Voice of Reason

I am such a broken, twisted, sickened, little creature. I stare at the hollow eyes reflecting before me. Deep maroon, blue, and purple splotches litter the surface of my epidermis. Oh, how so tender they are... I wince in great pain. Bittersweet it is, like molasses coated ink. The mark of love swells on the surface with inflammation deep beneath. I have come to believe in broken bones and scars. Hollow eyes and empty lies. Easy highs and grey skies. It is only now that I find salvation writing in the pages of my little black notebook. There is a subtle, sweet release with every syllable. Agony melds with every phrase. Swirling the lines of misery into a casket of hope that encases my soul with the promise of better days. Not once did I tremble, not once did my loyalty waver. For my kingdom stood tall in sight. No transgression casted, no broken bone received, nor any blood lost could cull the love I gifted for my king. It is now as I reflect on the six long years a pain. I have found myself rising above to an ethereal plane far above this existence. It is here I reminisce on the events that transpired my enlightenment.

“Hey! What are you doing? Wake up!” a voice erupts in the darkest corner of my mind. I scrub the gray blazer harder. Pink froth oozes from the fabric. Bloody soap suds stain the porcelain below, as hot tears stream down my face. I look up and notice the glistening rivers flowing down my cheeks. For a moment, I am lost in my reflection. Until the voice spoke out once again,

“The saying about the meek inheriting the earth must be true. Look at you! Washing your blood from his fabric. You are better than this!”

My heart races. Neurons fly down the pathways of my grey matter like frenzied ants in a damaged colony. Thousands of thoughts flash through my brain like a raging wildfire. Every matter of my being feels as if they have been shredded on a molecular level. I push the voice into the deepest crevice of my brain, where it had laid silent buried beneath my madness. This is the first time I ignored the cosmic voice reason.

The next three days blur, like blood in water. Some parts thick, some parts thin. It was the morning of the fourth day, I had awoken to a swaying majesty. Found himself his favorite breakfast, Wild Turkey 101. My stomach turns at the thought, my head spins like a carousel. The king’s pungent and sickly-sweet odor wafted into my nasal cavity. I sighed heavily embracing the feeling of impending doom. I decided to slip into the vast, domain of my mind. My magic autopilot skill. I oblige the king and all his commands like a hollow robot. Yet, my mind seems to tangle with my soul taking me on countless journeys. Some, where a young queen defeats the evil king winning her kingdom back. So many I have traveled, so vivid they are. I feel as though I have lived countless lives. My bones feel as old as time, my soul twice that. At times, I get stuck in the darkness of my mind. Stuck, in an endless rift debating my own sanity.

“It could just be maladaptive daydreaming. As a coping mechanism to years of extreme trauma caused by domestic abuse.” the voice blurts from the dark. Anger swells from deep within me, I just want to be alone.

“Yeah! Well, you could just be schizophrenia! Go Away! Get out of my head!” I hiss venomously in response. I was met with a wall of silence, like shedding an old, itchy, desiccated exoskeleton. My body seems to relax. There was a loud authoritative knock on the front door, as I'm pulled back to reality. I find myself staring into the depths of an empty sink. I briskly walk to the front door. On my way, I noticed the sleeping crown on the couch. An empty glass bottle nestled between his thighs. I slowly crack the door open and squeeze out as to not wake my royal highness. I find myself staring into the bluest eyes. The eyes belong to a brunette woman wearing a navy pinstripe pant suit. She was holding a clipboard with a manilla envelope. I felt intimidated. Standing there in basketball shorts and a ripped up stained t-shirt. Hair unkempt, thrown into a messy bun. O yeah, and not to mention my blood shot brown eyes, one swollen and bruised.

“Hello, I’m Vivi Travis from Boxley law. I am trying to find a Mrs. Mia Krost. Are you Mrs. Krost?” she inquired. Her eyes widen at the sight of my own. I look down, ashamed.

“I am, you can just call me Mia. What is this about?” I respond shakily avoiding eye contact.

“Ok, Mia. Do you know a Mr. Edgar Krost? In the events of his passing, he left a will naming you one of his heirs. Where you close to him? Mam, I am so sorry for your loss.” she spills out quickly. It takes me a few moments to process everything she said before I could respond.

“No, I wasn’t too close to uncle Ed. He respected the idea of privacy and asked everyone to respect his. I didn’t even know he had passed.” I looked up making eye contact with Vivi. Noticing her eyes widening as they looked up to something behind me. I turn to see the wobbling king in the doorway shouting obscenities. My stomach sank lower than the buried dead. My kingdom has become stained, my king tainted. A sudden flash of white blinded my vision, then there was only black.

“Ah ahh ahh” warns the voice.

“You don’t want to use that big brain of yours right now. Seems like that husband of yours banged you up rather good. Another blow to the dome like that, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.” continues the voice nonchalantly.

