Oblivion
The night air hung like a woolen blanket, hot and heavy and full of mind-numbing anxiety and anticipation. Yeah, just like a f-cking blanket, she thought, brandishing her stolen cigarette and lighter. Minus the anxiety part.
Her heart thudded. Her stomach churned. She swept her burnt cherry hair out of her eyes and held the slender Newport to her lips. What the extreme f-ck is the matter with me? She thought, almost hurriedly, as she lit the cigarette and took the first harsh, menthol-lanced drag. It burned her lungs and throat as she exhaled. Her fingers trembled.
She shifted her weight anxiously. Her gaze darted amongst the bushes and trees, into the windows of the house next door. Their light is on, a voice breathed. Her heart trip hammered against her chest as she inhaled, exhaled, as quickly as the wind that rustled through the trees.
Something moved.
A sub-audible, barely-there whisper of a twig against the lush grass. Her head whipped around, enough to make it crack. She let a silent moan escape her lips and raised her hand to massage her numbed neck. "Bleeding hell," she said to herself, inhaling, exhaling. She ashed her cigarette, more out of something to do than to actually ash it. She watched the trailings of ash as they burned from orange coal to cinder, falling silently to the ground.
She stood stock, eyes focused on the ground, ears attuned to the very sound of the night. Every sound. The cars rushing by on the busy street no more than a minute away, the wind as it tossed the leaves across the ground. The moon as it shone through the trees.
The moon, she thought breathlessly, inhale, exhale. Ash. She became like a machine. Inhale, exhale, ash. Keep the motor running. Inhale, exhale, ash.
She turned her face to the shining light. In the midst of the sodden darkness, the moon shone bright and full. She let the anxiety drip from her and felt, as she inhaled, truly, completely at peace.
She smiled at the moon. Her Lady. The Lady of the full and pregnant moon, of the beauty the astounded her. She remembered years ago, when there was snow caked on the frozen earth in feet, of the full moon shining brightly across the sparkling soil. She had literally been at loss for words.
That was years ago, she told herself, but the same glowing, shining aspect held her in amazement today. It was her reassurance. Her grounding grace.
She looked down at her cigarette in disgust, a tiny bit of the all-encompassing dread seeping back into her like a nightmare disease. I could get caught, a tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her solemnly. But that didn't stop her from taking another drag. Inhale, exhale, ash.
She looked up again at the radiant white light seeping through the trees and felt nothing but remorse, and a twinge of self-hatred. I'm an idiot, she reminded herself, not for the first time since she took up smoking. A complete and utter idiot.
She turned her face to the moon, and studied it carefully. She squinted and swore that she could read the moons face. And when it looked at her, it held nothing but pity.
She stared a bit longer. No, she thought. Dude. She really, seriously, swore to the high heavens that the moon was looking at her. And it's face and slightly familiar"¦
She exhaled, and watched the smoke curl into oblivion. Watched the night eat it, suck it all back into itself. Inhale, exhale, and"¦
"Jesus f-cking Christ," she breathed.
The smoke curled and began to take shape. The anxiety and anxiousness was replaced with full, utter, all-encompassing terror as she backed up, backed up as far as she could go until she thought she was going to back into herself. NonoJesusnoLordLadynopleaseGodnoLordLady pleasepleaseplease"¦
The smoke furled, unfurled, coalesced and shifted. She was quaking, shaking so badly, breathing faster and faster and she swore the night was creeping in on her as she thought, Can'tpassoutcan'tpassoutohJesusLordyLadynopleasedon'tohGODPLEASE"¦
She slid down the aluminum screen door and felt the hysterical, panic-filled tears begin behind her eyes. She curled into herself and rocked, but could not look away. Would not look away.
It was a definite shape now, that of a woman, tall and slender, with long, wavy hair. Spirit, she thought, definite, the word whole in her mind. And with that single, coherent thought, she nearly lost her mind completely.
Color began to seep into the frame of a woman, like an oil painting that ran crazily. And the pictures painted there, finished and brand-spanking new, was definitely familiar, and not at all panic-inducing.
Eyes blurry with hysterical tears, she gazed at the woman who stood before her. She cocked her head to the side, the last of the tears dripping down her face as she said quietly, sub-audibly, "Faith?"
