Osmosis

This has some truth...mixed in with some fiction. I hope you enjoy my moment of osmosis.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's time for atonement," said the voice.

"What if I change my mind?" she asked.

"You don't have a choice," said the voice.

"What if they find me here?" she asked.

"They won't, you'll be in passage," said the voice.



*****************************


Carefully; she submerges herself chest high, in a porcelain wall of complacency.  The hand of hesitation, reaching out to support her spine during a brief moment of doubt.  Taking in a deep breath, she could feel the weight of the world; pushing her....forcing her down. Drowning beneath a raining cloud of purified osmosis.

Watching;  each pocket of air slowly escaping her lungs, exiting her lips.  It was easy for her to imagine each bubble to be a reflection of subconsciousness. A dreamy void blurred by a waterfall of naive perception.  Direct and steady, like a floating compass, moving her thoughts towards the blue curtain. 

Eyes blinking.  She observes the first bubble as it breaks open at the surface. The air around it, producing a faint whimper accompanied by many visions.  She could see her Father coming home.  He had strong calloused hands.  Beer on his breath.  A thick mustache.  Black grease with oil stains on his pants.  He looked like Bruce Willis.  And he laughed like Barney Rubble.  She loved him, as much as she despised him. 

Then there was the smell of cinnamon.  Her Mother always made the best Snicker-doodles.  She liked helping her mother sprinkle the sugar on top.  Mouth watering, she could almost taste the first bite of a warm cookie. 

Thirsty...the sweet stuff always makes you thirsty.  She draws in another quick breath; topping the cookies off with warm milk, filling her lungs with condemnation.  The flashbacks begin to contort and ripple, she hears her Father's voice, molesting the inside of her ears again. 

"Stupid girl." 

Oh yes, and she remembered her classmate Mark.  They were just 17, and he only wanted to be friends.  Maybe if only her ears were smaller.  The freckles on her face...looked like fire ants that wanted to race.  Maybe he preferred brown-eyed girls.  All she wanted to do was touch his smile.

Then there was a lovely vision of Tracey.  Her Mother and Father said she was just an imaginary friend.  But she was as real as any other friend.  And then one day, Tracey went away. That same year, the tooth fairy stopped paying.  The wishing star never looked so far.  The big dipper and little dipper looked like tiny droplets of rain that fell on an Easter Sunday. This precipitation paving the way to deliver her soul. 

She could see and feel the hardwood floor beneath her.  Pajamas on, sitting alone in her bedroom, biting her fingernails.  At times, all the chewing would even bloody up her cuticles. 

"Disgusting habit, " she could hear one of her Teacher's say. 

But it produced endorphins for her, it helped numb down her anxiety.  She often bit on the inside of her cheeks too.  Scratched at her scabs and sores until they bled.  But blood never bothered her, just certain sounds.  Like the door slamming shut.  Heavy footsteps on the floor.  The thunder in the night.  Her mother crying.

Her mother's tears pooling around her face as she watches; the second bubble.  It was quite small.  Filled with grief from being average.  Every time she spoke, she felt like an invisible whisper.   This bubble made no noise upon reaching the surface.   It instead just produced an echo of silence. 

Suddenly, a flash of light, she could see her purple shoes...her favorite pair of shoes.  It matched nicely with her purple hand bag.  The purple bag swells into a balloon, producing the last bubble. The biggest bubble.  It floated upwards slowly, as if it were reluctant to let go. The burst of air replacing the silence with many voices......

                                    "S**t."

                    "Worthless."  
          
                                   "Sweetie I love you."

                                "B***h."

                                            "Lazy."

                                 "Ugly."


                            " I love you."

                                                       " I love you."

                                          " I love you."


An echo upon echo of words.
She didn't get to say sorry to her Mother for spilling the juice on the floor.  And it was the day after; her Mother passed away so very suddenly.  The cause of death.  Brain aneurysm, she heard the doctors telling her Father.

"Awake now," said the voice.
 


    Opening her third

     (((EYE)))


she looks down,

and sees the place of baptism below.

Author's Note

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The process of gradual or unconscious assimilation of ideas, knowledge, etc.

Reviews

[...]

. oh ... there are a million thoughts racing in my mind right now ... there are so many thought-triggers in the narrative ... i thought the title would be very challenging to justify ... but you've done great justice to it ... this slow unraveling of the narrator's mind is compelling ... i am reminded of my own journey and of the time when i needed to atone ... and then ... once i started ... i realized ... that in some ways ... life is a journey into the perfecting the process of atonement ... almost like an art form ... the way we perceive ourselves has a lot to do with the way we perceive our mistakes ... and the plight of those we might have wronged ... albeit not in a major way ... this piece of writing is like an intense experience of putting oneself under the microscope ... piecing together one's key influences in life through the subtle analysis of key events and characters ... and then letting go ... yes, the final note of this symphony is undoubtedly liberation ... excellent work ...

[Nautili]

The Third eye can see so clearly it can be frightening at times....but would you want it any other way? This is so powerfully written, yet it flows like a dream that is more vivid than when one is awake; a truly magnificent piece.

[EMF]

I can waffle on at length or just tell you the truth. Damn, you're good.

[Mark]

Beth, I just don't know what to say. I've even read some of the other reviews (which I RARELY do!) to get a notion--without success. This is so beautiful, so haunting, so disturbing, I find my rage and my compassion battling for primacy. The parent that you cannot help but love, despite the lack of anything loveable there; the visualization of her thoughts and her memories chasing ever upwards, until they burst; this is just a frighteningly lovely piece. Ought to be developed.

[SkinlessFrank]

I think this is one of my favourites of yours. The voyage is both serene and disturbing, digging down to the core unrelenting. There is sadness and beauty in everything we do and experience. Some are just more in touch with the dialectic. What a painting!

[Kenneth The Poet]

This is a work of art. A masterpiece even.

[Muse]

thank you..along with my work...I am growing..transforming.

[Audrey Howitt]

A journey of intensity so very real--this feels deeply personal to me--a stunning write, but I am not sure that my words give yours any justice really--but know that I was deeply moved by this piece--

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Youb are such a deep, intellegent person! The detail and exprerssion are enormous. We are suchb a contrast!!

[lee von cleef]

I had nightmares after watching a movie like this "Blue" or "big blue" what a moving piece , liquid smooth,you've done it again.

[Λsylum Ƣo&#..]

Muse~ this poem is kick'in . . . superb depth of thought with excellent imagery, and a fantastic image - intricately woven as if the needle were the pen and the ink the thread.

[Muse]

source of inspiration...don't really know...maybe it's a plea to let go.

[Λsylum Ƣoətry]

could be a plea - we all have to let go of something at some point in our lives.

[Jack Isaac]

The word 'atonement' is key to everything in this write. Awesome use of expressive imagery here, and I especially loved the flash-effect --so what do I mean by that? Well, over that past few months the beast had drained the poetry out of me, so as I read this I said to myself "OMG! I can't even tell what this says." Then in a flash it came to me -- that's the sort of flash one has just before death, or just before one says I Do, or, more appropriately in this case, just before one is baptised. Then, I must say the title is perfect for this poem as it carries this flash-effect through a membrane between you and the rest of the world. Interesting, and well written!