Rosaline: A Ghost in Search of Angels

This is a very short fictional story dedicated to those who are lost, have been lost, or are always searching. 
May you find what you are looking for and chase after it with all that you are.


Wednesday:

My mother once told me when I was little to do whatever I wanted to do when I grow up, and as long as I'm happy with that, I'll get by. Those words sound so promising, but continually I ask her,"Why can't I find happiness?"

She's gone. I have her picture next to my bed. I hold it and hug it every time I see it. How I do miss her. Sometimes talk to the picture, and I know there is no way she could hear me, but it does bring comfort to me somehow. It's not like I have anyone else to talk to, they wouldn't understand anyway. I have my dad, but all he does now is lay on the Lazy Boy all day in front of the TV with a couple of beers, frozen solid, with an empty expression on his face. When I get home from school (which is a living Hell, by the way) and I say, "I'm home", the most I get out of him is a grunt. I can sit there and try to tell him about my day, but he won't move one bit, he'll just shush me because he's trying to listen to what the commercials are saying. It's like he's lost his ability to speak. The only actual words he knows how to say to me now are, "Rosaline! Beer!" Often I just ignore it.

Thursday:

I don't know what I'm really feeling. Amidst the chaos that my life is I have this daily routine that I follow religiously. Every evening, just after the sun goes down, I go to the deli on the corner of the street, sit against the wall in the back (so that no one can see me), where the boring old grey bricks are covered in graffiti. Once I get there, I sit real still, and for some strange reason, tears just flow. I pull out the necklace which hides under my hoodie, unhook the clasp, take the charm out and swiftly run it against my wrist. I watch the red run, the more the better, and like clockwork, more tears fall. Sometimes I'll just cry for hours before I can pull myself together and do my routine. It's not often, but when it does happen and I'm running a bit late, I'll be sure to give myself more to do for delaying. Once I cried for so long I was able to clearly write the word "death" on my arm. I don't really know why I had chosen that word, it just kind of... happened.

Those red dashes are somewhat therapeutic, they take my mind off other things briefly, but the bummer is that it's not really real. Real pain is what I feel on the inside, like a stirring sensation either in my heart, my head, or my stomach that just aches. It's hard to explain, but the best way I can describe it is it's like a cloud that hovers over me all the time, the darker it is the more stirring occurs.

You know what, I don't even care anymore. Sometimes I wonder why I'm even here, why I'm alive and breathing, I mean, am I even alive? Does living mean anything if no one is there to share it with you? I am completely alone, so if I weren't here, the world wouldn't miss me. I mean, I have to be honest with myself, what difference would it make if I leave? I guess death scares me a bit, not sure why.

Friday:

At school I am tired of being told what to do. Everyone acts like they're my boss, and if I don't obey their orders they'll "fire" me without even listening to what I have to say. No matter where I go I am being pressured to wear some sort of disguise, to do this with that boy, to watch that junk, to follow that leader, to believe what they believe... The list of demands is literally endless. I may be just a teen, but I am smart enough to recognize what's going on around me. Everyone claims that what they think is true, everyone believes they're right. Because this happens, how the heck am I supposed to know what's true? I wonder if it's even worth seeking.

Sometimes when my mind wonders I can't help but notice that there seems to be a million ways to fail for every one thing that can be done right. It's hard to be positive when all you ever do is fail. I don't know what's right. My head repeatedly screams, "There's an easy way out of this..... Just take it..... Give up....Leave this all behind...." And no matter how hard I try, I can't get rid of it.

It.
Won't.
Go.
Away.

Saturday:

I am nothing more than a ghost. I feel deep inside me that I have nothing; I am hollow, just drifting, wanting to make an impact on somebody, tell them my story, but I can't because what I have to say would just float right through them.

Alright, I am done talking about this. No more wasting time.

I'm finally ready.

I am going to my corner tonight for the last time. I am not brave enough to carry on. I am going to get the necklace out, ready to dive deeper than ever before. Even though that whole eternal life junk is totally bogus, I hope at least that somehow I can apologize to my mother in this way. I yelled at her so much before she left, I said some things I shouldn't, but I wish that crazy driver killed me instead. I wish that was me... I wish I could bring her back. I can't. Like that stuff they say in the movies, I want to join her.

No one will come for me.

NO one cares.

Goodbye.



Sunday:

I am not dead. It's not that I didn't have the guts to do it, it's that I was sort of... stopped. Here's what happened:

I'm at the corner, this time not bringing any music to block out outside noise ('cause what's the point), decided to get the job done quick when a van passed by the deli and stopped by the nearby stop sign, blaring music so loud that I could hear the words clearly:

"You are more than the choices that you made,
you are more the sum of past mistakes,
you are more than the problems you create..."

