PhilLFM
10-03-2008, 05:48 AM
The Plane Crash
I wake up and scramble outside trying hard to open my incredibly stiff door, it opens and I spill out into my garden. I sit down and light a cigarette, the cigarette smoke forms silhouettes of broken hearted men and women, I am in the bar now, I order a whiskey and sit there smoking, my head down so people won’t try to speak to me. I always come here it’s a gritty place, chipped wall paper, grime and blood stained tables, haggard old barmaids in short skirts and boob tubes, desperate for attention, yet this place feels like home. There is not one happy person here, we sit, we drink, forget and we listen to music that is so sad yet always makes you smile. People play fiddles here. She enters, animalistic hair, lips glossed lightly in blood red lip stick, body shaped like an hour glass (the hourglass is cracked of course), she is slightly intoxicated, dressed in a slim fitting slightly tattered black cocktail dress. She is not what most would call beautiful but then again I am not most. She walks towards me, I pray that she doesn’t sit next to me but of course she does. I turn my head away from her shyly so we don’t make eye contact. She lights a cigarette and inhales the smoke deeply then expels it through her nostrils in heavenly wisps. She turns to me and asks me to tell her my story, I refuse and tell her to tell me her story, she says “I am your story” then laughs maniacally.
We are sat on a park bench drinking cheap wine and smoking cigarettes, I lean over to kiss her. We are in bed together sharing a cigarette, we have just ****ed for what seems like days, my exhausted body is covered in scratches and bite marks, I lean over and tell her that I love her, she says she loves me to but with an element of sarcasm that makes me feel uneasy, and I turn to the other side. How long have I been here? It feels like months, maybe even years, I feel safe here, away from the madness, but yet I am in bed with madness. The following night we have dinner and talk about the most intimate details of our ****ed up lives, she is a runaway she has been running away for so long she forgets where she originally came from. She makes me cry, which then makes her cry, we go back to bed and stay there ****ing and drinking for days. Her hair is a shadowy dark brown, wild, frizzy and tangled in places, she has the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen, yet they have that wild Irish look in them which makes me think she could murder me in a split second for no reason. Her name is Passion, I tell her it's a stupid name at least 5 times a day. She just smiles, she always smiles but I know it’s a mask that she will never take off, she will die first, most likely by her own hand.
Time fly’s past and I know everything there is to know about Passion now, yet I know absolutely nothing about her, I doubt she knows anything about herself either. "Billy, one day we will go to Canada, and find the most isolated snow topped mountain we can find and lay there forever" she whispers to me as I hold her in my arms under the sheets. I look deep into her eyes and smile, she smiles back, we kiss, and then I break away, "Does Canada even have mountains?"
It certainly does, here we are on top of Mt. Columbia in each other’s arms. I ask her to marry me when we return to Australia and she agrees to my delight, however there is this sick anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach I just cannot shake, I am unsure whether it is nerves or something deeper. Without Passion I would be lost, with her I am lost but at least we are lost together and that my friend is the most amazing feeling in the world. We are both lowlifes and that’s what makes our bond so strong, we stick to each other like bees mating. We hate the same things, we like the same books, music and movies, soul mates? The jury is still out on this, I tell her I love her and we go to sleep. We are in the bar where we first met, joking, laughing and drinking, we even converse with the other patrons in the bar, which is a first for me. They all seem to love us, they congregate around us as we tell stories, sing songs, I crack the occasional joke and Passion laughs like crazy and puts her arms around me, we invite every person in the bar to our wedding. This time we walk home.
We are in bed together, back to back, we both think each other is asleep. I know I should leave, it’s going to end in tears, I am on a plane and it is going to crash, I just got offered a parachute but I am to ****ing stupid to take it. I will continue to float in the air for a while. She wakes up and I demand her to tell me she won’t hurt me "of course I will, and you will hurt me" she utters before going back to sleep. Do I really love her or do I just love the escapism? When I am with her in this bed I don’t have to face life, the world is out there I am here. If I get anxious about anything to do with life we just **** or drink then go back to sleep and hide from the world under these covers. I know the covers need to be lifted one day, the sooner the better but I just cannot bring myself to lift them, she will have to do it for me.
