Silence.

Ringing.
Hovering.
Crippling.
Tightening its grip around my, new found, captivating end.
You never think it will go this far—catch up with you so fast that you have to start running as it chases you on the back of your heels. God knows
                I never did.
Niave. That’s the word my mother would use. That is if she could get pulled away from her desk long enough to acknowledge the gleam in my eyes. Or her knew toy who insists I call him “Tom”, when he can’t even manage to utter  my right name, despite my continuous urges.
“No. Not Cassandra. It’s Cass.”
Four letters .
“Don’t be silly. Cassandra is a lovely name to call you. Very sweet Tom.”
Another slip into vacant stares, who never returned my notions.
I’ve found my fight and fury can’t breathe through the closed fisted. That it was easier to become oblivious than the one who others were oblivious to.
Rope in hand.
                I thought drifting was the easier way to go.
                                Slithering past the straps of the conditioned. Rustled melody’s that chose to escape the cord of the misgiving.
Wonder begins to seep into judgment. That’s how it goes. Especially at my age. I’m told I’ve got it all. Right college. Right grades. Right friends. Right life.
I’m tired of being
Right.
I want something that doesn’t make me cringe at the thought of fabricated routines, all laid out with the right hand.  Where I blindly swallow the notions shoved down my throat.
Because it’s easy to accept the exhorted answer—to slip it in the back of your pocket. Where you’re willing at any time to whip it out and defend it because they told you it was the right way to go.
                But it’s harder to try and convince yourself.
                                To strap down and become submissive to that one idea. The notion that’s supposed to be held true.
Suppose to.
That’s the key, but not always so because there’s a fine line of what should be and what ends up being. The moment where
                                                You
                                                                Take
                                                                                That
                                                                                                Step
                                                                                                                Off
                                                                                                                                The
                                                                                                                                                Edge.
And then take the fall.

Colors.
That’s all my mind could obtain behind closed eyes.       Swirling and twisting back as to crane their necks.
    Morphing into shapes only imagined. 
And when they are open reality is blurred, only hindering the assurance I found deep inside.                                                                                                                 Thumping psychedelic beats through our vessels that
                inhabit the longings of curled up plucking’s, slicked back by tongues. No turns, but curves—retracing steps.
I hear a murmur, off in the distance. Electric pulses shoot through me—up and down; in and out.
                Hands rubbing along my side. More words that begin to float above my head, whirling about, intertwining in two. 
The feeling like I’m here, but not. Barely holding onto the threads of reality, yet engulfed in visions I wish to be certainty.
“Cass?”

She sits with her knees crossed; the right over the other, as a trickle of spots illuminate her washed out face, as the overhead light hits her. Figures ahead morph into images and those images morph into scenes on the big screen.
The girl is so focused, watching the children dance and scream on the screen, she doesn’t even hear the audible creak of the door as it slides open to the right.
“Thought I’d check on you,” comes a low, scratchy voice.
“Told you I’d still be here.”
Silence. Cough.
“Yes, well that was hours ago…Though I’d check again.”
She nods. “How lovely.”
The children now run up a hill, with a conch shell in hand.
“Might be suited better if you turn the volume up,” offer the boy.
She shakes her head. “Too much confusion. This way I can focus on the actual essence of the story.” She glances up through her big eyes, flushed over with thick eyelashes. “You may sit down if you like.”
He nods, and reaches down as he slowly submerges beside her.
After a few minutes he turns to her. “Can I ask you something Cass?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t you consider these films lovely?”
“Quite lovely.”
“What about life?”
Cass pushes back her blond locks. “Not so much. Too much confusion. All the buzz, don’t you agree?”
He nods a few moments later. “It’s so dark in here. What if we opened up the blinds, to let a little sunshine in?” He gets up and starts for the window, but she hurriedly rushes to defuse his thought. “Oh no, not now. Too much confusion.”
“Might you want to go on a walk with me later?”
“Perhaps…I’d need to change of course.”  They both glance down at her white gown that engulfs her in its magnitude.  She seems unworried by her garment.
“Splendid idea! Perhaps your old red dress that you used to twirl around in?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s too bright. Too much confusion.”
He nods. “Right well you look splendid anyway.”
Cass tilts her head to the side. “Is that so? What makes you splendid? I can’t run like the children on the screen.” She points signifying the movie.
“Of course you can,” he reaches over slightly towards her knew. She stiffens. He pulls away slowly.
“You’ve got strong legs,” he continues. They both giggle softly. “See there’s that smile that could move mountains.”
“Mountains? Where?” She whirls around dazed and confused. “No, they’re on a beach—see?” Again she points towards the screen.
He nods. Silence. “We went on the beach. Don’t you remember?”
Cass sits back against the wall, her head tilted up. “I suppose so. There was a jellyfish, and grains and grains of sand.
“Right you are! And we got up every morning to watch the sunrise.”
She gives a dazzling smile. “Of course! Before the confusion.”
The boys face falls slightly, but not enough for Cass to notice. “And there was a coin,” she continues, “and I found the conch shell, just like the boys in the film. And it speaks to me too. Me too!”
“Cass…”
“No, I swear it! It even told me this morning ‘Tom will come for you’ and look, here you are! It also told me you’d try to take me away from it, but I didn’t believe it—couldn’t. Not you tom.”
“Of course not,” he reassures her hastily. “Not me Cass. But the conch shell, what else does it say?”
Her face brightens at the question. “That I’m like the boys in the movie. Me! Can you believe it? That I can do things like them with the conch.” Her voice lowers. “It also tells me I’m sad; that I’d be better off far away like the boys, but I don’t feel sad Tom. Do i?”
Tom draws near, reaching for her hands in his.  “Of course not. You have me.”
Tears stream down her face, “Says I don’t need you.”
He hushes her quickly. “Of course you do. For better or for worse, remember?” He touches her ring on her left hand softly. “That’s a promise.”