Sixteen Pink Balloons - Prologue

Then perhaps tomorrow will be brighter than today . . . .

      Boom … boom … boom … boom …
     Can you feel that?
     Slowly, as it fluctuates, it flutters its majestic wings almost too divinely, an immediate surge of oxygen and fiery hell, also known as life, inflate back into the two pink balloons forever imprisoned underneath a cage of crows that are eager to burst both balloons. The sun in the form of a hanging light bulb of the bathroom peaks just beneath the jaw that holds the yellow stars slumbering in the mouth, and the body is set ablaze in a vigorous inferno. The lips wish to scream the scorching sun from its sealed mouth luminously as the atoms bordering the body devours the sun droplets that glimmer like radioactive cinders. The diaphragm rises high and above to unlock the gateway for the massive swoosh of thick, hot breath sweltering up the thin walls of the parched throat, finally escaping out through those two pallid lips at last.
     The lungs attempt to entrap the mind into a seamless web of lies and deceit, disguising the discomfort of wavering agony behind a veil of invulnerability. Even so, underneath its transparent cloak, it is paving the way towards defeat on the battlefield. It seeks to breathe salt water but finds gray pebbles instead. It wishes not to drown. However, for the first time since it has been borne in this body, it is inhaling claustrophobia and feeling ensnared. Instinctively, it refuses to let go.
     The mind’s apology to the rest of the ill-fated body wobbles deep in the throat, slashing at the tongue’s syllables and phonemes.
     The blood muscles clash with each other and at one another; compactly compressed and roughed-up in the narrow vessels … excruciatingly and sparingly attempting to salvage even an ounce of oxygen. But the heart has a hardened apple that sits on top of its frame, blocking the blood from traveling to all the oxygen deprived spaces of the body, and the blood then bleeds into the two ventricles out of the four chambers when the two atria’s can no longer roam as they please. In contrast to the two sacks of air, the heart is forfeiting the battle, amply, and . . .  forgiving. The delicate heart is left to cradle its stillborn dreams of living in its intrinsic folds as the sun slowly starts to smolder into a deep shade of dreary gray while the sky of the contained room flickers between darkness and light.
     Two of the most vital organs in the pitiful human body are at war against one another.
     The body will be its causality.
     Death’s empire will swallow the world entire.
     In the midst of all despair, the rest of the unfortunate body is lost in sheer vertigo " yearning for answers for the abrupt disruption. In the basement of the precious mind, the high frequency of the guilty agony’s light is burning the midnight petroleum oil at a rapid pace. The body’s sanity is stuck wavering at the threshold between total madness and death. What is going on? What is this? Just a few minutes ago, everything was smooth, functioning effortlessly like any other day, so what was occurring now? Cells screeching earsplitting cries, blood trashing about in the body and mind; the once austere bodily order was now completely dismantled and thrown into oblivion. Everything begins to clutter and blend together … attempting to exchange a single signal with the brain but there are crows plucking at the nerve endings of each neuron and the body only receives a dial-tone, an incessant beep until the line eventually disconnects similar to the continuous beating of the heart until it eventually forgot its own rhythm. 
     All communications have been terminated.
     The brain has clambered to the ultimate state of serenity long before the body became aware that it was being robbed " fractured into millions of fragments to disperse into the infinite galaxy. The mind has already fled and now, there is nothing left to absorb its torrential deluge as the mouth regurgitates venomous words that it was forced to gobble up during the span of a few months. Such a shame the body has not realized what the Almighty Lord already knew " the brain wanted it.
     Unbearable . . . scathingly, the quivering fingertips trace up to the neck that is shattering the silence with its piercing scream, howling like a forlorn ghost wailing in the winter wind, in agony but still ever so brilliantly alive " unconquered by Death’s empire. The incessant throbs stretches from the neck down, jolting razor sharp and blistering aches at the deltoids. The profusely punctured line scrawled across the naked neck glistens in the dim light of the bathroom. The rope; fat, repulsive shade of brown and roughly abrasive did not fulfill tonight’s lone wish. All dreams of a lovely evening catering to death always have been mercilessly murdered at conception so why is this a surprise? Here, the neck wanted to feel loved for once in its short lifetime. But the rope was too weak, too useless to chase after the mind’s only pursuit of happiness. Now, the neck was scorning at it, taunting how wicked it was not, taunting how it simply was all talk. 