Then the van drove away and the song was gone.

OK, so I've always been a musical person, but I rarely consider the lyrics to stuff (you should see how few songs on my iTunes do not bear the label, "explicit"). For some bizarre reason, those lyrics hit me hard; I had this strong feeling in my chest, like my heart was punched, sort of like someone was really trying to get my attention!

I ignored it. Just a coincidence, right?

I place the tiny blade to my wrist, lift up my arm to prepare to stab, when two employees from the deli leaped out of the front door of the building shrieking and laughing out these lyrics:

"Make me feel better! I want to feel better!
Stay with me here now! And never surrender!"

 The two men walked away laughing hysterically at their goofiness. They had no idea what they just did to me. That startled me so much I had flung my necklace forward and it fell through a drain vent in front of me. What. Were. The. Chances. I knelt in front of the drain. There goes my ticket to leave tonight. 

"NO!" I screamed aloud and shuddered with rage. What I blurted out next surprised me:
"If anyone can hear me, if anyone cares, would you please give me one reason to stay?"

My cry echoed off the walls, then the street, then it faded away. No reply. I fell to the ground and sobbed. Then, out of the blue, a voice chimed in behind me;

 "Miss, are you OK?"

That startled me as well. I sat up, makeup and tears running down my cheeks. "I-I-I didn't hear you coming!" I said, "I am so, so sorry, I'm sorry I'm here..." I tried to hurry out of the area as quick as I could but then the man stopped me, "Don't depart yet!" Interesting choice of words. I froze, back turned to the man. He probably thought I was drunk or something. "I need to go..." I replied quietly.

I turned around and looked at him. He was in his sixties, short, and innocent-looking, wearing a deli uniform. He slowly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Here, take this." I took it. It was a coupon for a free soda in the deli. "Peace be with you!" He passed me with a sweet smile and walked inside. I went home with the hopes of getting a new blade, but never actually looked for one. I just plopped onto my bed, and laid there for what must've been an hour, thinking...



Monday:

After school I went over to the deli to get the soda. I had nothing else to do, and there was no way I was going home to my zombie father then. I still couldn't get my mind off what happened last night. I wasn't focused on how much I hated myself anymore, I kept thinking over and over about what that little man said;

"Peace be with you!"

So I come in and the first thing I notice is the song that plays inside:

"We want a reason to live...
Going through this life, looking for angels,
people passing by, looking for angels,
walking down the street, looking for angels..."

Maybe that's what I've been looking for: angels. That's crazy, I know, but so far music and those bizarre timely events seem to be connected somehow. I don't think I've ever totally denied the existence of the supernatural, I mean, there could be angels treading upon planet Earth. Not that they'd actually care to help us out or anything. Why should they? Maybe angels do want to help people, but it's hard to because people can't see them or hear them. Am I able to see or hear angels if they existed?

All I know is that somehow all of this strangeness has made me feel... better. I actually kind of feel a little bit happy. Unfortunately this feeling is probably meaningless. Look, I'm still sorting this all out, OK?


Anyway, so I go up to the counter and hand the pimply cashier my coupon, get a Dr. Pepper from the machine next to him, and then noticed he had a name tag on. The old guy never had a name tag.

"Um, excuse me?" I asked.

"Yeah?" Cashier guy replied, voice cracking a bit.

"Can you tell me the name of one of your fellow employees?"

"Iunno, probably..."

I cleared my throat. "Well, he's kinda short, er, shorter than me, that is... He has grey hair and I'm guessing he's around sixty-something years old. Ring a bell?"

Cashier gave me a funny look. "OK, I don't know who you're talking about. I may be new at this place but I know everyone who works here. The oldest guy here isn't even forty!"

Now I've walked away from him with this remaining:

What else is there left for me to discover? Tomorrow I suppose I shall find out. I guess I've always been a seeker: constantly on the lookout for new things and continuing the search for more after I find them. Whatever this is all about, I'm kind of glad it happened. I don't think I've ever clung to a sliver of happiness with such a spirit that cherishes before. Perhaps all this time my eyes have been averted from where angels hide. Maybe they stand in front of the tv where my dad lazes around, maybe they give me support when jerks at school try to cut me down. So, I guess, if it's you God who sends angels here, I just want to say,

Thank You.


"In the midst of the most painful faces
Angels show up in the strangest of places"