Osmosis

This has some truth...mixed in with some fiction. I hope you enjoy my moment of osmosis.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's time for atonement," said the voice.

"What if I change my mind?" she asked.

"You don't have a choice," said the voice.

"What if they find me here?" she asked.

"They won't, you'll be in passage," said the voice.



*****************************


Carefully; she submerges herself chest high, in a porcelain wall of complacency.  The hand of hesitation, reaching out to support her spine during a brief moment of doubt.  Taking in a deep breath, she could feel the weight of the world; pushing her....forcing her down. Drowning beneath a raining cloud of purified osmosis.

Watching;  each pocket of air slowly escaping her lungs, exiting her lips.  It was easy for her to imagine each bubble to be a reflection of subconsciousness. A dreamy void blurred by a waterfall of naive perception.  Direct and steady, like a floating compass, moving her thoughts towards the blue curtain. 

Eyes blinking.  She observes the first bubble as it breaks open at the surface. The air around it, producing a faint whimper accompanied by many visions.  She could see her Father coming home.  He had strong calloused hands.  Beer on his breath.  A thick mustache.  Black grease with oil stains on his pants.  He looked like Bruce Willis.  And he laughed like Barney Rubble.  She loved him, as much as she despised him. 

Then there was the smell of cinnamon.  Her Mother always made the best Snicker-doodles.  She liked helping her mother sprinkle the sugar on top.  Mouth watering, she could almost taste the first bite of a warm cookie. 

Thirsty...the sweet stuff always makes you thirsty.  She draws in another quick breath; topping the cookies off with warm milk, filling her lungs with condemnation.  The flashbacks begin to contort and ripple, she hears her Father's voice, molesting the inside of her ears again. 

"Stupid girl." 

Oh yes, and she remembered her classmate Mark.  They were just 17, and he only wanted to be friends.  Maybe if only her ears were smaller.  The freckles on her face...looked like fire ants that wanted to race.  Maybe he preferred brown-eyed girls.  All she wanted to do was touch his smile.

Then there was a lovely vision of Tracey.  Her Mother and Father said she was just an imaginary friend.  But she was as real as any other friend.  And then one day, Tracey went away. That same year, the tooth fairy stopped paying.  The wishing star never looked so far.  The big dipper and little dipper looked like tiny droplets of rain that fell on an Easter Sunday. This precipitation paving the way to deliver her soul. 

She could see and feel the hardwood floor beneath her.  Pajamas on, sitting alone in her bedroom, biting her fingernails.  At times, all the chewing would even bloody up her cuticles. 

"Disgusting habit, " she could hear one of her Teacher's say. 

But it produced endorphins for her, it helped numb down her anxiety.  She often bit on the inside of her cheeks too.  Scratched at her scabs and sores until they bled.  But blood never bothered her, just certain sounds.  Like the door slamming shut.  Heavy footsteps on the floor.  The thunder in the night.  Her mother crying.

Her mother's tears pooling around her face as she watches; the second bubble.  It was quite small.  Filled with grief from being average.  Every time she spoke, she felt like an invisible whisper.   This bubble made no noise upon reaching the surface.   It instead just produced an echo of silence. 

Suddenly, a flash of light, she could see her purple shoes...her favorite pair of shoes.  It matched nicely with her purple hand bag.  The purple bag swells into a balloon, producing the last bubble. The biggest bubble.  It floated upwards slowly, as if it were reluctant to let go. The burst of air replacing the silence with many voices......

                                    "S**t."

                    "Worthless."  
          
                                   "Sweetie I love you."

                                "B***h."

                                            "Lazy."

                                 "Ugly."


                            " I love you."

                                                       " I love you."

                                          " I love you."


An echo upon echo of words.
She didn't get to say sorry to her Mother for spilling the juice on the floor.  And it was the day after; her Mother passed away so very suddenly.  The cause of death.  Brain aneurysm, she heard the doctors telling her Father.

"Awake now," said the voice.
 