“Who are you?” I ask, pain radiating from my head. The darkness feels different. Almost like a sea of fabric. As I began to lose myself in the tangling depths, the voice whispered, “Maybe it’s you dying?” sarcastically.

My eyelids flutter, as the hairs stand on the back of my neck. I am void of any thought, only pitch black. Muffled voices vibrate against the walls of my desolate and damaged tomb. The occasional words will penetrate through. “Fracture... blood loss… hemorrhage… wake up… don’t go… I'm sorry… I love you…” so many voices, some new, some old. Stranger's monitoring, treating, and diagnosing. My family weeping, vowing their vengeance. Shrouded in isolation, fear grips my heart as I ponder my existence. I jolt awake! A large exhale is pushed out from the force of me sitting up. A little girl jumps in excitement with a look of relief plastered on her face.

“Nurse! Nurse, she’s awake! My aunt is awake!” the little girl runs out the room. A slender woman with blonde curly hair saunters into the room. A white coat followed by a uniform carrying a badge, squeeze into the tiny room behind her. Pain erupts from behind my eyes, as a plethora of color clouds my vision.

“Ma’am are you in pain? Can you indicate where you are experiencing discomfort?” The nurse peers into my eyes her breath hot on my face. Lost in the questions, a timely response eludes me.

“Can you tell us your name?” the nurse asks with a soft, feminine tone. “Mia, Mia Krost” I hoarsely managed.

“That’s good, you’re doing good sweetie. I'm Dr. Rivers, this is nurse Mary and Officer Mills. Can you tell us what happened?” his thin brows furrowing across his head with inquisition. Heat rises to my face, as the taste of shame, heavy and metallic in texture, coats my tongue. Tears begin streaming from my eyes. In between violent sobs, I look at Dr. Rivers and Officer Mills.

“I'm sorry, my eyes hurt bad! I only remember the lady from the Boxley law. Vivi, I think her name is. I know my husband woke up drunk and then nothing.” Pain overcomes me, as the morphine slides through my veins. I slip back into the null…

“There you are. Back again, are you ready to listen?” The voice speaks out from the folds of my unlit dreary tomb.

“Are you God” I ask lucidly. The voice chuckles in amusement. My skin crawls with a piloerection, my muscles contract, as my battered soul begins to feel more like melted cheese.

“I am not. However, I am something just as brilliant, majestic, and as powerful in some ways. I am you. You are giving up on yourself. You let someone close to you, manipulate and control you. You swallowed your dreams for six years, and for who? Are you not tired of crying yourself to sleep? Or, wishing you didn’t stop bleeding from one of his many beatings? Are you not tired of walking beside Death?” I find myself intoxicated by the voice, besotted with every annunciation. Every question. Every word dripped with a serene solace, as the depressing gloom starts to recede into a warm, ivory palace. It is here, I choose to rest, cuddled against the white walls. Nurturing my observations, suckling the comfort of solitude. It is here I heal; it is here I become. Shedding light on my once darkened kingdom. I am gently churned into an enlightened beautiful oblivion.

The sound of a child’s laughter wakes me up. My orbitals slowly open. Through my blurry vision, I see my brother and his daughter standing with Vivi Travis.

“Hey kiddo, how are you feeling?” my brothers voice sounded like thunder. He is an exact copy of his father, standing tall at six foot four. I had our mother’s small frame, standing at only four foot eleven and weighing one twenty soaking wet.

“Hey, you’re up. Do you remember me?” Vivi spoke softly, almost like she was scared her words would break me. Which, I did feel like glass... cold… distorted… molded with extreme heat.

“Yes, I remember you.” my voice trembled, sounding weak and hollow. Vivi’s eyes seem to lighten. While I notice over her shoulder my brothers seemed to glisten.

“I’m so sorry about what happened. In conclusion, to your uncle Eds passing. I was sent to deliver your inheritance. He has named your brother and you heirs to his small fortune. Split between the two of you, giving you both an estimated amount of twenty thousand dollars, after fees and taxes of course…” Vivi pauses briefly and looks up from her clipboard. “For the purpose of my files, may I inquire what you plan on doing with your inheritance?” she asked.

Unsure myself, I told them I would take a vacation. A day later I was discharged. My brother offered to stay with me, but I refused kindly. Returning to my empty kingdom was a rough transition. Shards of broken glass stained with dried blood litter the stairs. Vivi had stated in the police report that she witnessed my husband hitting me with an empty glass bottle. My blood runs cold at the hazy memory. I run my fingers across the stitches covering my face. I swallow hard, raising my head a little higher. A slight smile, creeps at the corners of my mouth. I did it, I have survived.

It was after a thousand eyes turned blind, I listened to my voice of reason. Now, as I ascend upon the shoulders of enlightenment. I am carried high above our earthly plane of existence. It is here, I write you my story, in hopes that you will listen to that voice in your head. The one beckoning you to reason. The one scratching at your mind. Begging you to; overcome, to rise above, to survive!

The End.