Marina Arkana
Bio
đź’ś sapphic, vegan, artist, activist đź’ś
Stories (2)
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Viridia
I didn’t normally walk on the boardwalk at night alone. Not because it was dangerous, but because being surrounded by so many jovial merchants, kids laughing, and lovers on dates typically left me feeling sad and lonely, like fulfillment was evading me and me alone. The smell of the funnel cakes always made me nauseous and it would linger in my chest, saccharine and cheap, until I felt like I couldn’t breathe, reminding me of my general aversion to joy. The radio host on the station they blare over the speakers has a voice like a dial tone and it would loop in my head like The Hum. I still know it like the back of my hand. The air smells like cotton candy and gum that’s been pressed into the pavement with sneakers and the best places to see the water are crowded with cigarette smokers and tourists. I hated the boardwalk. I really did. In my experience, it was just an exhibition of joys- a set up to remind me that my mind is a rabid fiend looking to taint everything golden. Sometimes it felt like it existed just to remind me that no joy survives in my mind, and to taunt me with the idea that I may be the only one. I never wanted to be there. Ever. But, if ever there was a time I couldn’t stand the mere idea of crossing through that godforsaken stretch, it was that night.
By Marina Arkana4 years ago in Pride
Green Light
I didn’t normally walk on the boardwalk at night alone. Not because it was dangerous, but because being surrounded by so many jovial merchants, kids laughing, and lovers on dates typically left me feeling sad and lonely, like fulfillment was evading me, and me alone. The smell of the funnel cakes always made me nauseous, and it would linger in my chest, saccharine and cheap, until I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was an unwelcome reminder of my general aversion to joy. The radio host on the station they blare over the speakers has a voice like a dial tone and it would loop in my head like The Hum. I still know it like the back of my hand. The air smells like stale cotton candy and gum that’s been pressed into the pavement with sneakers and the best places to see the water are crowded with cigarette smokers and tourists. I hated the boardwalk. I really did. In my experience, it was just an exhibition of joys- a set up to remind me that my mind is a rabid fiend looking to taint everything golden. Sometimes it felt like it existed just to remind me that no joy survives my mind, and to taunt me with the idea that I may be the only one. I never wanted to be there. Ever. But if ever there was a time I couldn’t stand the mere idea of crossing through that godforsaken stretch, it was that night. I’d just been harassed by some of the regulars at the local co-ed gym who adamantly claimed to be under the influence of my attire…and they got pretty nasty. I ran off in tears. The last thing I needed that night was to enter another sadistic liminal space. Somehow, however, I knew I was meant to go there. It started with an unexplainable tingling in my bones, a hysteria in my aura; something beckoning me to walk that way. I brushed it off at first, reasoning that it was just delirium as a result of the 3 and a half hours I had just spent at the gym…but the thing about omens and inklings, I suppose, is that you can’t really ignore them.
By Marina Arkana4 years ago in Pride
