charcoal gray. Something inside of me died today. I am a young woman, a child. I am an adolescent. I stand at about five-foot three, with hair that rests on my shoulders - long and straight, the colour of spun gold. That's what Daddy always told me. I have a pale face and a slender figure. My bones show through when I stretch, especially my ribs. I like it that way. Sometimes people notice me. My skin is pale like saltwater taffy, but also blemished and scarred from years of not being cared for. On Tuesdays my hands are splashed with colour - greens and reds and blues and grays - that's because I paint. Some days I get so messy that it is Saturday before I get the paint out of my fingernails. Crusty acrylic stuck in places I can't reach. Daddy says that I shouldn't show off my artistry so much. Mommy gets sick of trying to clean paint out of my clothes. My toes are always as cold as my fingers as the Gulf of Mexico on a spring morning. I went there once. I was very lonely. The sand was beautiful and the sun was bright and the scent of ocean that drew me close made me wish for nothing more than to be Home. I wanted to go where I could see my friends and fall asleep in someone's arms in a room with a single lamp that was not too bright. Bright light hurts my eyes, especially sunlight. Perhaps that's why I avoided the outdoors, why my skin is pasty and you can see the veins behind my legs. Thin blue lines that run in all directions, pumping blood through my fragile body, but not enough to sustain me. Don't ask unless you really want to know. I am not an absurdist. I am looking for the divine purpose ordained for me. Thus far I have not found it. Bu life -- life is absurd. There is no purpose, no reason; it is chaos. I'm dying. I'm dying in a dog-eat-dog world. A gun fires in the distance. A girl at the age of sixteen falls to the ground, broken and alone, and in a final gasp for air she prays. For ten minutes she has found her heaven. But then if Heaven be real, then why would the earth be real? Why would we be caught in this never-ending ring of life and death and rebirth and reason? Why do we let ourselves fall through a tunnel so dark and tight that we cannot breathe? I took a step forward, and then another. The wind picked up and threw my hair violently so I couldn't see. The back of my neck grew cold and I shivered as the air tickled my bare skin. I pulled my hair back behind my ears and closed my eyes, trapping a single tear behind my lashes. You are alone. He has left you behind. Who? Lover? Savior? Friend? Yes. The tear I had tried so hard to trap leaked through and trickled down my cheek. Another tear fell. And then, another. I wiped my eyes on the cuff of my shirt. No one. I was alone. It was as I was bringing my arm back down that I felt a sudden gush of warmth against my cold neck. I gasped as a chill ran through my veins. A pale hand, both warm and soft, brushed against my own clammy skin, resting its fingers between each of mine. I closed my eyes and, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, prayed. But it wasn't offered to a god that I had known. I wasn't sure who it was to. A kiss, soft, innocent, delicate… a burning sensation at the top of my spine and then suddenly behind my ear. I felt another tear escape and wondered why. You're crying. I turned around and let my eyes meet a second pair, reflecting my own pained expression. The gaze was awkward and I finally glanced down at the unfamiliar feeling of the hand holding my own. Every day the same hand held mine close, yet every day it was a different wonderful. Another hand brushed softly against my cheek; soft fingertips tracing the trail my tears had left and drying the place where the trail stopped. Another kiss, this time just beneath my eye, and then a long embrace. I felt a strong pair of arms hold me close and heard the distant patter of a heartbeat harmonizing with my own, rapidly pounding deep inside of me. Don't cry. Everything is fine. I'm here. You. You became my existence. Something inside me died tonight, and any fear I had for it has been replaced with a passion to be alive. back part of the feuschia project