RaeDances > Made to Fade

Made to Fade

She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe against the sudden thickness that had settled into her chest. It was always like this, acute agoraphobia of the soul - her crippling fear that she had become no more than bones being steered by mindless muscle. Empty, hollow, fading girl. Dissolving girl, losing herself in too many reflections, too many facets of self and un-self. Laughing, smiling, drowning girl. Laugh, smile, choke.

She popped her knuckles like an addict, contorted her pale digits against the ache, an ache she knew originated in a much darker place than fingers. She was searching for something, seeking someone, somewhere. Somewhere gone. Somewhere invisible. Searching had consumed her, and from a distance, she had looked back on her life and seen a gaping, girl-shaped hole.

Her fingers ached, typed m o r p h e u s. She bent her index finger in half, and tried again. M a t r i x. Nothing. Always the same dead end, always the same dragging boredom in discovering that nothing new would ever appear to her. Nothing new would ever find a "her" in this mess of flesh, blood, and bone. Twist pop.

Agoraphobia, fear of wide, empty, enormous spaces. Every time she examined her soul, all she could think of was the vast, empty chasm that winked smugly from somewhere between her heart and intestines. What do you like, little girl? What makes you happy? Nothing ever does, does it? She wonders: what makes me happy? Chews a hangnail. Losing myself.

Love was for fools and asses, she thought. Her mother thinks that she'll find the right man some day, and she hates her mother. Her father says she's too young to be in love, and she hates him too. Girls at school say to stop looking and let him find her, and she envisions them all dead. What makes you happy, little girl? She's lonely. So desperately lonely. She pushes them away to hide the hole. Runs to the keyboard and types m a t r i x. She hopes it's a cult. Ritual suicide is starting to sound good about now.

She opens her email, and the crushing, drowning sensation is back. She knows it's from him. "Like a splinter in your mind," it reads. No. Not in her mind, she soundlessly tells this invisible man, somehow confident he'll feel her pain. Like a splinter in your mind, like a splinter in your heart, like being torn down an invisible meridian. Something was so wrong with this world. Something was so wrong with her.

She sat through classes, peeling tape off the spine of her ripped up text book. The tape was herself, the book was the world, or was it the other way around? Bits of paper clung to the tape, and the tape twisted and splintered as it tried to cling to its home. They destroyed each other as they parted, and she knew then that she had to get away. Had to tear herself from this world before it tore itself from her.

When the imposing, muscular man motioned to her from the alley way, she had no qualms about following him to her potential demise. She followed blindly through doorways and hallways, endless decaying remnants of lives lived long ago. Was this the end for her, or the beginning? Neither of them had spoken, and for all she knew, he was some rapist or murderer, yet her gut told her that he was neither of those things. He was destiny.

"I'm going to ask you to make a choice," he said, pausing before a doorway. His voice was smooth and melodic, his tone stern but warm, his eyes hard, but not without kindness. She nodded, trusting him implicitly. "You take the blue pill, and you'll forget all of this. Believe it to be the products of an overactive imagination, a dream, whatever you want. You take the red pill, and I will show you the truth." She stared at him long and hard, steely blue eyes meeting dark, endless ones.

"Blue pill my ass," she snorted and reached for the red one, dry swallowing it without once taking her eyes from his. He gestured for her to grasp the door knob, ignoring her raised eyebrow. Reaching out, she began to turn it slowly.

"Welcome aboard, Trinity," he said softly, and followed her through the first doorway of her new life.

End of Transmission

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