Don’t bring me down, Sweetheart!

She says she believes in heaven, with her swanky, disarray hair and punk-rotten jeans.

She says that out there, in some black pitch space, where planets don’t crash and night never comes downs, is heaven.

She says there is a heaven out there, somewhere there, up high, there, there, up there, unreachable, I can even stand and my hands can’t reach, my hands can’t reach—and her voices breaks a little and memories for a better future for a ten year old girl comes rushing back like a flood and she is drowning down down, until she hits rock bottom.

CRASH!

Houston, we have a problem!

A better future for a ten year old girl.

But…

But…

Alas, alas. Oh the woe. The woe. The tears. Boo ho!

Cry me a river

Too bad, she isn’t ten.

She is at the edge of seventeen—in the brink of falling into adulthood and then tears are prohibited and skirts must be shorter—and she believes in heaven.

Taboo, taboo.

Time has harassed her.

Fashioned her into herself.

She says she hates time.

She, with her pretty eyes, blinking prettily, with her wide open, lamb innocent, girl-with-ponytails eyes that seem too bright, shiny bright, for such a pretty face with such pretty eyes. A pretty face with her pretty eyes that cringes and frowns and smiles and do monkey faces and laughs toothily and raises eyebrows and inflates cheeks and looks significantly at shadows and wrinkles at her own reflection.

She is vain, that’s for sure. She is a teenager, she can be normal, too. But even she must admit that bright, pretty, blood-shot eyes aren’t that attractive anymore.

She likes red, she divulges in a close tone, but only in her lips.

Passing a flirty tongue over pink lips, she likes to look like that

Innocent

Nice

Deserving

Righteous

Holy

Avenger.

She has blood on her face, sprinkled like candy on a cake and she comes cleans that it isn’t even her own.

Isn’t that funny? Such a pretty girl with such an ugly blood. Life can be so ironic.

She laughs at a joke she doesn’t even believes.

It could be that it wasn’t a joke to even start to.

But she laughs after all; she is like that, a heaven believer, a ghost believer, a joke believer.

Too much faith in such a pretty little person. Such a quaint person.

After all, she is a teenager.

She says there is a heaven and a hell. Like that Cinderella story. The stepsisters. Yep, they are both horrible, hideous, evil and crazy like a genius scientist—if you know what I mean…wink wink, nudge nudge—but there was always that one that wasn’t that bad. That could smile without breaking mirrors and could make a bird sing a chorus with her (since Cinderella always seem to monopolize the singing-like-Broadway time of the bunnies, deer and those stinkers in black and white). You know, that not-that-bad girl that seems really stupid and submissive. That’s heaven. That’s heaven, all right. That’s heaven for me.

Because you see, no matter what, Heaven or Hell comes with that unfair payment of life. The separation of soul and spirit and body and only one gets to heaven.

Yep, there you go, in a white cloud and then there is Saint Peter with his loyal rooster and names and names and millions of names.

Then it is your turn and he ask for your sins and the list goes on until he asks you why you are there.

Is it really necessary. You are there cause one day you couldn’t wake up, no matter how much you screamed, how much you kicked, how much water cooled your fever and make you shut up or how many antidotes you have taken, because the cadaver smoothed the sheets, kiss you goodbye and you expired. Too bad. Cry me a river.

That’s enough information.

Because it isn’t good to tell the person that is sleeping that is a dream. Leave the uncertainty be uncertain. Leave it away, in a dream.

Cause as long as the person is dreaming…that person could be awake.

And then, what’s so great about being awake?

There are millions of things to do, bad things that will happen, the misery of the present, the heaviness of the heart, the step that you can’t simply make, the suffering, the work, the sadness, the fact that you are a being…oh woe, life it is simply too much.

Larger than life.

But then, there is always what’s behind the door of existence. Is it heavenly light that awaits me or tarnished flames of hell?

It’s scary, there is too much to not know.

Nobody knows anything.

So please, please, O, pray for my lonely soul.

She then sighs and turns her smiles into frowns.

She also believes she is soo philosophical.

Sometimes, she is larger than life.

….

It just went horribly wrong. Really, that’s all. One thing led to another and SPLASH you are dead.

Isn’t it bad?

Tough luck!

Better luck for the next time! Be more careful in your new feet and new eyes. Don’t look too much at the sun, my child.

Isn’t it bad?

All just went horribly wrong.

He was supposed to go left and you right, he was supposed to be dumb and idiotic and don’t look back.

More easy for you to stick the cross into the vampire. Directly to his dirty, naughty heart!

But all went horribly wrong!

There is no way to turn it off and the movie continues on.

Don’t you like it?

Don’t you adore it?

That fiendish smile says it all!

Splash, splash, cut, cut and drink, drink you are dead.

There are swords, but honey, my dear baby, they are poisoned.

But let’s believe in the fair, after all, praying may conceded you some forgiveness.

Lets hope, sweetheart, next time things don’t go that wrong.

…

She recognizes me, after a while. It took her a while, after picking all the pieces from the floor and saying her heart is healed.

I guess there are so many way to be shattered.

She still thinks I am pretty and swears she loves me best.

I only gulp my tears and let the commotion wash all over me. Bring it on!

And she goes on and on, because she believes in something she shouldn’t believe. But she does, because she is like that.  After all, she is a teenager. She can also be abnormal.

She is so dramatic.

She is so lonely.

A ghost as her conscious.

Such a weird teenager.

She says she wants to kiss me and whisper sweet nothings into my ears. She let wine mix with tears and let salty trails in my eyes.

She says she wants to sing me lullabies so I can sleep sweet and tight, without tossing and turning in my wet bed.

She promises tears will not drown the world down down down.

I can’t speak and she doesn’t realize.

A better future for a ten year old girl.

A heaven she can believe.

Does she realize where is she know?

Is true, after all.

The stepsisters.

Horrible, hideous, with a big price to pay. The crystal shoe makes them mad.

A dead body somewhere in a red carpet with red blood on red, tomato lips.

A best friend with a tongue too big.

A prince without a crown.

Looking at a sky she does believes.

Looking at a sky she didn’t even went to.

Believing in a heaven she isn’t even allowed.

She says she believes in heaven.

And down, down, down we go!