The wedding was 3 weeks ago, Passion never showed; I have not seen her since. I now go through a record of a bottle of whiskey and 2 bottles of wine per day, the lady at the liquor store thinks I am a disgrace, she is on the ball. I haven’t washed or shaved since the plane crash and I don’t intend to. My mother wants me to go home and live there, I am not ready I am still in intensive care, not many people survive a plane crash but I am determined to pull through in my own way. I shut my teary eyes, I am in an alley way with the other lost souls drinking out of a bottle, my beard is massive now, the zombies walk past and spit on us. I am back in my bed, I have been here for months now, I sit bolt upright, enough is enough.
I enter my bathroom and look in the mirror, the reflection burns my eyes, I cry, this cannot be me. I turn the tap on as quickly as possible and wash my face thoroughly until it is red raw, I pick up my razor and shave off my beard, I smile at the results of the rebirth, I almost look normal now. I hop in the shower and completely disregard the global warming concern, I spend at least half an hour in there washing away my past, washing away Passion, washing away the booze. I douse myself in deodorant and cologne, put on the flashiest suit I own, walk to my kitchen and pour the whiskey and wine down the sink.
I am in a coffee shop, this is my last stop before I reenter the world. I clutch the arms of my chair and stare at the coffee in front of me; I am surrounded by kissing couples. I have to leave this chair and walk outside but I am terrified to do so. I let go of the arm of the chair and grab the coffee by the base of the cup burning my hand, I don't feel it, I down the coffee in one big gulp and stand up. I am shaking terribly; the scene of the coffee shop rotates around me. I have 2 choices to make, sit back down or go through the door, I plunge myself into the door, smashing into it, spilling out into the Wild West.
I wake up and scramble outside trying hard to open my incredibly stiff door, it opens and I spill out into my garden. I sit down and light a cigarette, the cigarette smoke forms silhouettes of broken hearted men and women, I am in the bar now, I order a whiskey and sit there smoking, my head down so people won’t try to speak to me. I always come here it’s a gritty place, chipped wall paper, grime and blood stained tables, haggard old barmaids in short skirts and boob tubes, desperate for attention, yet this place feels like home. There is not one happy person here, we sit, we drink, forget and we listen to music that is so sad yet always makes you smile. People play fiddles here. She enters, animalistic hair, lips glossed lightly in blood red lip stick, body shaped like an hour glass (the hourglass is cracked of course), she is slightly intoxicated, dressed in a slim fitting slightly tattered black cocktail dress. She is not what most would call beautiful but then again I am not most. She walks towards me, I pray that she doesn’t sit next to me but of course she does. I turn my head away from her shyly so we don’t make eye contact. She lights a cigarette and inhales the smoke deeply then expels it through her nostrils in heavenly wisps. She turns to me and asks me to tell her my story, I refuse and tell her to tell me her story, she says “I am your story” then laughs maniacally.
We are sat on a park bench drinking cheap wine and smoking cigarettes, I lean over to kiss her. We are in bed together sharing a cigarette, we have just ****ed for what seems like days, my exhausted body is covered in scratches and bite marks, I lean over and tell her that I love her, she says she loves me to but with an element of sarcasm that makes me feel uneasy, and I turn to the other side. How long have I been here? It feels like months, maybe even years, I feel safe here, away from the madness, but yet I am in bed with madness. The following night we have dinner and talk about the most intimate details of our ****ed up lives, she is a runaway she has been running away for so long she forgets where she originally came from. She makes me cry, which then makes her cry, we go back to bed and stay there ****ing and drinking for days. Her hair is a shadowy dark brown, wild, frizzy and tangled in places, she has the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen, yet they have that wild Irish look in them which makes me think she could murder me in a split second for no reason. Her name is Passion, I tell her it's a stupid name at least 5 times a day. She just smiles, she always smiles but I know it’s a mask that she will never take off, she will die first, most likely by her own hand.
