Madison Maha

Remember to Look Both Ways

Madison Maha

Lately, I’ve passed out on the couch but have had bloodline memories of walking to my bed. My eyes aren’t half visible here, unlike the bed. I’m always alert, always ready but “why” seems to be the recurring question. Slipping on white cancels out the noise of opposing colored bottles and the muffled silence of nothing helps 33 muscles relax momentarily. I never denied they were telling the truth. But I never denied that I was telling the truth.

I’m greeted as a black suit occasion and the creatures have Venice bought faces. I’m underdressed but I don’t have any second thought about it. Part the way for the path of which to take is popular for them so I’ll follow the guidance. I mean, they know, they are in control. Death misunderstood has the calmest eyes because it’s patient and will wait longer since I still cannot take its hand to dance. My vessel hasn’t sunken yet. Delicate wrists will rise and guide me a short distance, yet I seem far away.

Turn me around, gentle push, it doesn’t take much and I’ll glide occasionally bumping into stars till they turn me upright gently and have me land on a mirror. It ripples a spreading secret. I know this, but don’t have any emotion about it. Looking down at perfect bare feet that couldn’t possibly be mine, they’re bleeding and cut, they’re mindless yet not insane? They must know of the staircase’s trickery yet they obey. I wonder if they have control too. It’s almost mesmerizing. Left, right, left, right, and with no cadence count. Wait, no, I can’t be marching with

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them. No! Sit down and stop! Pitch black for a millisecond, it’s a basic human action. Offices are hubs for people now. I was late again, but I don’t pay any mind. Observing people with aspirations for their life makes me confused, because a lifeline in a bottle has aspirations to make it to shore, but the sea comes and goes, not always so inviting to the thing it takes as its own. Even though it’s not. Everyone tells you what’s good for you here. They don’t want you to find your own answers, they want you to believe theirs. That’s why there’s so many imprints. Riddle solved. And with that I turn around facing a wall. Just a wall. Nothing special. The sound of a creek, familiar to the land, plays the flute on the other side. It’s enchanting, peaceful. He’s gentle and trusting. He gives the sense he has the answer, and I’m in control all of a sudden. Pulling up to a dock, he stops playing, and I hear him shift the balance on the wood.

One step. Suede. One step. Not. Then a rush of fear comes over me, one step. Metal. One step. Not. I go to run but it was never a wall at all but a blank room with no doors. One step. Leather. One step. What… what is that? I can finally see my breath and it turns into snow. Two steps. Right in front of the door I couldn’t see before. Something stands out compared to this white room. Blood trails following the torn-from-glass feet that couldn’t possibly be mine. The door opens. I look at the figure now seen as it paints the floor. There’s a second of clarity; I thought I had control this whole time, but there was something I forgot. I never did go back to my bed when I realized had I passed out on the couch.