed worth the try.

She let her eyes close and felt her breath slow. It didn't take long for her to lose consciousness, but she was never aware of being unaware. She woke up hours later and noticed that it was dark and that she had shifted in her sleep. She was now lying on her stomach and using her hands for a pillow. She decided that was fine. She closed her eyes and slid back into the world of dreams.

Again her eyes opened, and it was still dark. This time she let herself be enveloped in the dark without falling back to sleep. She felt comforted by the nothingness. The dark was as sad as she was. It had no lovers, no family, no place. It had no moon and no sun. It was simple and dark. (If only she had ever lived in the country she would have known that this was not darkness at all, but really the illusion of darkness that you get in city places where the streetlights block out the stars and change the color of night from black to some odd greyscale approximation of darkness.)

Night turned to morning, and she felt the pressure on her bladder that told her that she had to get up and take care of at least some of her body's mechanical needs. She seriously considered not bothering, in the way that someone might consider the relative merit of taking one path versus another through the city streets to get to a location on the other side of a traffic congested part of town. She decided that she didn't mind others finding her in her own excrement after her death, but if someone were to walk in while she was still alive, that might be a little bit more embarrassment than she could handle. She lifted herself up as if she weighed two thousand pounds, and trudged to the bathroom. She sat on the pot and waited for her body to finish its business. While she sat there she considered the shower. It might feel nice to climb into a hot shower and wash these feelings away. Tears had not washed anything away. They had only taken the hurt from the inside and made it salty and sticky on the outside of her.

She stood up as she flushed the toilet and reached into the shower to turn on the water. She turned the water to almost its hottest possible setting and waited for the cascading water to heat up. She stood in front of the shower and took off her clothes, leaving them in a pile by her feet. As soon as the shower's temperature was bearable, she stepped inside the tiny stall. The water fell down on her head and shoulders and ran down her back. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity. The steam cleared her sinuses and soothed her head.

She found, as she stood there that the shower's tears were much more powerful than hers. They washed her pain down to the point of anger, and she began to cry again. This time, her tears did not stick to her skin, but were sent down the drain with the shower's own sadness. She screamed loudly now, and did not worry about who might her the sounds that reverberated against the tiles of her bathroom, or what they might think of her.

How could he leave her like this? How? How? She repeated the word “How” as if there was some clue in the word itself. Something about death and pain and endings that could be explained in the rhythm of the word or the melody of its repetition in a running shower as the sound mixed with the percussion of water and fists beating against the wall.

She had loved him deeply. Still loved him. And he had never cared at all. He was on his way home after just a few weeks. And now it didn't matter.

She stood with her head against the wall, and reached down at last to turn off the water. She turned off all the hot first and stood in the freezing cold for a second before turning the rest off.

If only it could all be over now, she thought. If only.

Stepping out of the shower, she grabbed a towel, and dried herself off. Then she picked up the clothes from the floor and and headed to her bedroom. She dropped the clothes into the hamper and opened drawers to pull out fresh clothing. A pair of fresh underwear. Sweat pants. A short sleeved t-shirt. She put them on and then collapsed onto her bed. She closed her eyes and instantly fell asleep again.

She had some dream, though she couldn't remember it at all later. It was disturbing, but she didn't know why exactly. The one thing she remembered was that she couldn't open her eyes in the dream. No matter how she tried, she just couldn't open her eyes. And when she thought, in that dream, that she had almost opened them, she found herself so tired that she couldn't quite do it after all.

When she woke up at last, she felt just as tired as she had in the dream. She looked up at the ceiling and wondered how long she'd been sleeping. She considered getting out of bed, but she couldn't think of any good reason to, so she just stayed put.

The phone rang. She ignored it. After ten rings, it stopped. She turned over and closed her eyes again.

The sun began to sink behind the buildings across the street from the girl's living room, but she didn't see it, since her bedroom was as closed off as it could possibly be. Small men and women scurried about unseen in the kitchen. They came out from under the refrigerator and from under the stove. There were some who came out of a spot where the bottom of the dishwasher was bent out of shape. Some met with the little people from other appliances and hugged and kissed. Others headed straight for the hallway, and on towards the girl's bedroom. Other small people came from under the cupboards in the bathroom. They added their greetings to the general din as they headed towards the girl's room, too.

Some of the little people carried odd supplies. Little-people-sized rope. Ladders. Huge knives, like machetes (only they were small as toothpicks to you or me). They had backpacks full of provisions, blankets for a picnic feast, and bottles of water, juices and deep red wine. They marched towards the bedroom with a sense of jovial duty, as if they were on their way to a barn raising or some other community project that needed to be done, but that would be done with joy because that's just what you do.