     The rope was powerless to overpower the neck.
     The first access to death has been denied.
     There must be another way.
     There is no doubt.
     Sink in . . .  sink into . . . the warm . . . so warm . . . lukewarm water is pouring in sheets from the bronze knob into the bathtub, leaking clumsily down onto the luminescent tiles while lucky droplets of water are safely secured in the plugged bathtub. It trickles into the sea to amalgamate among the heap of wetness. The body dives into the tiny ocean and it is not only drowning physically, but also drowning in the deluge of incomplete ideas, distorted thoughts, and cracked words that the mind will never be capable of completing after tonight. The water of the bathtub is so sparkling clear that even the static, negative Kodak photograph that the ocean of the eyes swallows in confirms how shallow the tub really is. And if the body drowns, it is not because the body has never learned the basic fundamentals of how to swim, but the heavy weight of the mind's secrets pushing the body down further into unforgiving tides.
     The beautiful pair of legs, long and wise and almost too angelic from all the years of lifting up the wingless body, dips in . . . adjusts to the tub. . . . and directs it down into the depths of ocean of broken dreams and empty promises.
     Water . . . such warm water . . . from the gaps in between each toe, to the splitting of skin cells on the battered knees, to the bruised pelvic bone, and finally to the gigantic rush of the body of warm water engulfing the longitude of the neck " it voraciously devours the body. The body is now left in complete ruins; the world has crumbled underneath the weight of the mind’s dreams. Seconds that melts into minutes. Minutes that dissolves into hours. Hours that ticks into eternity. Eternity that morphs into hell. Hell, what is time when this is all over?
     Drenched in the tears of reality, the right wrist floats to the surface of the water only to be raped by the fingers of the left hand. Push and pull, suck and repel, intertwining in-between the empty spaces where each finger is to be found " they are bidding their final farewells.
     Goodbye to the living and say ‘Hello’ to the dead.
     The right hand raises up the seven-inch blade, once used to slice up meals for other souls, is now overflowing in pure euphoria for the golden opportunity to be doing something it was carved for, almost losing its balance in its utmost exhilaration; its stretches its grin at the sight of the bare wrist like a paramour, seductively. Poised, positioned in its stance to commit the deed tonight. It has been patiently waiting for this moment to finally arrive and here it was . . . waiting for the blade to slice through it and snatch it.
     So brilliantly alive  . . . the forest green veins pumping blood deep inside the flesh are . . . breathtaking beautiful . . . The blade quivers in delight, wanting to drink the wrist’s tears. It is ready, so ready.
     Pointed fangs, glossy skin, and frostbitten metal . . . the knife flaps its sharpened wings on top of the unfurled delicate and dying wrist dexterously, similar to a Monarch butterfly. In comparison to the beautiful, breathtaking wrist, it was so mediocre and dull " it is undeserving to be in the presence of such a divine wrist radiating in such holy beauty, but there is was " ready to transgress in the name of love. Get set. . .  Attack!
     Breathe in . . .
     The diaphragm descends down . . .
     The heart strings pluck along to the sweet symphony of death . . .
     Dead silence floods in the ears  . . . muddling the ear drums with its dense liquid.
     The stomach tightens in staccatos . . .
     Breathe out . . .
     The lips of the blade graze down, kissing the wrist with an ardent passion like a long-lost lover. It effortlessly glides across the milky skin never vacillating as it croons a mellifluous melody. Tearing apart the dead skin cells that mask the veins, it stops at the edge of the poised wrist that presented no signs of wishing it to stop. Ripping apart lives on the beautiful wrist " the deafening howls of the skin cells resonated deep in the ears in angst.
     “Ahhh . . .” Breathe out . . .
