The Death of Celia Rose
Sudden death awaited her as she contemplated her next move. Not in a physical sense of course but in a way that would cause her to have to choose and choose wisely at that. It’s not only that she was confused about the endless array of choices that embellished her mind like pretty diamonds, it’s just that life was getting blurry. In hindsight, the choice wasn’t hard, she just made it difficult for herself. Putting others before her time and time again, just to end up on the losing team. Or so she thought. Really, all it depended on letting go of the old and welcoming in the new and of course, her perspective. Since Celia Rose was trying to elevate her lifestyle, she started practicing different techniques that would drive her to success. It’s just that, like boiling water, it takes time to get to that point. So, in the pot she sat, as the heat under her, aka her ambitions, stewed up until bubbles would form and then voila, boiling water. She stared at her computer screen, looking at the few words that had just trickled out of her in an instant just to fade out as she suddenly lost her fluency to articulate.
“Transparency in the dark abyss of it all, how did I fall if I didn’t mean to trip at all…”
The beginning of a great poem, she just didn’t know it yet. Inhaling a gasp of air that filled her lungs to the brim, she exhaled letting out a little scream. Not loud enough for others to hear, that would draw too much attention to her, but just enough for her to feel satisfied she even attempted to be heard. She sat still in a moving room, the chaos living outside of her as she tried to gather her thoughts in the Barnes and Noble down the street from her. Mac Miller’s artwork, “Selfcare,” on repeat in her ears as she took a look around at the room. A man was pacing back and forth, speaking a multitude of languages, trying to handle business as he looked stressed, his left hand running through his hair constantly as his right firmly grasped the phone he put to his ear. Over in the corner, a few seats down in one of the wooden booths that lined the café was a couple causally living and then a few outliers lined the other booths, nothing notable though. And then there was Celia Rose, jacket still on even though she’s been inside for over an hour and mind racing. “I’ve been reading those signs, I’ve been losing my mind,” Mac Miller sang in her ear as her leg tapped along to the melancholic tune. Looking at the signs, it was telling her to leave behind her own life and start anew somewhere. That would be where the concept of death rang strong. It would have to be like her saying goodbye to the identity she was so used to and just jump. Was she brave enough to even attempt such an act? Even more so, what would she be losing if didn’t commit first degree murder of the past. Just then, a patron she didn’t see before, an older woman, maybe in her late 50s or so, caught her eye. She was sat by herself as she looked around the room, her eyes meeting Celia’s briefly. And that’s when Celia knew, death was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not. “Let’s go and travel through the unknown,” another verse of Miller’s song eloquently gifted her ear drums as she made the decision that would change her life forever.
“I stood there so tall only to fall down below, where will I go if down is what I am used to. Rock bottom, not a pretty sight and not for the weak, it gets bleak, but here I go, quick on my feet…”
The creativity flowed through her like electricity, she was sparking, and nothing could contain her now. It’s now or never.
“Here we go Li,” a nickname gifted to Celia as she mumbled to herself. “It’s now or never.” And, so the story goes, she chose now.
On the brink of greatness, she chose lateness over nothing at all.