When all is well, there will be hell.
When she was contemplative, she liked to rhyme. She never had figured out why. It's not that she liked reading or writing poetry, she just like to rhyme sometimes. It always surprised people, like they didn't think she was smart enough, or witty enough, to do something like that. Not that she was dumb. Just not the smartest either. She like to say that even if she wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, that she was most certainly glow in the dark. People who knew her agreed. She had always thought she was kind of special, in the mental disorder kind of way, but she never could figure out if the people around her agreed.
She felt lonely a lot, as if the world wasn't big enough, and at the same time was to big to capture her. She liked to go running in big open spaces like parking lots and fields, and then falling to the ground and staring at the sky. Doing that made her feel small, like she was insignificant. She liked that feeling. Feeling tiny was always an interesting sensation, like the world was swallowing her, and letting her sit in it's stomach for eternity. At other times she liked to stand and tower over ants and other bugs and hold herself in lordship over them, feeling powerful and dominant. She always tried to be kind in her rule, though, and would let them keep going on their business and never let them know that she held their lives in her hands.
She thought about dying a lot. She wondered if people would be sad if she were gone, if she would be sad if they were gone. Life was an interesting conundrum that she was never sure if she wanted to solve. "Life's a bitch. The question is, is she your bitch." She said that a lot too, she had a lot of sayings. What would it feel like to die, to not be alive anymore. Would it be sudden, or was it like fading away? Did the actually dying hurt, or was it just the way you died? If she was going to kill herself, she always wondered how she would do it. According to statistics, she would probably shoot herself in the head while sitting in a bathtub. But to be honest, that didn't sound like much fun. No, she wanted it to leave her intact so that if they wanted there could be an open coffin. No, she would take something sharp and run it up the vein in her left arm. That's what she would do (she would do it on her left arm because she was right handed and it needed to be a straight line, so that it would look okay after they stitched it up).
Even though she thought about it a lot, she didn't think she had the guts to do it, or that she really wanted to do it. Thinking was enough. Carpe Noctem. That was her motto. Seize the night. She had a lot of reasons for it, but really, it just sounded cool. Instead of slicing her vein open, maybe she would just get a tattoo, line running parallel to the vein, with her motto at her wrist, always to remind her to "seize the night" not to let the night seize her. Sometimes, when she had a bad day, she would take a marker and draw it on, always careful to not tell anyone the real reason why. People like to worry, and she didn't want them to worry about her. She was going to be fine. One day, she felt sure she would get there. But for now, she had her rhyming, and her sayings, and could run in open spaces and think about death, and she would draw on her arm, and keep her secrets.
When all is well, there will be hell. She hoped that wasn't true.
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