Episode

I don’t want to die.

I pause at the sight of a gap between greenery, a child's park and graves. I stare at them. The graves, that is.

I don’t want to die. My grandma has bought a slot in the desolate walls- she showed me the general area. Made a comment about the free single above her for my mother and a double for her sister and her husband beside it.

I step back.

I walk. It’s dark. It’s scary: no one is meant to be out at this hour. There’s no lights in this child's park, perhaps a testament to their bedtime or an unassuming way of living where the night is for rest.

There’s the gasp of something in the distance. Maybe a coyote. Maybe a ghost. Maybe not a thing. I’m not sure.

I walk along uneven terrain where I know parties occur, scuffed ground from family vans and the tire marks of a forgotten turn likely to the tune of an angry passenger. The only sound at this hour is my foot on gravel and the crinkling plastic of a chip bag in hand.

I sit on sun-burnt grass, my feet on pavement and a cigarette in hand. It burns me in the way that it shouldn’t be in my hand; though the lit tip doesn’t burn me. My back is to the dark park. No one around; no cameras or people. My adrenaline spikes, soothed by only the random sound of cars passing by.

I sit here, remembering the times I’ve gotten off the bus as a child. The one time I sat in the nearly barren creak, so deep within the earths core it practically molded to fit me.

I hear the scream of coyotes. Make my way home.

Coyotes are afraid of flashlights. I’m afraid of my own shadow.

I grip the handle of my knife, cool sure metal, more sure to use it against another person then an animal.

Start a jog though it’s burned short by liquor in my veins, scalding and viscous. I spin around unevenly. I'm by the graveyard, which I trust the blades shadow is scary, but. It’s only covered in drywall as it try to gain a sample of paint from the wall for my mom. I can imagine it kissing my lateral muscle.

Ones I work hard for. My heartbeat clings, even as I’ll calm beneath the safety of overhead street lights. I hear the faint scream again, a bit off of the graveyard. Pay my respects silently; terrifyingly.

I look over my shoulder more than I don't, veering off my home path. There’s a beer in my pocket for enjoyment though I feel no inkling to drink it. I’m speeding up though the ache in my calves from wearing heels a few days ago is present: I pass a truck that is tinkering with the sounds of recently powering down thought it hasn’t moved in days.

My breath quickens, I see the bush that marks my nearness to home. I exhale sharply, checking anxiously around me before I turn, feeling much too like a person in an indie horror game with how I stumble into trash cans.

The lights from neighbours homes are off orange, glowing faintly but not enough to light the street. I’m near home but don’t stop panicking and my shins ache, begging me to slow but I don’t.

It is when I see the lights of my home that I exhale, check over my shoulder again. See my car. Check in its windows. I swallow stiltedly as I sit down in one of our lawn chairs, confident my dog isn’t barking to give way to my departure or arrival. My heart beats hard but I divert my attention to the calm, familiar sound of the plains flying overhead, heading to the airport nearby. I breathe in the scent of the rose bushes.

I relax. For now. Until my next episode.