Cloaking Darker Nights
She was a skinny girl, brown hair, an inviting smile and an innocent freckled face. She had an attractive figure, but figured she could use it to pass through most hardships, where loneliness crept in trashed corners of her dirty room. She had a confused heart and a persuaded mind. These parasitic properties ridiculed the possible intelligence she could have had, but failed to fulfill. She lived in an older neighborhood, where bent street signs guided bruised people day in and day out. 97 Cinnabar Street was her home address. A place she would return to after school days spent avoiding work, working hard to fake looks and looking away from graspable happiness day in and day out.
After years in repetition, she eventually forsook the hope of having a father who would drop the bottle and pick up his tie and a mother that stretched out her arms instead of picking up her husband’s bottles. Weeks meshed together and the skinny girl no longer observed time as something valuable, but instead, it had become an unremarkable element shading her days.
It was another evening on Cinnabar Street; the cooled air surrounded the cream-colored house that welcomed the returning girl home along with her temporary guest. The girl walked up the cracked concrete steps while pulling his innocent hand, leading him to the mouth of the single story building. He was a stout boy, jet-black hair and a unique set of grey eyes, he was younger than the girl by 2 years, but physicality dominates age in this old house. He had an unaware mind and an easily persuaded heart. These parasitic properties were confronting his awakening world this evening, underneath the cloaked, winter night.
Uncut hedges and dying grass held up the aging walls and failing streetlights that illuminated the airy night. Rusted door hinges screamed in a daunting tone as two fearful bodies edged through the doorway and down the warmed corridor. She quickly led the boy past mom and dad’s room, ever so slightly grinning at the fact that deceit was on her side yet again. Porcelain dolls sat and watched as she eagerly but easily turned the brass doorknob, opening up her small world of darkness. The boy was wading in seducing waters, an area where he was innocent. Like snakes, they started shedding the silk and yarns that shielded their bodies, soon showing the scales beneath. The ritual began and ended as it always does for the girl: bursts of exhilaration and excitement that presses past the skin of the desperate body and soon lays a path for severe longing to follow.
This sexual ceremony was a normal assignation for the girl’s hidden agenda. Over time, the repetitive story of sneaking in with a new snake to wrap around shifted from pleasure to a mindless dependence. Mother and father were blind to a girl faking innocence and she herself was blind to a self-formed necessity for attention. Extracting the roots of loneliness that slithered around her heart is almost hopeless at this moment…the skinny girl spends her evenings desiring more of others’ physicality while still rejecting her twisted mentality. This vicious cycle of empty mornings and euphoric evenings is a gradual storm, slowly grinding down the sedimentary sustenance of her mind.
----------
It was another evening on Cinnabar Street. The heavy evening air surrounded a small, cream-colored house that welcomed a returning girl home along with her temporary guest. The girl climbed up the cracked concrete steps while pulling his persuaded hand, leading him to the mouth of the single story building. He was a tall young man, blonde hair that overshadowed reflective green eyes. He was 5 years older than the girl, but age is irrelevant in this old house. Little did this young man know, as well as many before and after him, he was helping a sorrowful heart cloak darker nights.
Dependence became a shrinking key. Emptiness formed into a growing lock. True happiness waits behind the door.
