Post by EMILEE BRYNN WHITTAKER on Feb 8, 2011 18:05:57 GMT -5
s u n s h i n e ,
I WOULDN'T WANT TO BE IN YOUR SHOES
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Every star, Emilee decided, her face turned to the sky, has it’s own individual story. Every star was worth something or meant something to someone somewhere. Maybe that someone was dead. Maybe that someone had prayed on their star as they wondered what awaited them after this breath. Stars were funny that way. The way that they were speechless, emotionless, they way they weren’t human but they were still so goddamn beautiful. Stars were sparks of fire, maybe long gone the way of hundreds of other stars, the way of hundreds of other people. It didn’t matter whether the stars were dead or not. Everyone still saw them anyway and felt something. There wasn’t a single person in the world that remained unaffected by stars. Children sprawled out under the trees, watching the pinpricks that were so much smaller than them, yet somehow so much bigger. As a child, Emilee had wondered if stars were just the souls of dead people, but that wasn’t the case at all. Stars were just the projection of living people because stars died, too and once you were dead, you were dead. You couldn’t die again. The stars splattered the sky in an array of pinpricks, as if Emilee were being buried and the pinpricks were just the daylight through the soil. Being buried alive was decidedly one of Emilee’s worst fears, but the stars weren’t scary in that way. They weren’t scary in anyway. They were gorgeous and perfect and worth something to someone. Stars were like gold, except they weren’t tangible and they could never be absolutely lost. Even after the stars’ deaths, the people of earth saw their death throes, even brighter and bigger than the original star itself. It reminded Emilee of a poem she’d read once in English class, about how wounded deer jumped the highest and dying released some kind of ecstasy. She supposed that that was just the adrenaline of death, but thank God for it. It was what gave people the power to lash out against the people who had done them wrong, or the power to come up with some truly wonderful last words that the world would never forget. Dying wasn’t slipping away quietly. Death was flaring up one last time and using all the energy you would have spent on the rest of your life on one final act.
But Emilee wasn’t here to think about death. Emilee was here to stare at the stars. The pretty, gorgeous, meaningful stars. Pinpricks through the soil that she could see six feet under. Stars, stars, stars. They were so much more than they appeared and everyone knew it. It was like their was some innate feeling in the human race that spoke to them, telling them that the stars meant more than just unchanging light. The ancient people knew it better than most, casting their religions and thoughts towards the night sky and hoping that it would pay off eventually. Emilee knew better, though. The stars gave nothing tangible. They just taught you that it was impossible to be alone, no matter where you were. The stars were every single human life on earth and that was how one knew that he was never truly by himself. Humanity was inked into the sky above him like a promise of love and hope and faith no matter where he traveled or whom he lost. Such pretty stars. They meant so much, so much. Lost was an impossible word, because you could never truly be lost if you had the world staring down at you at all times. And maybe it was a bit claustrophobic, this thought of being watched and looked after at all times, but with just a dash of alcohol, it made Emilee feel happy. It was nice to have someone there when you were alone on a beach with a bottle of Grey Goose, laying in the sand and listening to the waves gently climbing the shore. It was too dark to see them and the stars did nothing to illuminate them, but it didn’t matter. Waves didn’t matter. The stars were the only things in the world worth paying attention to at that moment. And, okay, maybe Emilee was a little bit stoned as well. Nighttime in California, well, it was almost magical. The stars burned holes in the waxy sky. The world wasn’t cold enough to be depressing yet. Stretched out in shorts and a tank top and letting the sand bleed up through your toes was something like a miracle.
Emilee pressed the bottle to her lips, taking another long sip. She wouldn’t drink all of this tonight. That much she was sure of. It was nearly an impossibility for a one hundred and fifteen pound girl. She’d get alcohol poisoning, surely, and end up in the hospital coughing up tar and vodka all at the same time. She wouldn’t drink all of it, but sometimes it was nice to get a little buzzed when no one was looking. The uninhibited happiness was nice, anyways, and the bowl of pot she’d smoked earlier kept her lazy enough to stay tied down to this one section of the sand. She could stay here and smoke pot and drink vodka all night if only the night would wait for her. An infinite night would be nice. Or if the dawn forgot to ever come. Something about that kind of forever would be okay to Emilee, and not even because nothing was changing. Things could change in that kind of night and Emilee wouldn’t even care as long as the stars hung in the sky forever and ever. As long as Emilee could keep herself in this high and buzzed state forever and ever, that would be okay. Because when she wasn’t sober, the kinds of things that normally mattered to her didn’t. She couldn’t care less if things didn’t go her way. It didn’t seem to matter when her room wasn’t clean or her homework wasn’t all done and put away in the exactly right notebook or binder. This state saved her many, many midnight trips to the high school in order to get all her homework from her locker. But that was also the beauty of summer. Her summer reading and work was always at her house. Right where it belonged.
But that didn’t matter when Emilee was like this. Nothing really did.
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oh, well hellllloooooo there open tag! this post has got 1072 words, just specially for you. oh, and emilee's totally wearing this snazzy outfit. it's what she wears when she's, ya know, high and drunk on the friggin' beach sometime after midnight. oh, and i for one think that my muse is definitely all over the place and you wanna know why? well, i got a something to say to you and that is i wrote half of this after waking up at three am and the other half just now!