When they reached the bedroom, they were met by a couple of small puff balls of fur and teeth which had come from under the bed, two amoeba-like creatures that slithered through the shadows and were, in fact made of slimy shadow material themselves, and a ten foot tall groat who had to bend over all the time when he walked because the ceilings in these places just aren't made for the likes of him.

All of the people and the creatures met by the side of the girl's bed. One small man climbed onto the groat's foot, and the groat reached down to lift him up so that he could address the gathering.

“You know what we need to do. Let's do our work quickly, and then we can all enjoy a little fun. Please, everyone, stay out of the line of the ropes if you are not stringing them, or hauling them. This is very important. We lost two of our number the last time. They will be missed.” Many of the little people took off their hats at the mention of their lost comrades, and bowed their heads in respect before the man continued from his groatish platfom. “I have no desire to eulogize any of you tomorrow. It's always such a bummer, you know. So, To It!”

And with that last, all of the gathered community let out a loud hoot of celebration as they began to run around to their tasks. Some people set to making joining knots in the lengths of rope so that they would be long enough to string over their prey. Others took those parts of the rope that were ready and ran them up and over the girl asleep in her bed.

The groat put the man who had spoken down on the edge of the bed, and then used his soft furry hands to gently roll the girl onto her back. He propped her head up on a pillow and then decided that she need more height to her shoulders, so he went to the living room and brought one of the pillows from the couch to put under her bed pillow. He was so soft and gentle that she didn't wake at all, or have any idea that she was being moved, even.

The furry puff balls from under the bed helped people reach the top of the bed where the girl lay. Men and women would climb onto the back of one of the puffs and then the puff would jump on the back of it's companion whose legs would then grow almost as tall as the bed itself. With the two puff balls together, the people were able to walk almost straight across from puff to mattress top to start their work.

One young man with not much experience at this sort of thing moved a bit too quickly, and perhaps a bit too carelessly as the young will often do, and he slipped down between the puff ball's back and the mattress. As he tumbled down, the bottom puff ball let his legs shrink at amazing speed, and he caught the man by the belt loop with his teeth. Unable to stretch far enough to place the young man all the way up on the bed, the puff elected instead to set the man safely on terra firma and allow him to try to get up to the bed a second time. Of course, the youngster had learned his lesson, at least for today, and he was far more careful to mind the gap on his second attempt to reach the girl.

In a matter of twenty minutes, the little people and the creatures had completed their main task. The girl was completely tied down to her bed, lying on her back so that she could see them when they spoke to her and so that she could not run away when they awoke. The group took a collective sigh of accomplishment and anticipation as they assembled for the next part of their task.

The groat went off to the closet and grabbed his two handed broadsword. What a lovely thing it was, too, forged by elves that you have certainly never heard of before, even if you think that they are something like the ones from some tale or other that you liked when you were a child. These elves weren't Tolkienian, nor were they Norse. They were not Santa's helpers, nor were they quite like the shedim of Jewish lore. These were other elves, I'm telling you, and they forged blades the quality of which only a very few have ever seen or experienced. And you are certainly not one of those few.

When the groat returned from the closet with his weapon in hand, he stood by the right side of the girl's bed and nodded to his friend, the man who had made the announcement at the beginning of the evening's work. The man looked up at the ceiling to see that the shadow creatures were already in place over the lamp. He looked over at the light switch by the door and nodded towards the woman who stood at the top of the strange collection of balanced ladders that lifted her up into place.

She reached above her head with both hands and pushed the light switch into its on position. The light in the room immediately took on a sickly hue as it filtered through the now invisible shadow creatures. Their darkness and slime made the light seem to flicker and falter.

The man who was directing everyone then strolled up along the woman's midsection, between her two breasts, up to her neck, and then he climbed onto her chin with a little bit of extra effort. He pulled a small handkerchief out of one pocket and rubbed the sweat from his brow, replaced it, and then steadied himself for the really hard part of all of this.

Someone below tried to get his attention with a whisper, and then a bird call, and then a whistle. Finally, there was a loud chorus of, “Stweedle!!”

The man looked around, and one man said calmly, “Your cane...” as another handed Stweedle his cane.

“Oh, yes. Of course. How silly of me.” He took the cane and regained his composure. “These things always make me a bit uneasy, you know?”

Empathetic nods came from all around the room.

One more deep breath, and Stweedle, reached out with his cane and poked the girl's nose hard with the rubberized end. He readied himself to jump back onto her chest, but she didn't so much as move.

