Unkempt

Unkempt

Sometimes the hardest part of doing is getting started. That's the way it was for her at least. She would sit, defeated before the battle even began, at the bedside. With the weight of the future, present, past, and the mysterious 4th dimension fully upon her and around her, sinking with her into the crickety mattress. Her breathe trickled in and out of her in a shallow stream as she sat as still as any living creature of flesh can be. Unable to take the first step in the "journey of a thousand miles", or however that proverb went. She wasn't dogmatic or particularly stubborn. It wasn't that she didn't want to do what had to be done, nor was she afraid of failure. After all, how badly could a person mess up the mundane process of brushing her teeth or giving the common courtesy of returning a friend's missed call. Alright, she could probably think up a million horror stories for every scenario out there. Creativity is not meant to be a curse and sometimes the devil twists it to grow into the form of one. But for her, idleness borne itself not of arrogance, conscience laziness, irrational fear, or even the destructively rudimentary nature that haunts us all at times.

In the beginning, even she dwelled unaware in the deceptive murks of sadness.

It grew so familiar in so short a time, and it not so much showed up in her life as it did fade and slither unnoticed, gaining more and more territory over her each moment, not unlike the rotting of young innocent love. The powerful domination of her dark friend seemed normal. The coldness settled in her bones and her toes and her lip, turning her life and her words brittle, icy, and utterly alone. Sadness reigned, a great hazy veil over the city that altered the appearances of every corner of sky and expanse of cement. It ran rabid and silly in the alleys, scaring the creepy stray cats and nestling greedily in everything that accidentally came in contact with its oscillating form. She became the master of silence, its right hand queen who knew it so well that she and it were basically married.

All of this happened within a messy thing called subconsciousness.

Meanwhile, in reality, she began to wonder why everything started working in slow motion and gas-guzzling energy-inefficiency. She brought her knees to her chin and kind of set her head upon them to give it a rest. Her milky, hollow eyes peered over the edge and watched as she wiggled her toes experimentally.

Well, I suppose I'm still alive and in once piece, her breath seemed to say, hot and slow, as it flowed over her cracked, dehydrated lips.

Sometimes she wished she didn't have to know what was going on. Sometimes knowing makes things like starting more difficult. Sometimes it does harm to unmask the gruesome face of the terrible guest, because whoever said ignorance was bliss was obviously not ignorant. You only know what bliss is once you lose it, and then it just seems more blissful than ever, like a sweet dream that taunts you with the stolen candy as it floats off into the closed sky. You will never know the dream again as it disappears forever, just like terrible tendrils of clear steam.