Abyss
She stood on the cement strip, toes of her chucks right at the edge. It was old, mossy. The wind scaled up from below, hot, like out of a volcano. Maybe it was one. Or maybe the world hadnât actually ended outside of herself.
There had been an end. When he, the one who made her, handed her the keys to the family sedan and 800 dollars in cash, and said this is it. You can change your mind. When she took them, he hugged her and said, âDonât come back. Donât try to talk to us, because we are still whole and you donât belong. God said.â
Three years here now. She didnât know anything of that other life. She didnât miss it. She missed them, though. Everything here was foreign and impersonal, including the man she fell into in that flight. This wasnât ever what she wanted. She just wanted to not be bludgeoned by her lack of faith every waking moment of every day. She had moved from My Little Ponys and Mr. Rogers to bleeding monthly to being schooled in philosophy and being a submissive wife a man could love. Ten years of that bullshit had turned the scape of her soul into something withered and frightened and inherently unlovable.
But maybe it would stop if⌠her toes inched closer. Would it? Or was it all awaiting her in purgatory? Because that is what love is. Love is someone pushing you over the edge for your own good. Love here was a man who saw himself as a savior but slammed doors and pushed her off his body when she needed comfort. Love was abandonment and rejection and the best fucking love was tough.
âLady!â the voice floated up from the street 10 stories below. âLady step back! Iâm callinâ the cops!â
She stepped back. She waved and smiled. âNo need!â she called. And she went back inside.
--another bit of a larger project i'm working on.













