like a Jackson Pollock

She stared at the page as if it had offended her standing. In all technicality, it had. Her pride and gift offended by this blank page. Blank like the glare in her eyes. Blank like the look she held in class. Blank like the page in front of her now. She never found assigments for English debilitating like this particular work in the making. Her mind, along with the gray sky, was blank. She looked down at the blacktop and growled primitively in agitation. She stared into space. Staring into the black. All the emotions splattered upon her core like a paintbrush of many colors upon a canvas, turning it all into a muddy brown mess. That was her emotions now. Her mess. A few passerbys made their cordial hellos but refrained from a formal conversation. They had places to go. People to see. Things to experience. And Deirdre, Deirdre did not. She did not want to go anywhere. She did not want to do anything. She didn't want to see anyone. She wanted to go hide in a cave somewhere. A tranquil place. She hated this and her growing resentment was more futile by the second. How dare she? She loved her friend. But everyone seemed to be a passing fancy. A friend only for sunny days and blue skies. And a present fact that Adelaide herself would not admit to but Deirdre reminded her over and over that Adelaide was a true friend. She tried to push both thoughts from her mind. For the time being, Adelaide was not. Adelaide had promised, she swore on her life she would stay and never surrender her trust. Yet she fled in turmoil. Deirdre understood, but at the same time, she did not in the least. And she can't understand how everyone goes on breathing when true love ends. Or at least when it is missing.


Her family rejoined her and in her desperate attempt to get out quickly and in order stepped wrong on her knee as she made her way across the school parking lot. Oh, damn this broken knee to the firey depths of Hell her agitated reply came to the source of her irritation. Or rather..one of them. Too many people, too much noise and not enough peace for her taste. Finally muttering with a voice that disturbed only those homosapiens that would rather not hear her, F this place sick. She'd read it in a book borrowed from Adelaide. She honestly hated remembering that name. Her thoughts returned to the last time she'd seen Adelaide in real time and in her dreams and both were unsightly visions of the person she knew and loved.
She hated what her friend had become. More so what she had become. It all sickened her. As if she didn't feel sick enough. A hand with claws like razors seemed to be scraping at the back of her throat. Her nose congested and running only permitting her to go a few minutes without bringing a tissue to her face. She sincerely hoped she would die from this. It's only a head cold. Absolutely ridiculous. Ridiculous, but one would suppose not. If it mattered to her, it should matter to someone else, correct? For the most part, ethically correct. But not humanly. Humans are cold creatures. They do not consider the thoughts and feelings of anyone but the individual. She groaned inwardly. Whatever. was her post-modernistic mantra. The mantra that controlled the puppet strings. Her apathetic fuzzy creature, sucking the life out of her, in turn making her a creature too.

Into her little car, she piled everyone in and amazingly, not any one of her siblings said a word to her. Her little one, the sister that she loved so looked at her inquiringly through the rearview mirror, wondering who this strange person was in her elder sister's body. Deirdre didn't even know anymore What a cliche. She could have said out loud, but truly. In her mind, she would have loved to know who was making her move her brake and gear shift.