The Signs We Seek

Hello All,

Here is your trigger warning. This story contains gore, explicit language, murder, mental illness, self harm and suicide.

Please continue with caution.

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My feet pounded the concrete as I ran through the streets. My thoughts whirring about, my breath barely able to keep up with my lungs. I flew over a curb and landed with a stomp, my legs pumping as I kept going. 

His face flashed in my eyes. 

There we sat, nestled on our small cozy bed. The sheets an off white, a soft caress to our skin. The surface littered with novels and sun streaming in. I watch as he holds a small paperback in his hands, tuffs of hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. He absentmindedly gnaws on his knuckle as he takes in the story. 

My heart slams into my chest.

Unaware of my destination, my muscles burned pleading for relief. I would not stop, not for a moment. The weight of my shadows gained on my heels as I ran. Panting, face flushed, puffy eyes. 

I round a corner and brace for a near impact of a passerby. 

“I’m sorry!” I throw over my shoulder but do not slow down. My hair whips my face as I return to my speed.

“Do you need help, you’ve got blood on you!”

“Miss?”

Those words prompt another memory and this time his face flashes in my mind and my eyes start to burn. 

“You cannot use me for your own happiness, Mia!” Luke spat from the other side of our kitchen, pressed against the wall. His glasses sat at the bridge of his nose threatening to fall. I cross my arms and shrink in to the corner, as small as I could go.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered.

Another memory, another thought, another voice screamed. 

Suddenly, it was I whose legs had finally betrayed me as I tumbled to the ground. Sobs overtook, ignoring the pain that bit in my knees. 

I wanted him to come save me. Save me from myself. My head spun in numerous directions, my lungs burned with need for air. I was acting like a child.

 Another voice, my mothers. 

“Quit acting so ugly.” She spat at me. Her body formed that of a beast, a lunging stature and mind only on what may become her prey. 

I started at her through young eyes, only to hope she may hold me in her arms and console me after my severe eruption. I held my arms and didn’t cry, knowing only what I had to say to make my mistake better in her eyes. 

Now I lay here, on the unforgiving, frosty ground. Sobbing, the freezing winds of winter hold me gently. 

The frozen grass tickles my cheek as if to say “There, there, my love.”

It was only after moments of passing silence, blinking until my eyes no longer burned that I finally sat up.

With only my arms to hold me upright, I dug my fingers into the earthen patch. The cool, moist dirt seeped into my pores and for a heartbeat we felt as one.

Unsure of my next move, I stood. My legs shook underneath only the weight of my mind and I was ashamed. 

The frigid wind carried my feet without intention, mindlessly, as if I was a ghost trying to find their way through the desolate world. 

Where do I go?

What do I do now?

I dragged my feet with every step dreading where they may end up. I take in the gloom of the dead trees, awaiting the chance to bloom anew.

At the edge of the grassy knoll, my feet again seem to have a mind of their own and come to a halt. 

Among the forestry, a red speck on the perimeter of the woods. Without another thought my feet begin to move, again with no intention other than the red speck. 

The grass caught and pulled through my toes as I stalked closer to the mysterious color. Upon my arrival, I realized it was a book. Red and leather bound. 

What the?

It was weathered, as though it had even here for a while. Grabbing the solid book, plopping down to read and without a second thought, I opened the book.

Almost in tandem, the wind blew particularly hard and the pages seemed to move on their own, opening to a specific page. As if the universe wanted me to read it. 

Journal, 

Ah, how foolish of me to name an inanimate object such as yourself. To speak to you as if you may have once been a person. Sometimes, I feel I am not a person. Only an energy moving through the galaxy at high speed yet never able to find my way home. 

Home.

What a foreign word. As if I’ve ever felt the soothing comfort of such things. A cooling pie on a windowsill, A warm blanket, a mothers subdued voice, cooing that everything will be okay. 

The bitterness overwhelms me and inflames my cheeks at this very moment. Hatred fills my veins and may only spill out one way. The dragging of a knife. Oh, I am not god. No, I am revenge. I am the dark karmic energy that repays ignorant, mindless…

I slammed the book shut, utterly astonished. What did I just read? This isn’t a book. This is a diary. 

I blink a couple of times, in a gruesome awe of the words on paper in front of me. My head throbbed at this discovery. Am I reading the diary entries of a murderer?

I shook my head clearing the thoughts once more and took a deep breath. I chuckled to myself, am I deluded? What murderer would leave their diary out in the open?

My bottom was frostbitten by the time I chose to stand again, journal in hand. 

