The Lights
I am going to see the lights.
The glow of the city will make a perfect backdrop to the painting I am envisioning.
Far enough away to see the twinkle of headlights and the shine of skyscrapers, but hear complete silence.
No hustle and bustle.
No commotion from pedestrians.
Just the wind hitting against my windows.
The sound of my breath ricochets inside my ear canals as I prepare myself to begin.
I have my canvas ready, tools in hand.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I turn on the radio to listen to my favorite songs for the last time.
I hum along, staring at the city miles away.
The stars shimmer and beam off the pavement below me adding some foreground to my painting.
“It’ll be okay” I recite in my head over and over and over again.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
My phone is continuously buzzing in the seat next to me.
They simply aren’t ready to see such an exquisite work of art.
I’ve been conjuring up the plan for hours. No space left in my mind for anything else.
This must be perfect. This will define me.
The body position, the clothing, the setting, the light source, the tools I’m meant to use,
everything must be perfect.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I open the book I brought along with me.
One filled with self-help quotes and poems about feeling at your lowest but you must persevere! And a whole bunch of “everything is going to be fine”s.
The words on the page bounce up and mock me as I rip them from the spine and scatter the scraps at my feet.
Tears well up in my eyes, causing the lights to become stringy and disoriented.
I slap them away and pick up my tools.
I am all set this time.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I crack open a cold can of soda, I saved my favorite for last.
I open the bottle and take one pill at a time,
One, two, three…
I pick up the knife and hold it to my jugular,
the city reflecting off of it onto the skin of my neck,
One, two, three…
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
However, the white glow from the skyline transforms into a harsh red and blue.
My heart sinks.
“Are you okay?” He asks from his window.
I stay still as he says,
“You are safe now,”
“I promise.”
Copyright © Sara Ponferrada | Year Posted 2024
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