    Opening her third

     (((EYE)))


she looks down,

and sees the place of baptism below.

Author's Note

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The process of gradual or unconscious assimilation of ideas, knowledge, etc.

Reviews

[...]

. oh ... there are a million thoughts racing in my mind right now ... there are so many thought-triggers in the narrative ... i thought the title would be very challenging to justify ... but you've done great justice to it ... this slow unraveling of the narrator's mind is compelling ... i am reminded of my own journey and of the time when i needed to atone ... and then ... once i started ... i realized ... that in some ways ... life is a journey into the perfecting the process of atonement ... almost like an art form ... the way we perceive ourselves has a lot to do with the way we perceive our mistakes ... and the plight of those we might have wronged ... albeit not in a major way ... this piece of writing is like an intense experience of putting oneself under the microscope ... piecing together one's key influences in life through the subtle analysis of key events and characters ... and then letting go ... yes, the final note of this symphony is undoubtedly liberation ... excellent work ...

[Robbie~xoxo~]

Amazing work!... When you do it, you do it right! I have chills reading this. You're always consistent with your beautiful work of art. I love this. I'm floored...it's Dark, Dramatic, Haunting, and just superb work! Excellent write.

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

Damn. This work shook me to my core. Your writing skills are extraordinary. The way you commandeer the readers emotions and force them to feel what you want them to feel is phenomenal. 100 (+1)

[Patrick]

I don't know quite what to say...astonishing combination of emotion, darkness, reflection and all of this woven together with a tear drop. Now let me look for that line, 'This bubble made no noise upon reaching the surface. It instead just produced an echo of silence.'

wow

[Pax Analog]

O & brilliant use of audio-visual as well.

[Pax Analog]

This strikes me as a brilliant conjuring of a bardo process, near-death or even postmortem. I feel an uncanny connection to the transmigrating soul filtering its sponge-like lifetime of impressions. And indeed in everyday life, osmosis is the most natural process of absorbing what one desires to see/feel/know.

On a minor note, I think I'd make it all present tense.

[Laura Maidah]

Edit: It IS a poem. I'm so confused. IT has no thematic elements of poetry. It's prosody is BEAUTIFUL and enthralling, but sorry. My opinion. It's a story. You are the author. You get to say it's a poem. Either way, thanks for the read. Sorry for the double posts.

[Laura Maidah]

Is this a poem? I think it said poem. I know it can be free but traditional linguistic code might indicate this is a short story. Maybe I read the link wrong. I'll go check. BRB. haha.

You are very well in this Muse, a brilliant mind after this dream psychose or hypnotic story, vivid, visual, and smart. It looked like a world parralele placed under hypnosis, as the voice can lead her, but it can also be schizophrenia as she heard the voices within her cloven ego. Where the main character is caged in. Every memory as the balanced Osmose in the form of bubbles yet un-balanced, some slightly heavier and some bubbles more confrontational than others. I love the spirit of what you've put down. Only clever ones can get higher lost into arty ways, Like the Greek Dionysus, found truth in reaching higly psychosis, out of delirium, but this little girl, biting her nails autodestructive behaviour, bordelined, by higher dominant personalities, she was just so sweet, and innocent as the bubbles around her.

Well done. 100!
Amazing work.

E.L. x

[Not Your Typical New Yo..]

Holy crap! I ish I could know where to begin, but I don't. I honestly not too fimilair with osmosis, but after reading this story like poem, I was in for a shock. I like the art that you use, and I like the feel of this poem. It has a story in it. Awesome

[R J Askew]

The mood then veers a little into wistful regretfulness with, 'The tooth fairy stopped paying' and 'Blood never bothered her, just certain sounds.' This last bit is esp strong as we are listening to the creation as much as reading it. And listening to your poetic voice as much as the physical music. This line takes us a little lower also, 'Filled with grief from being average.' We know that feeling. And the best line of all for me is, 'Echos of silence.' because of its metaphysical connotations and it is just a great way to end the creation. Brilliant stuff.