Should I just leave it here? No, what if it fell into the wrong hands? 

The longer I endured my internal bickering, the harder my brain pulsed. 

After my reluctant, miserable walk home, I collapsed on the bed in my empty apartment. 

Staring up at the ceiling, moonlight flooding my floor, I am perplexed. How arbitrary to have found the book of a possible murderer. I don’t even know if that’s what it could be. Thinking back, I don’t remember a mention on the news about people being killed. 

I toss on my side and eye the book sitting on my dresser. What if they haven’t killed anyone yet?

Would it be an invasion of privacy to read another entry?

In a world where everyone is good, I should try and return it to its rightful owner. 

I picked up the book and admired the beautiful leather work on the cover.

“I’m just trying to find out who this belongs to.” I whisper, as if the walls are listening and open the book once more. 

I thumb though the pages and skim a few entries.

Journal, 

Another day passes unfailingly. The leaves are changing, the air is becoming cold. Each morning I awaken to ponder my very existence. My veins fill with repugnance for those that may smile at an April flower whilst enjoying an outdoor walk. My skin bubbles at those whose laughter floats through the warm wind.

I skip forward a few more pages. 

Journal, 

I believe today has been unbearable. The worst I’ve had in a few weeks and I’m unsure of my next move. 

They’re on to me. I feel the eyes of those passing by, their hushed voices mumbling obscenities. I feel like a spider once eyed on the wall, only death is certain when your cover is blown. Is it over? Has it ended? I await again for the end of each long smothering day. Now, I may only speak with you my pet, as I believe they are listening. 

Oh Hell. Again, I shake my head to clear the thoughts. 

“Luke should be home soon.” I say to myself and toss the book back on the nightstand. “I’m sure he’ll know what to do.” 

I decide to shower off the events of today and ease my mind from all this stress. I push off the bed make my way in to the bathroom, thoughts of that evil book finally at bay. 

I hum to myself and flick on the light to see my own reflection staring back at me. 

I smirked back at myself in the mirror and felt the blood rush to my forehead. Bright light flashed and brought me to my knees.

 I’m with Luke again in our kitchen. We’re screaming and his arms are flailing. This face becomes twisted and purple with every word he spits. 

“You’re fucking crazy, Mia!” He circles the kitchen table as if to leave. 

“Don’t leave, Luke! Please, I’m sorry!” I wailed after him, I picked up a loose kitchen knife on the way.

He rushed down the hallway and into our bathroom. I watch him, glaring at me through the mirror. 

“I’m finished with you, I don’t want this anymore.” 

“You can’t leave!” I scream and rush towards him. We crash against the sink and I plunge the knife into his throat. Blood squirts out and he grunts, looking at me for the last time. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry, Luke, please don’t die!”

 I look into his eyes as the light slowly fades out. 

Another bright light and I’m back on the bathroom floor. The air has become stale and pungent. 

In disbelief, I sit on the tiles, blinking back the visions of my spontaneity. Once my spinning head seems to stop, I shakily stand and grasp the cold sink in my hands.

“I didn’t kill him.”

I look at myself. 

Face flushed, eyes bulging, thoughts racing. 

I peer towards the shower in the mirror and place my hand over my mouth to keep my vomit in. I slowly peel back the shower curtain and place my terrible deeds on show. 

There he is, arms and feet apart, splayed as if a child had toss away an old doll.  Stab wounds covered his torso, and his blood stained the walls. 

I finished my once over and empty my stomach contents in to the toilet. I place my face against the porcelain and welcome the cold that washes over my cheeks. 

“I swear, I love you, Luke.” I squeeze my eyes shut and hope that when I open this will all be a dream. 

To no avail, this is real. 

 I rush for the journal and flip to the very last page, knowing it holds the answers. In my own writing,

All my hate,

Mia

With only one option left, I stare blankly ahead once more. 

Ascending the stairs to the roof of my building, I sigh. 

Breathe in. Hold. Three more stairs. Release.

I refuse to let my mind go wild. I defer all thoughts and simply continue my final endeavor to the top.

My footsteps echo with each stomp on the concrete. My thighs scream for me to stop and my lungs burn with the need for air. 

When I reach the final step, I heave the metal door open with a grunt of quick strength and stop to feel the light wind tickle the tip of my nose. I close my eyes and listen to the birds around me and the horns below me. The sun breaking the horizon is shades of violet and pink.

As stray tear finds its way down my cheeks and I step to the edge.

Breathe in. Hold. Release.