The past

    As I stepped amongst the unseen, the anger consumed my soul. I was ready to argue and fight for reasons I did not have. My back was glued to the corner of the wall as I would cry, and I could not give myself an explanation for the reasons this kept happening. I would randomly lash out onto those who had not deserved a moment of my time. I was stuck in between, the feelings and emotions that I felt were not of my own. I could not tell you who was who or which way was what, but I knew something crawled inside of me that I had to fight to spit it out. I am constantly sick with a bug inside of my stomach and my throat was so dry I need to scratch it. 

   I walk into the coffee shop with a fuzzy head, and I briefly remember bumping into the angry woman, I feel as if I had passed out. I want to speak to this woman; I cannot remember her name for the life of me. I want to ask her for help, but something bites my tongue. I am incapable of knowing if it is because of this bug, I wish would crawl out of my system, or the fear to what I have done. I want to pray for help, to get me out of here. I am lost in between worlds, and I briefly remember her talking to me. My hand was holding my fuzzy head, I never see anything anymore except for the world I live in. Hours have passed and the shops have closed, ringing jingle bells dance into my ears and my quick hands jump to my pockets to check for the minute of the day. I wipe my dry mouth. The counter space was empty except for a bottle of Advil that I cannot remember when it was given to me. My heart heavily breathes in and out. I skim the dark quiet lit up room, the busy noise muffles inside of my head but I stand here alone. I need help,

I can't even think!

   The woman. I must find the woman with the black nails and the crystal marbled hands. I had just seen her hours prior; she is still here.  I will tell her what has happened, I will tell her where I am.

My body feels like it is rushing inside of circles, my heart feels like it is pulling, and it is twisted between love and hate, while my mind feels suddenly slow. I skim the room, but there not a person in sight.

    I see no harm in going an inch bit farther. The smoke underneath of the door steams into my eyes and it is calling me, I must follow the hazelnut coffee smell, I am surprised with a break of the wind that chaps my skin and a foot of snow. I take a slight peek, the horizon seems to be ten miles out, past the tree stump. I will walk past darkest parts of the cold tunnels, and by sunrise within the next few mornings Joe the coffee maker will be dinging my pancake sausage platter out of the country oven. I will have a look-see, and I will return as normal as nothing has changed. I could keep or trash the book, I don't think she noticed. I am fully convinced that I will not skip breakfast, maybe even have a strawberry cheesecake to celebrate. I will walk through the door, and I will come straight back. I will finally glue my heart back together and I will tell no one. I have spoken to the angry woman enough on the subject, I can do it too. Although it wasn't until after I had entered the lonely room that I remembered what she said,

"You mustn't open this book without a form of protection."

-Micah Vincent