Untitled
April 18, 2006

A girl is standing on one of those walk way overpass sort of things just watching the traffic. A guy comes up and says that he likes her hair and her legs and has always found her attractive. She recognizes him, but says nothing. And after she turns her attention back to the traffic, he just looks at her sadly and walks away with a dissapointed air that lingers with the despondant girl. The hours pass, and still she stands there.

The twilight cast about her, she glances to her side and another boy approaches. She likes the way he looks and so she smiles. He smiles back but as he nears her he suddenly gets a lungful of the dissapointed air that the last visitor left behind and keeps walking, gagging in disgust. The girl's smile dissapears and she turns out to watch the traffic: coming and going coming and going at the same time but never stopping.

At the last lingering moments of daylight, she figures out why the last boy walked by her. It was the dissapointed air left behind by the last. So, she decides to try another area to wait. Only, she didn't know she was waiting until she thought about that. She thought that she was just watching the traffic and there was nothing to that. But now that she thinks about it, she's sure she's waiting. She can feel it in her bones.

It is even more evident now that she can't wait bathing in the stink of the first boy's dissapointment or the one she's waiting for will never come. A new place to stand and watch and wait must be found. She moves along, her feet pat patting along the soft pavement of the overpass walkway thing, but that doesn't matter because it's drowned out by the engines of the cars below her anyway.

She finds a new place where she is certain that the air of dissapointment has dissipated and she settles into the night time surrounding her, becoming despondant once more while she waits. Or at least she tries to be despondant like she had been before. But now she can't get her mind off of what she is waiting for. It makes her shift nervously on her feet it makes her bite her nails and it makes her anxious and impatient. She also doesn't know it yet, but she really hasn't escaped the rotten smell.

It does, however, suddenly occur to her that at this hour it is dark and should someone walk by they will not see her. But she is self controlled so she will wait for the morning light to come and there will be the spotlight of the warm sun on her at last for them all to see. She waits. She waits. She waits. She ages. She grows older. And the traffic comes and it goes and it's leaving and it's coming and it's all so trivial. Morning seems farther away than it ever had.

It is obvious the air of the first boy's dissapointment and the second boy's dissapointment still surround her and only grow stronger and stronger. She knows this now because it has grown so strong that it chokes her. Her impatience chokes her. Her anxiety chokes her. What if it will never come?

By and by, she tells herself, by and by and still no morning. No light. No boy. No love.

The moment arrives, however, when she can finally see the morning along the horizon as a streak of gold, of fire. She watches eagerly as it grows into broad daylight and into hope in her heart. She is gasping for clean morning air now, but that isn't changing. No, it is as strong as ever. The dissapointment is smothering her and it will kill her, she is certain. If it does not kill her, it will chase him away. Who is he anyway?

She doesn't have very long to ponder this question when at long last a new boy finally comes and her hope bursts into a magnificient flower, coming out and expoding from her heaving chest. He notices this flower over her wheezing. He likes the flower. It distracts him. He does not breath the air of dissapointment because, by now, the girl has swollowed it all for herself.

Can you help me, she asks through her choking.

Yes, he says. But (and he will not say it) he does not know what she is talking about. All he knows is that she needs him and he wants her so he is there for her. He smiles.

She smiles. And for the rest of the day they remain so. She stares into his eyes and coughs, he stares at the flower. She wants to get his attention to her own eyes more than anything in the world. He wants to taste the flower. Hoping that the other doesn't notice, they slowly lean into eachother, inch my inch hour by hour until, at sunset, they kiss.

It is an action of disasterous consequence because he instantaneously tastes the dissapointed air she's breathed, expelled from her lungs into him in the form of insecurity. He tastes the poisonous kiss and he doesn't like it. Soon he begins to choke on it as she has been, and while the light dissapears around them, he is dying. He knows this is not worth the pretty flower so he pulls back and with all his might he heaves all the dissapointment and the insecurity and more back in her direction. There is a chill and the night rears it's ugly ugly head again. He flees while he still can and dissapears into the darkness.

The girl can't breath at all now. She grows dizzy and faint. She tries moving and it doesn't help. She could get off the walkway. She can't get off the walkway. She can't make it. There is only one place to go. She has the choice between suffocation or the speeding traffic below. She moves over to the railing of the overpass and watches the blurred vehicles coming and going at the same time to contemplate this. As she does she notices that the once lovely portrusion from her chest is wilting and dying. She hasn't much time now. She must make her choice. She makes her choice. Summoning the miniscule bit of strength left in her breaking heart, she throws herself from the overpass. As she falls, the flower bursts into an even more beautiful explosion than before, a prism of petals and life. It is short-lived. It dies not long after after she hits the jagged asphalt below.

The vehicles simultaneously come and go.