The Suicide Garden

It’s not like there’s much of a reason. An intuition perhaps. A desperation for something that couldn’t reach the light, slowly unwound and cut apart. Snip, snip, snip, scissors cut through any form of serpent. She can feel herself becoming unwound as she slides open and allows her dark secrets to flow across the pavement and into traffic
She leans back against the hood of the truck and fumbles with her lighter. Ashes flare up as the smoke curls past her lips and wafts through her hair. She is wreathed in a halo of smoke and ashes, glowing white against the pale blueness of the sky.
The truck is dead. She needs booster cables, a hero now that hers is gone. There needs to be something or someone to save her, allow her to move forward at the speed of freedom while she tears down the streets of the city and plunges into the back roads.
What are you doing? Where are you going? What are you bleeding and why?
She is bleeding in a painful internal manner as her red desire spreads out across the snow, sinking deep into the earth and coagulating.
She throws herself back into the snowbank.
She knows she is going to die and that he will find her. It is simple to accept. The question is when?