just a story for tvs, which will be opening soon.
spent the entire morning watching youtube videos.
cecelia lisbon, the virgin suicides.
[fast forward - a few months later.]
A picture flashed before everyone's eyes. A picture everyone expected would return, a picture that beholds no life, yet freezes a moment in time. Women clucked their tongues, shook their very heads. Sorrow lingered in the air, yet it was mixed with terrible curiosity, fateful questions. How could this girl be pushed off the edge? Such a sweet girl. The neighbors reminisced about the blonde beauty, talking about her as if she were an angel at waiting, someone who changed the world. The ignored fact was that they had no relationship with her, whatsoever. No friendship, no interaction. Perhaps words were never even exchanged. But everyone strangely wanted a part in this girl's life, a piece to remember her by. A picture, a video, a song. But for now, there was only a photo. A photo glazed over on the screen, the news symbol flashing. Her face, so somber, there was no smile, but a hint of mystery swirling in her deep eyes. Everyone seemed to want to speak at once, there was always something to say about her death.
"She was too young." Often grazed people's lips. Four words, but so much meaning. She was very young it seems, with the body of a child, and the mind of an adult. It's bitter to say that one girls death shook the entire town, and ruined a family.
Cecelia was the first to go.
The soles of my feet hit the dirty porch, a smell drifting in the air, something mixed between dirt and decay. I let out a snub laugh, not because anything was particularly funny, but because everyone was watching. Watching my every move, waiting for me to fall. I carefully opened up the mailbox, grabbing every letter and stuffing them under my arm so they didn't get wet from the misty rain. My back felt hot from people's stares, their shades agape oh so slightly just to peek, to watch, to stare. Our family consisted of freaks. People who didn't blend into the background, and did I care? No, not really. So I skipped up the stares, turned around, and stuck out my tongue. Shades flipped back into its original state.
Trotting back inside, Lux's voice filled my ear. She was singing, a sound so beautiful yet dangerous. A sound mixed with love and sex and drugs, all the things that Lux is made up of. My mother's voice next. Screeching like a record playing too long, like nails on a chalkboard. I covered my ears, running up the plush, stained stairs covered with rug. Suddenly, I felt so... dirty. My hands shook, and my teeth chattered. I felt bad, terrible, evil, gross. Things that made me run a hot bath, borderline burning, and scrub myself until I turned red.
And this is the life of me. Cecelia Lisbon.