Posted in short stories

Drums

As I sit here in the back of this run down coffee house, in the middle of nowhere, alone, in my beat up white vans and dickies jumpsuit, I find that it’s the perfect time to rest my eyes. So I do just that. I close my eyes and listen to the drums. With every sound of hand hitting calfskin, I feel the beat of my heart eerily vibrating my eye lids. I try to fully relax every muscle and let every thought be fleeting. 

‘I’m so disappointed in you,’ my mother says. Flush. 

‘No one else will want your fat, ugly ass,’ my ex boyfriend says. Flush.

‘How much weight are you gonna gain,’ my granny says. Flush. 

‘Don’t help the customer if it means us losing even one penny,’ says my old boss. Flush.

‘He didn’t rape her, she wanted it,’ my brother says. Flush.

‘You’ll never get anywhere in life if you don’t try new foods,’ my step father says. Flush. 

‘You should’ve thought about that before you did something stupid,’ says the hospital nurse. Flush. 

‘I know you did it because little black girls are always trouble,’ my second grade teacher says. Flush. 

I keep flushing but they always come back. It’s like the pipes are in a circle and the new water draining back into the bowl of life’s toilet is littered with microscopic pieces of these memories that manifest themselves clearly every time I go to the bathroom. I’d do anything to escape them. I do anything to escape them. 

Sex. Pills. Marijuana. Alcohol. Travel. Food. It’s all the same vice in the end. None of it works. Not ever. It slows down the recycling of these demons but never ride them completely. 

What’s the point. What’s the point. What’s the point. It’s no longer a question. It’s been a question for years but now it’s just a profound revelation of all things to come. There is no point. And that’s the point. None of this matters. I don’t matter. 

It wouldn’t matter if I ever opened my eyes again. My eyelids are still vibrating to the beat but I notice the beat is gone. Silence. Shall I open my eyes ?

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