Archive for blood

Final Curtain

Posted in Ramblings with tags , , on 2011/05/01 by R L Burns

I went there, you know:  to that grand theatre, that place of debauchery, illicit passion and tragedy.  Only this time I went as an observer as opposed to a participant – or would “victim” be the more appropriate word?  I suppose that if I was a victim, I have to admit that I was a willing one, so perhaps that negates the term.

It was strange to be there and be nothing more than a ghost; to be even less than the shadow I had been in the original production.

Oddly, nothing had changed there, except your absence from the play.  This time it was just me onstage, playing to a theatre empty of everything except ghosts.  At first they mocked me a bit, but eventually they seemed to take pity on me – perhaps because they recognized my absolute sincerity, pain and disillusionment.  I am, if nothing else, a method actor; gotta live the part to play it.

When I sat on the hill at the cemetery where once we had lounged, eating lunch, laughing andtalking, the wind whispered, in a soothing voice, that I would survive.  When I slit my wrists and carved the first letter of your name into my palm with a bright, shiny new razor blade (surprisingly found in the bottom of my purse), the spirits of the grandparents with whom I sat cried out for me to stop.  But I couldn’t.  I didn’t.  I suppose I must have lost a fair amount of blood because the next thing I knew I was lying on my back and the sun was low in the west.  Moving incautiously reopened the dried wound on my left wrist and I just stared at it, trying to remember why I had even done it…and then I noticed the white rose in the grandfather’s flowers, tipped in red – the scarlet was my own heart’s blood (remember “Greenwood Cide-o”?).

Eventually I walked down to the tree under which we often parked, reveling in its shade, and dug a small hole.  I half-burned a copy of that poem you wrote for me, and buried it, along with a couple of other things, hoping it would help me leave my pain behind.

Where it belonged:  in a cemetery.

Knowing, at last, that the final curtain had fallen on this production.  And a bit sad to know that there would be no more re-writes of the script.

July 2010

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Blood on the Floor Is Messy

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on 2010/02/19 by R L Burns

Note to self:  If you insist on cutting your wrists – or any other part of your body for that matter – please try to keep the blood off the carpet.  Please!  You already have enough to explain to the ex-husband from whom you are renting…true, he is out of the country for the next couple of years, but he will return sometime.  And then there will be hell to pay — well, at least a hefty rug cleaning bill.  🙂