Chaos

destruction is a form of creation

He watched the way her mouth moved as she talked to him about how the Greeks said people were made with four eyes and four arms.  How Zeus was scared of their untapped power and feared they would one day overtake him, so he separated them and left them to wander around, constantly in search for their other half.  She told him how beautiful she thought that was and then she started babbling about how we didn’t really know what beauty was anymore because we used it to describe such arbitrary things now.  Her babble was like the sound of a soda can when you popped it open, the fizz filling his head with a soft buzz, his brain became foggy and he wanted to listen to the sweet way her voice danced for the rest of his life.

            The window was open and the air was cold as she lay on his bare chest, her hands curled into fists like a child.  He wondered how she could go from such a tantalizing woman so such a soft, delicate girl in the span of seconds. Minute actions in life tired her endlessly.  She felt there was no point in living if you didn’t experience every motion, every vibration in the air.  She would talk about religion and he didn’t know why because she didn’t seem to follow one.  She thought about how she liked the idea of God’s eternal love, that he could love even a wretched soul like her.  He liked how smart she was.  He didn’t know why it mattered that she was smart, but it did. 

Little did he know, every inch of her body was on fire, waiting to pounce, high off the feeling she got from being around him.  She was getting her fix of the poison and she would be gone in an hour after he had listened to her talk about all the things she had learned.  He knew she was using him, but there was something so magical about the way she looked sitting cross legged on his bed, daintily smoking a cigarette even though he had asked her please not to smoke in his room. 

She was already thinking about leaving. Her chest felt tight as she noticed the look in his eyes.  She didn’t like the feeling of growing close to someone.  She should go.  She thought that they had messed around for too long.  She was thinking about how she would get a letter from him tomorrow.  He was thinking about what he would put in the letter.  It’d talk about how she was the most wonderful thing he’d ever experienced and that wonderful wasn’t a strong enough word.  That she probably had one that was one hundred times better.  She might read it, or she might burn it.  She liked to be destructive, to know she was hurting someone.  It excited her and she didn’t know why. 

She thought about all the things people were addicted to in the world and she wondered what it was that captivated her soul.  What was that honey-sweet poison she craved every hour of the day? The word sat on the tip of her tongue as she looked down on the hopeless boy: lost and small in this big, big world. Then it hit her, the word fit nicely in her mouth and purred on her tongue.  Chaos.  She was addicted to chaos.  She liked the way things looked when they fell apart, but she liked the way they looked when you tried to put them back together even more.  The cracks didn’t quite fit back up right and there were small gaps, a constant reminder that you cannot retrieve every piece of you that you lose when you are hurt.  Every moment of your life affects you, makes you into a new creation.  Metamorphoses. She thought that was beautiful.

She put out her cigarette and leaned over to kiss his cheek, leaving him dazed and confused.  In love.

Author's Note

image: Sistine Chapel ceiling by Michelangelo