August 17, 2010

•      Good God, it felt so much more full and fulfilling when it was empty.
       Kerianna stumbled down the stairs, partially due to the fact that it was 2 in the morning and she hadn't slept much the night before anyway, partially because of the impending crash she knew would come from downing 3 or 4 cans of Coke, and partially because the empty subway ensured that she didn't need to concern herself with possible embarrassment.
       Righting herself at the bottom, she curtly nodded to the sprawling graffiti that snaked and winded itself over the tiled couch it lay on. For whatever reason, it was always on the other side of the tracks. Scuffling her shoes on the concrete, she wondering why no one had bothered to paint on the immediate surface that made up the waiting station. But she supposed that authority had a way of making people do dangerous things. Lazily, she tottered over to the tracks for a closer look.
       Her parents never used to let her close to the edge that prefaced the rail when she was younger. Even at seven, she always thought the bigass yellow line would be evidence enough to stay away, but, apparently, they figured their daughter willing to throw herself onto the rail even then. Sitting down so that her legs dangled over, a bit of empathy for their situation crept up on her. Kerianna had always been small-statured; at the current moment, at 5 feet, she weighed 130 pounds, likely an easy task for the currents that cascaded through the thick steel below her.
       "Shit, motherfucker..." she muttered softly, rolling her fists into her eyes in an attempt to gouge them out. With any luck, she figured, she might be able to reach the source of her surging and ebbing headache through that entrance. At any rate, all it was reminding her of now was the pounding pop music in that dark and stuffy room she was at just 15 minutes ago. That and how she wished she had another can of Coke with her at the moment, even if it just fought back the grief for only so long.
       She glanced down at her favorite plaid (unbuttoned) button-up over the simple purple shirt she was wearing and regretted being too lazy to bother getting up from the dirty concrete, ruing already the musty smell they'd soak up. The jeans she could take, even if they were that rare dark, mellow blue that she could spend all day staring at. She sighed bitterly: she wasn't tired enough yet to forget that the button-up had been nicely ironed straight before she left for the party.
       She didn't blame the concrete, anyway. She liked the thick, rectangular pillars that enclosed her so familiarly. Or that dull reflection that fought to shine on the metal in a train, despite the flickering the bulb insisted on anyway. Happily she thought of the groggy struggle from a late trip that reminds you that this sack of flesh, bones, fat, and muscle is beating and that the smell of the gum, dirt, dust, and other miscillanious objects shoved in that crevice between the wall and where the window slides has a smell so acute that you can vividly have it invade your nostrils, if you want. Without even looking, she could run her hand along that metal wall and feel where others had attempted to cut some coherent message in, even there. And, of course, that satisfying hum and vibration of the train beating along the track, going forward in a determined and steady race, leaving behind the parents at the counter buying more pills for her persistent "head cold".
       She sighed in abject disgust as her hand fell into something wet and sticky that soaked a good portion of the couch cushion Kerianna had been planning to sit on. Rapidly wiping her left hand on her pants, she headed over to the cooler again for another Coke. Cramps and an unrelated mood swing was not the idea she had of a good time when she had decided to come. Not that staying home was a better option; all that was guarenteed from staying home was looking at pictures and icons that could hopefully provide an excuse for her being single and blasting Atreyu or Slipknot in an attempt to try to explain her current aggitation. She cut back a hiss after she jabbed her knee into the table, jostling the bowl of chips toward the edge slightly. Why make out on the floor when there was a perfectly good couch? The dull lights in the relatively small basement room along with the blaring Miley Cyrus was starting to get to her. She thought about going upstairs, for a change of scenery if for nothing else.
       Then again, on second thought, upstairs probably wouldn't have this boy next to the cooler, Kerianna noted, fishing out a can while attempting to descreetly look out of the corner of her eyes from time to time. He looks bored too, she nagged; she ripped out a can from the bottom of the cooler.
       Doing a 360°, she plopped down on the arm of the couch he sat on, working to open her can. "Great party, huh?" she asked, glancing down with a smirk. He chuckled, looking briefly around before glancing back at Kerianna.
       Her can open, she took a quick swig, wincing slightly from the sharp stap at the back of her throat as her leg stopped twitching. She glanced down at him again, and then crouched down to his ear, breathlessly staggering,
       "C'mon, let's get the fuck out of here. There are better places to breath."

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       "Why do you write?"
       "Why do I breath?"
       "To live?"
       "To not go insane."

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  On a completely unrelated note, Orla sounds so much better when she sings in a lower pitch, using (for her) an almost husky voice. Just listen to that emotion there:

  EDIT: Orla has, without notice or given reason, made the video private. I'm going to take her not responding to my question of why and if I could get an mp3 of the track as tacit approval to upload an mp3 here myself. 

  • 8:26 am
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