the bookery

It’s a marvel. I breathe in the air around me and become stone. Eyes closed, the breeze tickles my face and I try to remain perfectly still. My eyes are closed and yet I can sense my surroundings. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, the subtle warmth on my back from the sun. If I get still enough, the sounds of the leaves rustling in the trees fades away, and I can hear but one sound, the beating of my heart. It starts as a light drumming noise, but as I drown the world out around me the beating of my heart gains precedence. It’s no longer a sound; it’s a feeling. I feel every blood vessel in my body vibrating in sync as the blood makes its way around, replenishing my thirsting muscles. I can feel it in my throat, my hands, my feet, my temples.

 

Almost there… I think to myself.

 

I push harder, trying to focus my attention on something even more interior, the sound of my blood cells maneuvering in my blood. I leave the world I know behind me. I forget that I’m standing; I forget that it’s daytime; I remove my focus away from everything outside my body and concentrate all of my energy on the inside. I feel myself in overdrive, every muscle in my body is tensed as my brain attempts to activate parts never used, to listen to sounds impossible to hear for the untrained ear. I feel my ears popping, and with each pop comes a flood of awareness. Not awareness of the outside, but a newfound awareness of the inside of my body.

The sound of the blood rushing through my veins becomes clearer, almost as clear as the sound of the car passing by. My pulse is getting louder, and clearer with every passing moment. I can’t help but be appalled and excited by my progress, I’ve never been able to hear so much before!

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That’s weird… The sound of the car is getting louder as the sound of the blood gets louder. As I focus on the remotely discernible sounds of my blood flowing, my awareness of all exterior surroundings is supposed to vanish. I shouldn’t even be able to hear the car coming...

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White. That’s what I see. My eyes open and my lungs involuntarily swallow the air around me. I can see it coming toward me. It’s like slow motion. There’s a dad driving the car. He’s singing along to some hit from the 90’s while his wife stares at him in adoration. The kids in the back are laughing as they record him on their phones, ready to share with their closest friends on SnapChat. They’re 5 feet away. Mom turns her attention to the road,

still smiling, not a care in the world. I’m glaring at her, trying to break through. It’s coming closer to the end.

They’re only a few inches away. I should have gone when I had the chance, but I thought for one second that maybe, just maybe I’d be able to break through. Maybe they would see me and slam on the brakes in panic because of the girl standing in the middle of the road glaring right at them.

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But they don’t see me. They don’t stop. So I do what I have to do.

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I feel myself puncturing the glass as I make my way through the windshield. My body is zooming between the heads of the parents in the front of the car, shards of glass flying every which way. I see the panicked look on the faces of the kids in the backseat. I try to make a reassuring face, but I pass on, knowing it made no difference. I lurch right through the back windshield and catch myself back on the road at the other end of the car. I turn around and observe the damage though I know I should leave the scene.

 

Agony. All I see is blood and torn leather and tears. Mom is unconscious. Dad is shaking her awake, screaming her name trying to break through her unconsciousness. The kids are frozen. Pieces of glass are launched in their arms, blood is dripping through the boy’s hair but he doesn’t stop to take notice. The kids can’t pry their eyes off the scene in front of them, their Dad furiously attempting to bring their Mom back from the dead.

 

Yes. I know she’s dead. I know a dead body when I see one, and I’ve seen a lot in my time. I can’t hear the sound of her pulse; I see the color draining from her face, the resolve fading from her muscles. Her brain has shut off, and the cries of her husband are travelling into non- working ears. She’s gone. And there’s nothing they can do. The worst part is, it’s my fault. No, that’s not true. The worst part is they don’t know what happened. They were enjoying the day, travelling somewhere to spend time together. The dad just saw an empty road, and miles before

him where he and his family would bond and make memories. They didn’t see me. They don’t know it was my body flying through the front windshield that broke the glass. They saw nothing, but I see everything.

 

I turn around and sprint away, trying to drown out the sound of the father’s cries as I go. I try to erase the pain on the children’s faces from my memory. I’m no murderer; I just want to be seen. I just want to be known. I just want to exist.