[size=1]I’m a LOVER not a FIGHTER. I’m your [color=green]Casanova.
.kisses rain on me as the [color=pink]MusicboxDancer twirls in her world of wooden dreams.
::Life is filled with Many Mysteries–Some bold, some [color=teal]Beautiful…::
~The only [color=red]Hue I do enjoy, is the hue of you.~
SEE HOW SHE RUNS–Moochi.
This Chapter’s Theme Song: Watercolors by Bill[/size]
[ Continued From “A Blank Canvas–A New Start” ]
An ivory hand lay, unmoving, on the tile floor of Moochi’s kitchen. Its fingers were limply sprawled, clutching to nothing. Its fingernails were bitten right up to the quick, and the index finger itself had a small dewdrop of blood forming on its end, near the stump of nail that remained. Within the hand, the veins where blood pumped were prominant, standing out in blue lines that formed complex networks and channels across the ghostly, white flesh. A small flutter of movement from the hand, which seemed a shock to the still silence of the room around it, soon led to the lifting of the hand, and its travel brought it through the shocked and silent air… To the face of the girl it was attached to.
Moochi, with her brown hair soaking wet and splayed around her head on the cool tile of the floor, bit into the edge of her palm, and remained that way for a long moment. Then, she dropped the hand, just before her face, and stared off into space as before.
In her head, the memories–snapshots of the past three to four hours–seemed to play in an endless loop. Though Rick was the subject of most of the memories, he was not the star of many of the “mental snapshots” that plagued her mind. Those, instead, were saved mainly for the paramedics, nurses, doctors, friends, and family members that she had seen in those few hours. However, Rick was in the most prominant of these memories: the ones that showed him lying in the mud, rain pouring across his limp body, his body as pale as her own was at the moment. The only words she had understood–after dialing the number for the paramedics, telling them the situation when they arrived, watching them work on Rick, her trainer, her friend, on the way to the hospital in an ambulance that was so loud that it drowned out the sound of the heart-moniter’s beep and the strained voices of the paramedics themselves, followed shortly by the waiting room, the hum of people, the dance of life and death, the fear, the anxiety, the nerves–was from the doctor that was “in-charge of Rick’s case.”
“…A heartattack… …In need of Triple-Bipass surgery… …Complications could… …be fatal…”
Seth had arrived at the hospital nearly an hour after Rick and Moochi’s arrival, as it was nearly an hour later that she could find her cellphone again and remember her own phone-number again and find her voice again and make coherent sentences again… Seth, being the love of Moochi’s life, immediately knew something was wrong, as people of such close proximity (emotionally, that is) often tend to do. For this, Moochi was more thankful than she had ever remembered being. She only had to state her location, and Seth was flying nearly 20 miles over the speed-limit in his beat-up, blue pick-up, just to be by her side.
It was for this, and for many other reasons, that Moochi loved Seth. (But, that, of course, is another story…)
When Seth reached Moochi, the first thing he did, was wrap his arms around her, and hold her. There was hardly a glance passed their way, as the rest of the souls around them, were all similarly wrapped around their loved ones, clinging to each other in a desperate attempt to ward off the pain and surreality of… reality.
The second thing that Seth did, was tell Moochi to take his truck, and go home.
She couldn’t protest. In just a few, short and yet agonizingly slow hours, Moochi had spent every reserve of energy she had, save for the small amount of back-up she had, which she used to drive herself home, take a long hot shower, get dressed, walk through every room of her home, and finally, collapse onto the kitchen floor.
She hadn’t moved for a while. She could tell, because her left side, the side she was lying on, had begun to ache distantly. The microwave directly across from her, just visible from where she lay, flashed a time, and though the numbers meant nothing at the moment, she tried to keep the image of them, clinging to something that would remove the pain of remembering Rick’s pale, vague face.
And yet… No tears. She wondered why. There were a million and one reasons why she should be crying now. But the tears wouldn’t come. And the tightening in her chest, which had started the instant she saw Rick on the ground, made her breathing shallow. But the tears still wouldn’t come. She could bite at her skin, make it sting, but… no tears. She could even hurt herself with the sharp point of a knife… but still, she knew, no tears would fall.
She wondered… if perhaps… the shock was just too great? Or even, perhaps, there was still just enough hope left in her heart, that she could not deny it with tears?
Whatever the reason, Moochi could not force herself to cry, though her pain was gradually worsening, and her mind was slowly becoming crippled under the weight of reasonings that held no reason.
From the hallway, a soft mew, made Moochi’s dull, hazel eyes, drift across the tile floor. Nothing else about her moved. Not even her lungs seemed to expand enough to cause her chest to rise and fall. From the hallway, a kitten, small and grey, with soft-green eyes, and a white snip upon its nose–‘Snip.’
Snip moved with the graceful trot of a full-grown cat, though she was only just old enough to be weaned from her mother’s milk. Her pride was carried in her shoulders and the way she held her head, her bright eyes wide and curious, yet holding all of life’s wisdom. Her tiny, perfect feet, made gentle pitter-patterings against the tile floor, halting only when Snip hesitated and mewed in her mighty way, her ears tilted high and her small tail twitching.
Without thought, Moochi reached out… and softly rubbed the small gray kitten’s back. Snip purred in a miniaturized version of her own mother’s motor-like purr, and stretched, rubbing her face against Moochi’s outstretched hand. Before long, Snip had crawled over Moochi’s left arm, and snuggled against the girl’s chest. An instant warmth spread through Moochi, starting from the place where Snip lay. She felt the beginning of a smile, but her face muscles wouldn’t comply. No. Now was no time for smiling. But…
Picking up Snip as carefully as if she were ancient glassware, Moochi carried the kitten up the stairs. Once there, she placed Snip with her mother and siblings in her bedroom, and shut the door.
When she left the room, a wave of sorrow hit her.
Across from her room was a photograph of someone–two someones–that she knew. One was herself as a young, rather gangly, pre-teen. The other was slightly younger, slightly less-balding, slightly healthier, Rick. Leaning on Rick’s shoulder, Moochi’s younger self was giggling about something Rick was saying, and neither of them were yet aware of the camera, which was hovering just a few feet away, before both of them. Rick was busy shining a leather bridal, and Moochi, as usual, was hanging around, asking too many questions, and getting in the way…
The Moochi of the present, slid to the floor, and fell apart.
Finally, she thought, …Tears.
[ To be continued. ]