     It is much easier to die than to live this painful life.
     The mouth rips opens its stitches to screech out a piercing moan that was suppressed underneath thick cement all this time. Suddenly, the mind revives and flickers in fast motion, one after the other, another after the other. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Static, deformed imaginations run rampant against the sands of time, searing through the vast fields of tranquility.
     No longer can I find a reason to try. No longer can I find a reason to survive . . .
     The hands have laced themselves onto an unknown object, perhaps the edge of the tub, compelling the natural reflexes to restrain as they start fidgeting and fighting back " desperate to live. The body’s shrill shriek of STOP goes unheard, unnoticed, dismissed as child’s play. Electrifying pain spreads throughout every neuron in the body, sparking a blaze in the body like a unforgiving wildfire in Yosemite’s ancient trees, incinerating everything in a lively inferno where its remnants dance along to the merciless flames.
     All I want is for death to finally embrace me and whisk my soul away.
     Scarlet red platelets of blood surging and flowing thickly from the vein that had burst.
     All I want is to fly to the point of no return.
     The clear, iridescent water is now stained with that hideous, burgundy foreign
substance that breathes life into the human body. Nothing is pristine or immaculate in this world . . . the evolving pain . . . the agonizing body is bellowing in high octaves, but the mind is in a serene slumber. The two legs kick furiously, splashing water onto the space surrounding the tub’s own body even more; the left wrist is now immobile, handicapped, useless " but the right hand is clutching onto the gleaming knife with a vengeance.
     Breathe in . . .
     Breathe out . . .
     There is blood splattered everywhere . . . blood dispersing like an epidemic in this limited area. 
     Panic . . . the Medusa relinquishes her slithering hell upon the poor body . . . thunderous screams reverberate in the still atmosphere . . . bright flashes . . . . blinking . . . . snapping different shades of red . . . hard . . . . uncontrolled . . . . breathing . . . incessant . . . . beating . . . no . . . more . . . panic . . . blood . . . convoluted . . . rise . . . . rise . . . inhale it in . . . exhale it out . . .
     Sigh . . . relief . . .
     It was over. It was over. Finally over.
     This bathroom " this insignificant bathroom that held no symbolic meaning whatsoever, this bathroom that was not enchanting to eyes of mortals or sensible, this worthless bathroom is now and forevermore the mark of something significant. Embedded into the lines between each tile is a trace of blood that was spilled on this lovely night. Now, only the impalpable sounds of trickling water from the tub and the silent suffering of a withering soul will reverberate deep in the ears of those who dare step into this world. Nothing else.
     The slash of water sends an earthquake in the tub . . . in and out . . . spilling uncontrollably in glee " those crimson platelets, blood, devours the body. The back, so physically powerful and smooth greets the ocean floor of the tub for the first time, and embraces it. The smile escapes from those heavenly lips " like the dazzling moon fleeing from the burning sun that threatens to lunge its spears into the encroaching darkness. . . and the eyes, those misty windows clouded by the moonlight, shuts forever, but it is not long before a perceptible hot, salty liquid drop cascades down  the cheek . . . a diamond tear . . . that water now consumes the entire face and pulls down the body underneath with its ethereal threads, fulfilling " burying the body under its violent tides.
     Distorted and distressing.
     But conquered, at last.
     The soul seeps out in between the seams and soars across the streaks of the sapphire sky. It twists its neck back with regret and a longing temptation to give it just one more time, one more chance. But that body, that pathetic body that every other soul in this vile world spat on, judged it as, and disparaged it as . . . abused it as.
     I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
     Never again.
     There is simply no way.
     The soul has taken flight and is long gone.
     And what is left?
     Just a body. A body with a brain " a mind that recalls all those terrible memories that have burned into the back of its mind and continues to replay until it is nothing more than the living dead. The soul has neglected to take the body along with it, thus the soul will no longer have any brain memories. The soul is now a blank canvas and must be painted over again; it must forget everything over again. Somehow.
     “Forgive me father for I have sinned.”

Author's Note

There are mistakes; be courteous.