The Chronicles Of A Bohemian Teenager (Part V).

Splatter. Smatter. Shatter. Marshmallow splat again. Through the oil figure of a town. Ghostly, in the sense of abandonment. I stand. There is something strange about this place. Apart from no one existing. There seems to be a whisper echoing through the town. Desertedly. Je sais que tu n'aimes pas ta realite... Why, and how? No one here, voicing their thoughts of a brain unknown. Never trust a thing that you can see where it keeps its brain. But I wonder, nonetheless. And winder, wandering through the streets. Searching for something that I cannot define. What am I looking for?

Loud siren. Bee-whoop! Bee-whoop! Bee-whoop! Bee-whoop! Does it ever stop? What is it signaling? Nerve-wracking. Body-wracking. Spasms throw me to the ground. From what? It is a mystery. How. How. Echoing fades. Siren gone. In the stark silence, I hear the whisper. Je sais que tu n'aimes pas ta realite... Eerily clear. Where is it coming from?

I stand again. No marshmallow splat this time. Scraped knees. Bloody elbows. Leaking ketchup onto my skin. I wipe it away. No bandage. No point. I remember what I am looking for. I know how it feels, looking on the bright side... I try to pay no attention to it, but it is everywhere and nowhere at once. Splish. Splash. Slosh. Crack. Thunder? But rain, most certainly. Pouring in cats and dogs. Lots of them. I run for the nearest building, seeking shelter from the deluge of the cloud tears. Something has made them sad. ...When there is no bright side.

Inside, I begin to shake myself to rid of wet water. But I am dry. No residue. No wet. Not even marks. How strange. Cherche pour l'affiche d'une fille. What? Why? I am ready to leave. But it dawns, in the sky, that I do not know how to leave. So I look for the poster of a girl. Door to door, like a girl scout searching for her missing friend. But there is no one. Finally, the end. The rain is finished. No more tears. Poster of a girl. Je sais que tu n'aimes pas ta realite... I do not know where to go from here. Blowing in the wind. What? That is...?

And there it is. The poster of a girl. Like a tumbleweed, pirouetting across the street. I give chase. There is nothing significant about it. Blue eyed, brown, shoulder length haired girl. Perfect features. Her face, at least. All that is shown. Familiar sparks a flower in my mind, catching into a wildflower blaze. Who is this? Then she speaks. Je sais que tu n'aimes pas ta realite...But why are you running from yourself? I drop her, and she blows away. You. Where are you?

And then I see you. At the edge of town. Running. What are you looking for? Why are you running? Clearheadedness abandons its child outside my mind. Fablishwongledook. Who? Can't I stop and sing? This is insane. I think? Why are you? How are you? Existing, I mean. Fantastic. You didn't answer my question. Hey, come back! A conversation in my head. How, this town? That beach? Those woods? That painting? That music? What is this? Then I realize my mouth has trapped my words in a bear trap of teeth. Je sais que tu n'aimes pas ta realite... Wait!" I call. And miracles happen. Angels sing. You stop. Turn. Face me. I catch up. What you say shocks me more than these realms. If this is the life, why does it feel so good to die today? Grow up and blow away. Where am I going? I do not know. Am I dying? Not really. Who am I? It doesn't matter. What does matter is what you decide matters.

The city stretches. Longer, longer, pushing me away from you. Back to before you turned. You turn back and continue running. No, you are not. The city is still stretching. How do I stop? You fade into distant dust. What was that? Fleeting human contact, I think. I am lost. You are lost. But for a moment, we were lost together.

I wonder who you are.