Time fly’s past and I know everything there is to know about Passion now, yet I know absolutely nothing about her, I doubt she knows anything about herself either. "Billy, one day we will go to Canada, and find the most isolated snow topped mountain we can find and lay there forever" she whispers to me as I hold her in my arms under the sheets. I look deep into her eyes and smile, she smiles back, we kiss, and then I break away, "Does Canada even have mountains?"
It certainly does, here we are on top of Mt. Columbia in each other’s arms. I ask her to marry me when we return to Australia and she agrees to my delight, however there is this sick anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach I just cannot shake, I am unsure whether it is nerves or something deeper. Without Passion I would be lost, with her I am lost but at least we are lost together and that my friend is the most amazing feeling in the world. We are both lowlifes and that’s what makes our bond so strong, we stick to each other like bees mating. We hate the same things, we like the same books, music and movies, soul mates? The jury is still out on this, I tell her I love her and we go to sleep. We are in the bar where we first met, joking, laughing and drinking, we even converse with the other patrons in the bar, which is a first for me. They all seem to love us, they congregate around us as we tell stories, sing songs, I crack the occasional joke and Passion laughs like crazy and puts her arms around me, we invite every person in the bar to our wedding. This time we walk home.
We are in bed together, back to back, we both think each other is asleep. I know I should leave, it’s going to end in tears, I am on a plane and it is going to crash, I just got offered a parachute but I am to ****ing stupid to take it. I will continue to float in the air for a while. She wakes up and I demand her to tell me she won’t hurt me "of course I will, and you will hurt me" she utters before going back to sleep. Do I really love her or do I just love the escapism? When I am with her in this bed I don’t have to face life, the world is out there I am here. If I get anxious about anything to do with life we just **** or drink then go back to sleep and hide from the world under these covers. I know the covers need to be lifted one day, the sooner the better but I just cannot bring myself to lift them, she will have to do it for me.
The wedding was 3 weeks ago, Passion never showed; I have not seen her since. I now go through a record of a bottle of whiskey and 2 bottles of wine per day, the lady at the liquor store thinks I am a disgrace, she is on the ball. I haven’t washed or shaved since the plane crash and I don’t intend to. My mother wants me to go home and live there, I am not ready I am still in intensive care, not many people survive a plane crash but I am determined to pull through in my own way. I shut my teary eyes, I am in an alley way with the other lost souls drinking out of a bottle, my beard is massive now, the zombies walk past and spit on us. I am back in my bed, I have been here for months now, I sit bolt upright, enough is enough.
I enter my bathroom and look in the mirror, the reflection burns my eyes, I cry, this cannot be me. I turn the tap on as quickly as possible and wash my face thoroughly until it is red raw, I pick up my razor and shave off my beard, I smile at the results of the rebirth, I almost look normal now. I hop in the shower and completely disregard the global warming concern, I spend at least half an hour in there washing away my past, washing away Passion, washing away the booze. I douse myself in deodorant and cologne, put on the flashiest suit I own, walk to my kitchen and pour the whiskey and wine down the sink.
I am in a coffee shop, this is my last stop before I reenter the world. I clutch the arms of my chair and stare at the coffee in front of me; I am surrounded by kissing couples. I have to leave this chair and walk outside but I am terrified to do so. I let go of the arm of the chair and grab the coffee by the base of the cup burning my hand, I don't feel it, I down the coffee in one big gulp and stand up. I am shaking terribly; the scene of the coffee shop rotates around me. I have 2 choices to make, sit back down or go through the door, I plunge myself into the door, smashing into it, spilling out into the Wild West.