They Call Me Death

They Call Me Death

A Story by DepthWriter

Being brought up in a mixed family, is hardest on the child. For they search all their lives for a ''place'', trying to fit in, and people can be so cruel!

  Pieces of me season the terrestrial planking, beneath the vibrations of yesterdays memories. In I have no idea what you would title me; Essa-bell, Breathless, Ugly, a mixture of pigments. Everywhere I go; eyes are fixated on me, because- pieces of me continually, shed from my structure. One day, I will awaken to skeleton bones, and dust- scattered across my ancient four-poster bed. Then the oglers will be satisfied, or maybe they will be upset- that they have nothing to poke fun at. 

  Yesterday, I ventured outside the confines of my mind, and decided I would go on a shopping spree. Now, I wish that I had never stepped outside these four-walls, because they, the people do not understand- I am not like them, I am different, I am both light, and dark skinned. Folks in the neighborhood, said my ma was a good woman, and that she worked three jobs to provide for me. They said my pa, he is a dead beat. That sometimes, you would see him on Smith Avenue, and Weston Court; making fancy with the street walkers. They say forget about him, he ain't no good! 

  I am drawn to my roots though; perhaps, because I have no identity of my own. No idea of my birth city, or state, not even my grandparents names. I do know I am trapped within myself; destine to drift within realms; reality, and mystical. I feel as though, I am African-American most of the time, only because these roots, with no name- keep calling for me. I guess that is the other voice in my soul, I am not certain at the moment in time. The mall was packed; bumper to bumper trying to find a suitable, and close parking spot, near a huge pole. The ones with italic font on them... after driving round, and round- I found one right next to a medium sized column “AA”. There was a boy collecting carts- I tried to get his attention, but all he did was stare through me in disbelieve. I was ready to call it a day, and jump back in my Smart car, and go back to my mind. 

  Daisy called me over to the next car, “What's up lady?”, she asked. “Nothing, just felt like shopping.”, I answered shying away from direct contact with her. “Girl you know your flesh is shedding? You don't got no disease do you?” she rudely asked. I could not speak, I continued to be a coward, and not stick up for myself. I just gathered all my pride, and headed back to my car, flung the door open, and slammed it into gear. I left tire tread all over the mall parking lot, but I did not care at this point. I was so ashamed, and hurt- I could not think of anything else. I sped back to my mind, without stopping for electricity power up, or groceries. I just wanted to bury myself in total darkness, and hoped that I would shed all the light skin, and leave the dark skin. My soul felt as though it had been a fillet; skinned, and boned. 

  Once reaching my mind, I sat there like a bump on the log, feeling sorry for myself... feeling mad as hell; because I allowed Daisy to get the best of me. She cut me down, and I do not believe, that she even realized what she had done. Still I was teary eyed, dripping of liquid ink, and salty ocean tears. I saw no sense in ever leaving these four-walls of my mind. I thought about peeling away the lightness; strip by strip, layer by layer, capillaries, veins, and all. Till, basically, I was non-existent, non-breathing, till I was DEAD.... to the world, to myself, to my family... I devised a master plan inside my mind; articulate to the soul, neat and clean. Surely, no one would expect anything like this... I decided to get a good sleep, rest on it, and in the morning... I would initiate the master plan--- I was almost too excited to go to bed- but, I did fall off into dream state. 

  The sun was peering through the cracks in my mind; the cracks that people's gossip put there, the cracks that hate stabbed me with, the cracks that the city labeled me with. I slowly, opened my eyes and put my mind into action. For today, I would carry out my master plan. This was the day, I would become free; from hate, and horrible actions of others. I disrobed my mind and set me on the bed; I had been birthed unclothed, and would be set free �" just the same. No sense in... procrastinating it was due time to unleash my mind, to wither within the delusion everyone had set me in. 

  On the bed next to my mind, laid out neatly, and in a row; wisdom, intuition, character, and determination. Obviously, I would not need all of these, to carry out my master plan, my freedom would carry its own weight. I decided to discard wisdom, and character- after today, I would not need these two-components. All the years, of name-calling had did its toll on me... I was left with intuition, and determination- these were very important to me, because it would aid in my plans. How intelligent is the mind, who can weed out the truths of determination, and intuition! 

  The part of my mind that controlled 'intuition' led me to reasons, I am intent on fulfilling, the love of a dream, within my own insides. Determination would help see this plan through, for without it- I could not do it alone. I sit on the edge of the bed; with each component at my hips, and I carefully, and tenderly, rubbed, and soothed them. “It is not your fault- this plan will free me �" it will ultimately, be a lesson for all who witness its greatness. I opened the window to my mind, and let its contents drizzle out, and to the ground of death. Slowly, with much pain- I withered, shriveled, and wrinkled to nothing.... 

The End, I am now free....

They call me... Death....

(c) Karen D. Jun 28, 2011

© 2012 DepthWriter

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Hard to tell if this is a death of he mind, a death of the body, or both...t

Posted 9 Years Ago

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Added on February 13, 2012
Last Updated on February 13, 2012



Hague, NY

I have been writing for five-years, been through hell and back. My writing has evolved from rhyme, to depth... a profound deepness for all things around me. I believe as writers, we all must be able.. more..