Stare

I ran inside. I didn't know what I was running from.
Connor?
Travis?
Romance?
Drama?
...myself?
I walked into the entryway and banged my head on the wall repeatedly. I groaned and started saying things out loud.
"Why do I have to go and screw my perfectly enjoyable and mostly drama-free life up? I meant to kiss Travis! It was Travis! I. Meant. To. kiss. Travis. Uugh!" I pulled at my hair and face planted on my bed. I felt that sickly wet and dry raw feeling you get in your throat when you're trying to suppress a sob. I let it out. It was a long sob. I let that the hot tears stream down my cheeks. I layed on my side, curled into the fetal position. I grabbed the stuffed tiger I had named prince Ali when I was twelve. I let the tears come down in a great waterfall.
After I let myself dry out, I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling, hardly breathing.
I was always so certain, and without that certainty, I was lost.
I don't know why I was crying so much. In reality, I liked Connor too. It was just that I didn't trust my judgment any more, and that scared me. A lot. I also had a feeling in my gut that something even worse was yet to come. How could anything get worse? Then again, they always say that in horror movies before someone gets killed...
I closed my eyes and felt my lip quiver. I grabbed for the drawing I'd done earlier that day of Travis, I guess wanting to wallow in my sorrows for a while, but it wasn't there. I shook my head. That's wierd, I thought.
Then a vision came to me. I grabbed a large 125×200 inch canvas and a large wooden paint pallette, and I dumped all of my brushes on the floor in front of me. I channeled my vision through the brush and created this large thought that had been taking up so much room in my head, releasing the plague of locusts from my domain.
The painting pained me, but it relived me too. It was a picture of Travis in a dark and lonely place, lying on the floor, belly down, reaching for the one thing that he obviously could not reach: Connor and I. Travis was scratched and bruised and worn weak. He had wet streaks running from his eyes and all the way down to his chin. He was caught mid-scream. His face was the face of pain and loss, and his fingers were stretched out, trying to reach the light of another world. A world other than Hell.
on the other half of the canvas, the colors flowed into something less dank and dire, but still could have been viewed as a cage of pain. On this side, Connor was holding me in his arms, my head buried in his chest, but not enough for you not to see my eyes. My eyes were not green like usual, they were a swamp-like grey, and red and blood shot. They were curled into the shape of despair. They were scarred eyes, and were painted with misery.
My red bangs were matted with tears.
Connor was holding me, his arms wrapped around my shoulders and waist. His face was that of great loss. He rested his cheek on the top of my head, appearing to be intended to comfort me more than him. His mouth appeared to be forever bent in a weeping, open mouthed frown. His eyes were dulled, like the light in the window had been turned off, and no one was home. It appeared that he had lost the ability to feel anything but pain, loss, and sorrow.
I looked at the finished product, then glanced at the clock, amazing myself again. It had only taken two hours and a half. I looked back at my Hell painting. I was a little bit afraid of the fact that this had come from me. I looked at it, and I realized that yes, it was a painting of anguish, but there was so much love there, too. Travis's love for Connor and I, and our love for eachother, and for Travis.
This brought about an idea. I grabbed a golden drachma and a spray bottle. I made rainbow in my bathroom and said, "O, Iris, accept my offering and show me Aphrodite!" I threw the coin into the mist.

Notes

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