entipy
12-11-04, 08:02AM
Her head was always filled with crap. She often wondered what the movie would be like if she could extract it and project it onto the screen. Would people watch? Would they run screaming from the theater, their faces horror-stricken and rapt with confusion? Probably not. No one would probably even watch. Two minutes in, they would think, “What kinda bullshit is this, anyway?”
Sonya sighed and rolled over onto her back, the ceiling a blur above her head. About the only good thing for her right now was the moist, chilled air coming over her from the window next to her bed. Her window was always open. She heard voices and laughter, yelling and music. Always life down below, just outside the window. It was different in here, much like it was in her head. A mess. Piles of things lying around, organized but slovenly, with such a varied combination it looked more like an abstract study of color than a dorm room.
She blinked her eyes and tried to focus. Her eyes wouldn’t cooperate, just like her head. So many things. What if I don’t get up right now? What if I fail my Psychology class? Can I sneeze and still keep my eyes open? Why not? What makes them close? Does that mirror the lack of control I have over my own life? She was just learning about the myth of control. How it doesn’t really exist. How it’s only something people think they have tamed, like a pet tiger used in a magic show. It would do as you liked for years then suddenly turn on you and put you in the hospital. Yes, control is a myth.
Someone was coming down the hall. She heard the steps and knew they were coming for her. Just as she threw the covers back and swung her feet down to the floor, her door rattled with a heavy knock.
“Yeah,” she said, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it just as the door opened.
“You up?” Chelsea shoved the door open and stepped in over a pile of clothes. “Christ, Sonya. You’re such a fucking slob!” She laughed and sat down on the bed next to her friend, tossing her books on the floor amidst the rest of the clutter. “Hey, give me one of those.” Sonya pulled a smoke from her pack and handed it to Chelsea who proceeded to light it and puff away, never inhaling. God, that was annoying. Sonya hated it when she did that. It was such a waste. If you’re gonna smoke, smoke, but don’t waste my fucking cigarettes. She wanted to yell at her, but she didn’t. She just sat there, staring, as Chelsea leaned against the wall and picked fuzz from her shirt. Fuzz. I wish that’s all I had to worry about.
“You going to class today, or what?” Puff. Puff. Puff. Sonya grunted and got up off the bed. “I don’t know,” she said as she rifled through the empty soda cans and papers lying on her desk. She found her pills and popped one into her mouth, grimacing as she swallowed it. Too bad it didn’t do more to get the crap out of her head. At least it helped some. At least she could function. Sometimes.
She took a final drag off her cigarette and dropped the butt into one of the cans on her desk, grabbing a t-shirt off the mostly-clean pile at her feet and pulling it over her head. As she wrapped her hair up and started to pin it on her head, she caught a glimpse of Chelsea in the mirror. She was giving her that look. Sonya rolled her eyes, finished with her hair, and slipped on a pair of jeans.
She grabbed her zipper bag and started for the door. “I’m going to brush my teeth,” she tossed back over her shoulder, not even looking at the girl lounging on her bed. She heard Chelsea sigh loudly and get up off the bed, cursing as she stubbed her toe on something buried under a pile of clothes. Sonya didn’t care. She just didn’t. Not now. She couldn’t.
Sonya sighed and rolled over onto her back, the ceiling a blur above her head. About the only good thing for her right now was the moist, chilled air coming over her from the window next to her bed. Her window was always open. She heard voices and laughter, yelling and music. Always life down below, just outside the window. It was different in here, much like it was in her head. A mess. Piles of things lying around, organized but slovenly, with such a varied combination it looked more like an abstract study of color than a dorm room.
She blinked her eyes and tried to focus. Her eyes wouldn’t cooperate, just like her head. So many things. What if I don’t get up right now? What if I fail my Psychology class? Can I sneeze and still keep my eyes open? Why not? What makes them close? Does that mirror the lack of control I have over my own life? She was just learning about the myth of control. How it doesn’t really exist. How it’s only something people think they have tamed, like a pet tiger used in a magic show. It would do as you liked for years then suddenly turn on you and put you in the hospital. Yes, control is a myth.
Someone was coming down the hall. She heard the steps and knew they were coming for her. Just as she threw the covers back and swung her feet down to the floor, her door rattled with a heavy knock.
“Yeah,” she said, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it just as the door opened.
“You up?” Chelsea shoved the door open and stepped in over a pile of clothes. “Christ, Sonya. You’re such a fucking slob!” She laughed and sat down on the bed next to her friend, tossing her books on the floor amidst the rest of the clutter. “Hey, give me one of those.” Sonya pulled a smoke from her pack and handed it to Chelsea who proceeded to light it and puff away, never inhaling. God, that was annoying. Sonya hated it when she did that. It was such a waste. If you’re gonna smoke, smoke, but don’t waste my fucking cigarettes. She wanted to yell at her, but she didn’t. She just sat there, staring, as Chelsea leaned against the wall and picked fuzz from her shirt. Fuzz. I wish that’s all I had to worry about.
“You going to class today, or what?” Puff. Puff. Puff. Sonya grunted and got up off the bed. “I don’t know,” she said as she rifled through the empty soda cans and papers lying on her desk. She found her pills and popped one into her mouth, grimacing as she swallowed it. Too bad it didn’t do more to get the crap out of her head. At least it helped some. At least she could function. Sometimes.
She took a final drag off her cigarette and dropped the butt into one of the cans on her desk, grabbing a t-shirt off the mostly-clean pile at her feet and pulling it over her head. As she wrapped her hair up and started to pin it on her head, she caught a glimpse of Chelsea in the mirror. She was giving her that look. Sonya rolled her eyes, finished with her hair, and slipped on a pair of jeans.
She grabbed her zipper bag and started for the door. “I’m going to brush my teeth,” she tossed back over her shoulder, not even looking at the girl lounging on her bed. She heard Chelsea sigh loudly and get up off the bed, cursing as she stubbed her toe on something buried under a pile of clothes. Sonya didn’t care. She just didn’t. Not now. She couldn’t.