“Maybe I died today.”
A car almost hit her and then, unusual and frightening, her best friend wasn’t responding to her messages. She tried to call a few other friends, but some rejected the call, some were busy, some just ignored the sound of their yellow screens.
So, here she is, at this crowded mall, spinning and laughing, pretending that her red curls have a life of their own.
“When did I die? How did it happen?”
She said it very loudly, but no one turned to see her. A world of strangers, all addicts to their yellow screens, walking like zombies, bumping into her, walking over her shadow, without noticing her. At all.
So she starts singing.
“Red curls, red soul, red lips. Oh, that red lipstick that I always wanted and never bought! It’s too red! Too red for me! And now it’s too late…because I’m…DEAD!”
She dances in front of the shoes store.
“Red shoes that I never tried on! They go perfectly with the red lipstick I never bought! And I’ll dance to my very end! But…hey! It did happen sometime earlier today!”
And her dance steps turned into tears.
The sky was already darkening when she went home. Where it smells like cookies and Christmas, music and the best coffee, his strong, loving arms and love. It feels like her safe place. It feels like warm.
“A funny thing happened today…I was at the mall and no one saw me, then no one answered to my calls. It was weird, I felt like being invisible…”
She reaches out to touch him, but he stays cold and mute, trapped between the yellow screen and a frozen inner world.
“I definitely died…”
She grabs the little mirror from her purse, just to smash it to the floor, breaking it into a million little pieces.
(“I know, I know what to do now…Red lips, red eyes, red soul, red blood…”)
The sharp little piece of glass feels alive in her hand. So is the pain. And the blood pulses faster, hotter, stronger! More vivid than it ever pulsed through her veins!
And no, the invisible girl did not die that day.
Her world did.
The image is taken from the free photos website http://www.pixabay.com