I’d rather be a fairy


Is this what we become after we die?

Her mother grabbing her clothes off the rail, lightening fast, not looking me in the eyes. Her zombie kitten shirt. The special Nightmare before christmas one with jack and sally’s skeletal faces swooping in for a kiss. I feel muted, like I am being plunged underwater and held there. How long can you hold you breath before you suffocate? I cannot breathe.

Blindly, I look at the items…..her clothes, mingling with mine. The blue and white alice in wonderland skirt worn on so many photo shoots, her long black trenchcoat with a button pinned on “I love ML”. But did you cassie? Is that why you took those pills in terrys apartment, that why you sliced yourself open like a fish to dull the pain of your own existence?

I still remember the beautiful girl, the vibrant spirit who thought of others before herself, wrote secret  messages like letters tied up in bottles and tossed into the sea, those last words of the dying. Their thoughts, hopes dreams, loved ones. To drift endlessly in the ocean for years, maybe never to be discovered.

Did it hurt, when it came, that final moment of the drugs sealing you in your beautiful body, forever a model, immortal and stunning? As those last words of help escaped your lips as you were about to enter that endless, eternal slumber, did you suffer?

I don’t know, can’t know can only put on the black velvet jacket with the corset ribbons laced down the side in a haze, the  zipper partially broken but cradling my small form tightly.

My fiance looks on, surprised that I fit into the PVC metal boots that you wore to the metal clubs in London, the pink tutu skirt. But wasn’t it obvious?

We were the same person. Two halves of the same soul and then you were ripped away and I am alone all by




your mother asks me if I want a pair of the satin cyber goth style pants my friend Louise gifted me when I still lived in the flat with my two closest girlfriends and I never thought I would make a best friend, a twin flame, sister soulmate who would then be ripped away. Back when life still made sense.

I hear her as though through a wall of water, the words on her mouth crawling out slowly like spiders across a web.

How long before I nod, recognize the pants as my own? Minutes, hours, days?

How long before the tears stop, will the anguish ever fully heal?

I should probably just accept I will be forever broken.

Your mother gives me a present from you, your monster high doll with the pink hair and lolita accessories. How could you leave her, homeless and unloved? How could you leave me?

Maybe its better where you are. Perhaps it is never cold and not full of the men who abused us, the demons in our minds. Maybe over there you can forget that hunger that caused you to stick your fingers down your throat, that pain that that you would do anything to escape, no matter the price. Maybe the toll of your life was a bargain for an afterlife of bliss. Maybe.

But what really happens after you die?

Maybe the more frightening question is living, and knows that one day when we least expect it all those we love will be eventually taken for us. Life has cancer and diseases where even your memories or limbs eventually fail you. Even your own mind is sometimes not your own. Perhaps death is the only way of truly finding peace from it all, but if so, why the survival instinct? Why do humans struggle through so much hardship and pain just to live another day, and have to endure it all again?

Is it that distant, glimmering hope that one day things will not be quite as horrible to endure? That last winged creature pandora managed to trap inside the golden box, even as all of the other plagues of humanity ripped free. For as everyone knows, humans could not live with no hope at all.

And what is faith, but the hope of a benevolent god, a better afterlife? Sometimes it is all we have to get us through the day, to go on in this quest of blood sweat and tears that we call life.

But the one wish I have that is stronger than them all is to go back in time, to be there to do something, to stop feeling so goddamn helpless but I cant all I can do is ride the tidal wave of kills until it makes me topple over, a ballerina on point even as her toes are breaking.

That or make it dull, just for the moment, just for a time. I don’t know how much longer I can keep living in this fantasy, but when I think about the reality the floodgates opened and I sob with the strength of the ocean that doomed Atlantis, forever a lost empire under the sea.

They say the only way to deal with your pain is to deal with it, perhaps to face it but I don’t know how without crumbling entirely.

The worst part of it is seeing the love and hope in your beloved’s eyes, and just knowing that you are a disappointment to them and yourself.

I just want to make the sadness go away but I can’t and so I continue my journey into the make believe. I’d rather be a fairy than

a human anyway. 


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