The String

Melayna Tidwell

So many skulls lined the walls. Up the sides, across the ceiling; some were even imbedded into the floor. Three eyes, four eyes, six – look again! Five, three, one. Not two. Never two. Two was a pair. Two was a match. Two was love and they were never in love. They were in the walls, the ceiling, some even in the floor, but never in love. They were stacked on top of each other, all together now, but forever alone. Their eyes were open, always open, staring at each other, always forever, but they never saw each other. Only heads, stacked skulls, the rest gone. Minds gone. Hearts gone. Souls long gone. Ridges between the skulls. Filled lines that marked a new life, a new death, another one come to join me, forever alone. They were monsters, but they were skulls. All people have skulls. Some people are monsters. They weren’t human, but they were buried. Some humans aren’t buried. Backwards, forwards, upside down, a clown in the circus, balancing a ball, spinning out of control, life. There was no life here; only skulls. Each one had a life, was still connected to a life – where was the string?