The Kitchen

Those nights where I can see you, at the corner of my eye- in the recesses where the retina may not reach, but the mind may hold its breath and delve- I find that you have waited for me. You exist only in the shattering of light alongside darkness; the flash of the photographer’s camera, or the death of the night amidst the glory of sunrise. But there in that snap, that time of momentary insanity; I find you, in the kitchen. You sit in obscurity in the darkest corner, eyes tormented from sobbing. I struggle to remember your form precisely: your black figure is wretched and incomprehensible, shaking at the dazzle from the artificial lights. Your pale face seems hysterical against the remaining relics of your make-up; long black marks tear open your cheeks and I bite my lip and try not to laugh. I stretch my arms towards you, but you recede… the light is on, and the fear has departed. But with each returning night you find me again, crawling through my skin with the flick of the light bulb. I turn my head towards you and your image dissolves. With each turn shrouded in the insignificance of blinking, I see you there repeatedly, in the darkness, on the kitchen floor. Sometimes you laugh with me. Sometimes I cry with you.

In the bathroom too, you wait for me. I sit in the bath and know in my heart that you had never been there at all, but the unknown depths of the bath itself know the troubles of my mind. Dressed fully I sit for reassurance, the running water preventing you from sitting with me. So long as I sit here, you never will; but as I wash the blood from my mouth every night, you stand at my elbow and watch me, and every night you sit upon my chest and eat my breath. I daren’t open my eyes, the singular moment betwixt consciousness and unconsciousness, life and death, is where you find the time to sit down and cry, in the darkness, on the kitchen floor. You paralyze me with your silence. You consume my soul as I sleep.

Tonight I know you are not awake, but still I know that you are also sat weeping, alone and afraid, where the day has not yet illuminated the ecclesiastical arrangement of mugs and glass, in the very back of my mind. Perhaps one day when I am too drunk I will tell you how you haunt me, but until then you shall sit alone in the darkness, on the kitchen floor. I think you will stay here forever. I think I will be here forever too.

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About Anna

Author of the Insanity Aquarium. Current fears include time as a concept, the squishiness of my right eyeball, and not being able to open this jar.
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9 Responses to The Kitchen

  1. Pete Howorth says:

    This is like the best Monday ever because last week I didn’t get much time to WordPress so today I have two AQUARIUM MONDAYS~! to read :D I have missed you! *HUG*

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  2. Well, if your friend wasn’t there with you, you wouldn’t quite be you, would you?

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  3. Anne Schilde says:

    I don’t know if you’ve ever heard an introduction to the Twilight Zone, but it’s that place of sight and of sound that exists only between the shadow and the light. I so very loved all the different ways you painted it.

    I have a pet that sneaks out from behind my monitor to stare at me, and peeks from the toothbrush cup when I do my makeup, always darting away when I turn to look. The annoying little bugger is a backseat driver too, but of course it’s only there in the rear-view until I scold it.

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    • Anna says:

      I haven’t, but thank you! I never did see the Twilight Zone… Hammer House of Horror with its tacky blood dripping from the ceiling and hairy hands was the thing that always kept me entertained. Mmm, hairy hands.

      And I sometimes wish that I could grow tiny goats on trees so I could keep them as pets. They would be spooky and tiny and goat-like. I feel that these might just be nicer pets to have than the horrible memory-monsters that stuff socks down my throat when I least expect it.

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    • Anne Schilde says:

      Absolutely! Goats would even eat the socks for you!

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  4. darkjade68 says:

    That’s an Amazing Piece…
    At first I was thinken you’re talken about your Shadow…
    Then I was thinken that you are talking about “Death”… But more specifically, your Death… Waiting in the Shadows.
    A Very Thought Provoking Piece… I’m actually quite curious what it’s Truly about, though I know not even you may know the answer… But perhaps you at least know a Smidge more than I, lol
    Great Anna
    DarkJade- P.S. How are you, eaten more than Noodles these days I hope?

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    • Anna says:

      Thanks DarkJade! I appreciate your interpretation of the story, but alas, the place it comes from is perhaps more tedious. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, I like your interpretation much better :)

      And I’ve moved on to cottage pie! Microwavable food saves me from eating my own toes.

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    • darkjade68 says:

      I must say, Cottage Pie does sound better than Noodles, lol

      No Problem, I didn’t figure you’d want to go into exactly where the Writing was Derived… I shall remain guessing, lol

      I do hope you continue to Spare Your Toes however, as being without them would surely impair your Dancing, and we can’t have that, lol

      I’m Glad You’re well

      DarkJade-

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