This Was Just a Test Run

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. As she peered out to greet the day, it registered, the early morning sunlight was hidden, clouded out in a haze. A haze not uncommon for a city, not uncommon to the breath.

Smells from the kitchen wafted through the house, a combination of fresh strong coffee and stale beer from the empty cans sitting on the counter.

Her belly in a low howl called out for sustenance, the usual, a morning smoothie. As she layed in bed, under the warm cocoon of covers, today, she thought, maybe I'll change it up, add, something different. Be creative and unstuck with the, usual, a place she's been sitting in for, much too long. The mood passes as the howl grew more vocal in her time pondering. The usual it was, no decision needed.

Sauntering slowly into the kitchen, she readjusted her posture, silently reminding herself to relax, shoulders back and down, and breathe, deep. A cue she's had to remind herself of, a lot lately.

This heavy she's been internalizing, is starting to crush organs. Her worry for him is starting to, smoulder. Her thoughts, about them, are starting to turn to, it's over.

The smell she didn't even consider, because like all else city, it becomes so, natural, so given. The smell of the haze seeped in the crack of the open bedroom window, sleeping with a cool fresh breeze has always been, more comforting. This morning, it was sweet, like watermelons and new moons, so, odd.

So odd, it brought her to her feet, standing up on the bed to peek out the window, she parted the top short set of curtains, black and cream victorian print, with trees and dogs and things, which set above the long red veil of curtains, meant to block out the passer-by's eyes, as this window faces out onto the quiet residential street.

She couldn't see enough, she didn't know if she wanted to see more, but, she also, couldn't look away. She tried to squint through the haze, to will it to part, to clear a way, like sun chases fog.

She knelt on the bed, the too many covers pushed off and back behind her knees, trying to remember; shoulders back, and down, and breathe, deep. Her mind, sifting through too many thoughts and feelings and scenarios, to think. She knew she had to see, had to know, is this something worth waking him up for?

The chatter outside was growing louder, she just, had to know, always a curious one, even if it was going to be a heart crushing reality, something she was never quite good with, however, he thrived in. Maybe I should wake him? She wrapped her fingers around the side hem of the long red curtain on the right, pulled it back just enough, and peered out. Through the haze a figure was getting clearer, so closer, and closer, his arm raised above head, fist leading, his mouth gritted open in a menaced smile, eyes, shot through with blood. She's never seen such rage, such hate, and want to hurt, so up close. He was narrowed in on her, coming toward her, his window, her; froze. She hurriedly tried to sift through the thoughts, anything that would lead her to an action.

She hasn't had her hot cup of comfortingly strong coffee yet. She hasn't stretched out on her yoga mat yet. She hasn't cleared the stank empty beer cans from the counter yet. She hasn't, decided, yet. Maybe she should wake him now? It seems like it's time, what time is it? , when is it?, what day is it?, what is this? ... What, is, happening??

Shoulders back, and down, and with a deep breath she turned around, and faced him, lying there like he always does, asleep, turned off, oblivious, too content to ever move. And it boils over in her guts, her skin feels on fire, with disgust, and rage, and want to harm.

A fist cracks into the glass window splintering it, breaking her focus on him, to him on the outside. She swivels around to leer out and he's there, he's pure rage fighting to get in, his eyes flit to the open, cracked window, just for him.

The haze behind him is dissipating, it's clearer now, but only clearer in depth of vision, not thoughts, not any kind of pieced together answer, of what is going on.

The street is filled with bodies, milling neighbours and others that wandered through, all, rage filled, blood drenched fists and faces. And none seem confused, only intent on harming. Harming anyone.

As his fingers rip through the windows screen, she feels her mind scatter, she feels her thoughts break, the last she'll remember, as her shoulders tense and her breath becomes shallow and shorter; I wish I could of woke him up.

She turns to push herself down and slides off the end of the bed, her quick motion knocks over her neat stack of unread books and unfinished hard covered journal, from the edge of his green-glass topped dresser. Stilled by the sound for a flicker of a moment, she caught herself in the mirror, the last image she'll remember reflected in her own eyes; shot through with blood, rage.

She tore out of the bedroom intent as all outside, to harm and as she crossed through the threshold, the doorway between bedroom and living room, that smell, of watermelons and new moons flooded all her senses...until, it didn't. As quietly as it came, it was gone. Strong coffee, stale beer and him, took over, and came rushing back in.

Her eyes cleared back to dark brown, with whites and she turned around to face the bed. She crawled over him to get to her side and peered out the window. The him outside had also turned around and was walking down the drive, toward the street that had started clearing of bodies, these stunned shells walked back inside, or down, or up the street. Back to where ever they came from, or were going.

She drew the long red curtains closed, sat back on the bed and drew up her side of the too many covers. Her mind so rarely filled with so few thoughts at once, one, really loudly creating a different world; this was just a test run.

As she slid down under the covers and turned toward him, she wrapped her left arm around his left bicep, her hand pressed against his chest, fingers moving through his hair, that space between shoulder and shoulder, that space that reaches out when you put your shoulders back, and down, and breathe. And with her lips she pressed gentle, relieved kisses on his back and up the back of his neck,

and she sweetly whispered...