Scars: Prelude

In a dingy city

Endings never come.

Gripping the rim, Pippi leans over a sink with hot water streaming from the faucet.

In a dingy bar

A pick strums

In a dingy basement

Sound reverberates

Pippi belongs…

…To the Present…

…To the Past…

Searching for familiarity through the rising steam,

Beginnings—

Pippi finds her reflection in the pooling water.

—are never new.

Dark, exhausted eyes stare down.

Even with Boundaries pushed,

Stare up.

With Doors opened,

Pippi shuts her eyes but cannot look away.

And Others locked tight.

The stare pierces—smolders somberly.

Even with Keys lost—

Curiosity unflinching.

—forgotten.

Dreaming of the silence, blankness, blindness Pippi considers drowning.

Escape drifted—

A graffitied door leading to the bar bangs open.

—always out of reach.

Garble riffs of a soundcheck travel from the stage

mixing with the sounds from a crowded, smokey room.

The flood of wasted jubilation echos in the toilet

In the dingy basement

In a dingy bar

In a dingy city

A voice yells into a mic

Debauchery.

Once she had rocked away the nights.

Rolled through her days.

The crowd screams back

Dread.

Both…

…There…

…And…

…Here…

When everything changed.

Pippi cracks an eye.

N0th1ng changed,

The reflection stares back, their eye already cracked.

The graffiti re-appears as the door closes.

A sharp crack,

Heavy footsteps,

The squeak of metal.

The stream of water cuts to a trickle,

D1sguised as beg1nn1ngs.

Then nothing.

End1ngs elus1ve.

A tattooed hand moves from the faucet to rest on Pippi’s.  

0ne b1g game—

Metallic purple nails match a cluster of inked silver stars. Tails of the sliver stars, inked red and gold trail, from the knuckles up the wrist. The stars pass over scars and circle around Kirri’s slim forearm before disappearing under a tattered sleeve.      

—el0quent—

Kirri’s voice resonates.

—masked— 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt you, angel.”

—suspended—

Care. Love and Warmth.

—1nc0ngruent—

“The sink about overflowed,”

—rema1ned unres01ved.

“You look zonked.”

When the b0ard was w1ped,

Kirri squeezes Pippi’s white-knuckling hand.

The p1eces never reset.

Pippi does not answer.

The b0ard g0t cr0wded.

Was a question asked?

The rules changed.

Thoughts cloud emotion.

Pawns leapt 0ver kn1ghts,

Emotions cloud thoughts.

Castles crumbled around 1mpotent b1sh0ps.

Words absent.

End screens 0verdue.

The game c0nt1nued.

Pippi’s lag—

—an awkward glitch.

“Are you okay?”

The powerful diminished, wavered, faded.

Concern.

Pawns-turned-Queens fought to protect their own.

“Did something happen? Shit, did you…”

Power endured.

“…Pippi, did you relapse?”

Ends abstract.

Pippi’s eyes shudder.

Beginnings opaque.

Bass drum kick vibrates from somewhere else.

The new withered with the old.

She snaps her eyes shut feeling coolness track down her hot cheek. A tear clings to her chin before drip-droping into the still pool.

Entropy.

Ripples trace out across the glassy surface.

Decay.

She knows while being pulled apart, her tear remains. Somewhere. Invisibly persisting, its saline essence a different code—polluting the water.

Fallout.

Arms drape around her shoulders.

Grace.

The smell of roses shade stale toilet funk.

Defiance.

Pippi shatters the water’s surface to pull the plug.

Submission.

The water drains, her reflection spirals with her tear.

Creation.

Pippi leans back into warm comfort of the loose embrace.

Ends are…

“It’s okay, Pippi-Pips.”

Hot breath tingles against Pippi’s neck. The embrace tightens into a hug.

“We are here, together.”

In the dingy basement

In a dingy bar

In a dingy city

Pippi belongs.

…only beginnings.