Stairway to the Stars

Tonight, I silently gazed from my perch on the roof, at the stars...white pinpricks of light bursting through the pitch-black sky. I crouched low into a squat, lifted my head to the universe, and howled to the heavens, howled like the wolf always in my dreams, ready to take me above. Ready to take me to the stairway; my stairway to the stars.

Stairstep one

I don’t remember who I am but I want to be free. Free from the common people because I am not like them, free from the attachments I don’t understand. Now all I can do is climb; keep on climbing until I reach the end of this.  Maybe I want to be free because I am afraid of what will happen if I stay here forever.

 Stairstep two

Something for me to think about as I approach the next step, a slab of nothingness I know is there, is that there is nothing here. Nothing for me to see...and seeing...it’s non-existent. The colors I see are things I have to make up in my head, things I remember, like the color black, though I’m not sure if I’m seeing the light or the darkness. 

Stairstep three

Memories. Now I remember things I’m not sure I’m ready to remember yet. ‘80’s music and pop beats, my best friends and their names...a burger place I ate at once. Hah, I remember hurling after the Crusher. My favorite roller coaster, or rather, her favorite roller coaster. I’m not her anymore, I’m chained to her being. Memories, who I used to be. If only I knew who I am now. 

Stairstep four

Sickness eats you up inside. I think maybe I was sick, very sick, and knew it. I knew it, knowing sickness causes something worse, something called death. Was it the flu, asthma? I remember being sick, so sick I am feeling pity for myself. No, wait, no. She was sick. I felt pity for her. Then again, I can’t piece together what was and what is. Suddenly, my heart flops...do I have a heart? And I feel sick to my stomach, spinning round and round. Am I dead?

Stairstep  five

Just keep climbing, just keep climbing, then you will understand what is happening. I tell myself this, now on stair five though I feel like I’ve climbed a mountain, huffing puffing, waiting. They just keep coming at me, step after step, and each step has more stairs to climb up. “Soon.” something told me to keep climbing, just keep climbing, and soon I would reach some sort of destination. 

Stairstep six

I Am. A. Monster. Inside me, there is a storm, churning, set, ready to let go. There are thunder and lightning, the crackling of fires brewing inside me, Evil plots, criminal activity, rudeness, a whole being of evil. But somewhere in there, I see soft rain falling against the windowpane of an apartment I once owned.  The peace it gives me, it’s calming. There are criminals learning to be better, a second chance, extinguishing the fire to find words, maybe “I’m sorry”. After all the thunder and lightning, there is always a rainbow. 

Stairstep seven

      The wolves began coming, knocking on the door, clawing at it like savages. They came at midnight, and it was the beginning, I knew it. I, the girl, would not give in, would not answer the door. The wolves scratched and clawed, said I was brave. Their words made my soul, her body weak together. 

It was the evening, and fireworks cascaded over my apartment complex. Those were my moments, watching fireworks, and getting out a sheet of paper and a pencil to write. Yes, I breathed heavily, but I was breathing. That night, the wolves rang the doorbell, yes they did, and I had smiled. Smiled, I had. I was not afraid. 

Stairstep eight

       A wanderer, my job was assigned. My purpose was to wander amidst flesh and bone, my flesh and bone family. Each step, the cracks in the cement form faces of my family. Some are bushy beards, eyes wide open, but my favorite is the one shaped like tiny hands. How fondly I had cared for that little girl, the one who had tiny hands; raccoon hands. She brought me flowers, a pet cat, all bunched up in her tiny hands. Oh, how I missed Little Jane. 

Thinking, or having the will to think, keeps me motivated through my pains, the pains of lifting my feet, setting them down against concrete, not knowing.  Feeling is what I am numb to. I cannot feel the concrete I push down on, nor the way my hands swish back and forth, hitting my sides. I cannot feel my body, or if my body is present, but I can feel emotion. 

Stairstep nine

    Though I am not present, I hope for small things, the things I desire. Not money, but for someone, perhaps my husband, to open the wooden cabinet in my room. I wish for people to not feel any pain in my passing. It isn’t what I would’ve wanted, what she would’ve wanted to see others suffer. Inside the cabinet, lies a small journal with flowers drawn all over the cover, blue and white beauty. Inside the journal is poetry that helped my mental estate. Kept me calm and sane. Being sane is important, and my husband should find a way to keep himself sane. That is my only wish. 

*******************************************************************

The stairs end, and there is nothing beneath my feet. Climbing for so long, or so less and I am here. My body is separating from me. She passes and fades while I remember to look up. Tiny pinpricks of light, bursting through the sky, pure white dots called stars. Tonight I will no longer dream of the wolf that hunts in the night but of the ones before me. It, the feeling, it takes my hand and hoists me up. I am one of them now. One of the stars.