“She's not dead already is she?” Asked a meek voice from one of the young ladies in the back of the crowd.

“No, of course she's not, Tilda. Shhh...” Came the reply from one of the other women who had more experience in these things.

Stweedle took another deep breath and poked the girl again and again, firmly, until she opened her eyes and tried to bat at whatever was bothering her. He jumped back with the deftness of a man of something less than 100 years and then he turned his head to the side in query. Her arms were tied tightly down by her side. Would she realize this and wake up fully? Ah, yes, she did.

Her eyes opened and she squirmed against the bonds that held her in place. Now she caught view of the groat standing with his two handed broadsword, ready to be used to spear her straight through the heart. (Which, by the way, isn't actually something you usually do with a two handed broadsword, and that was part of the joke of it in the groat's head. Luckily no one yet had tested his resolve to actually end their life, because if they did, the resulting movements to change grip and actually cut the person would be so ungraceful as to be a complete waste of so dramatic a moment!)

Stweedle strolled calmly into a place on the girl where she could see him clearly, but could not easily knock him over with her vain squirming. She needed to see who was responsible for all of this while he talked to her. This was all important in the whole scheme of things.

“So, heartbreak, is it?” Stweedle began, “And life is over, right?”

The girl's eyes were now as wide open as they possibly could be. Her fear had now overtaken her sadness and she could think of nothing but this exact moment. It was satori like none other she had ever experienced.

“Well, we can finish the job for you. How's that?”

The girl let out a muffled scream. Stweedle realized that someone had put tape across her mouth. Who did that? Oh, there would be a stern talk before the picnic, that's for sure.

He walked up to her mouth and pulled the corner of the duct tape. As the tape came off, he realized why the tape had been placed there. Three days of not doing anything, and neither eating nor brushing her teeth, had had quite the effect on her breath. It would have been the envy of any dragon, Stweedle decided. Still, she had to be able to speak, or else there was no point in any of this.

“Well?” He looked down at her as if impatient with her refusal to speak while duct taped. He raised a hand behind himself as if he was going to give the order to the groat finish her off.

“No!” She gasped, “Please?” she pleaded in a kind of sorry way.

“Wait, what?!” Stweedle acted surprised.

“No... please don't. I don't want to die.”

“That's not what you were saying before. That's not what you were thinking. You were going to just lay here until you rotted. You were just too much of a coward to take your own life. We know how that is. That's why were here. We can do it for you, so that you don't have to be brave.” Stweedle played his part perfectly.

“No. I. I just want to not hurt. I don't want to kill myself. I can't do that.”

“No, you can't, can you? It just wouldn't do.” He strolled back and forth across her belly and then marched up close to her face again. “You DO realize that sleeping 20 hours of every day is the same things as killing yourself, right? It's just cheating your way out of life. It's a living suicide, and that's just as bad.”

The girl shook her head, but thought about it.

The groat still stood in position to skewer the girl with his sword. He was immensely strong and was proud of the fact that he could stand there like that for hours on end if need be.

“I don't want to do that.” The girl said at last.

“Oh. So you mean, we don't get to finish you off?” Stweedle sounded almost disappointed.

The girl shook her head as best as she could beneath the stout ropes.

“Fine. Whatever you say.” Stweedle responded, “But you have to get up, and LIVE. Go brush your teeth. And then get dressed and go DO something.” He fixed her with a certain look, right in the eyes, and she instantly knew what it was that she ought to do.

The girl nodded her head now, just barely perceptibly because of the ropes, “OK.”

“Folks!” Stweedle shouted, “We'd better clean up! This one's not going today!!”

And in a moment the army of small people ran about unhooking the ropes and the hooks that kept them in place on the bed. Within minutes the girl was free, but she dare not move. The groat still stood in place with the sword ready to drop.

Stweedle looked up at the groat and said, “I SAID, not today.” And the groat looked disappointed as he lowered the sword, put it's point on the ground and then leaned on it as if it were a gentleman's cane.

The girl sat up, and looked around at the people all over her bed, with a few in different parts of her room doing special tasks. She looked at Stweedle again, and then began to get up tentatively.

“Remember,” He said, as she stood up, “If you are going to live, LIVE. Do it all the way. Hold on, and take the ride for all it's worth. That's the only way you can really do it right.” He winked at her.

The girl nodded and said thank you. She started to brush one of the strings off of her, only to discover that attached to the rope was one of the small people who had not gotten off of her before she had stood up. He was holding on for dear life. She held the string up, with him dangling at the other end, and put him down gently on the bed.

The girl headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and her mind filled with ideas and plans. She had a lot of life ahead of her, and it was set to be quite a ride.