Charlotte

Two posts in one day??! Shit, I'm actually being a responsibleish blogger? Something must be wrong with me.

Well, anyway, here's the story I promised (see? I didn't even break my word!). It actually turned out to be monologue-y, which I wasn't really expecting, but, hey, it works. I think. Basically, you guys have to comment now and tell me what you think. Like, is the narrative believable? Is there anything you wanted more of? Less of? Just stuff like that <3

Oh, and it's probably wicked obvious, but Charlotte's the narrator.

***

You know how everything is different at night? Especially when you’re outside and you’re alone and you’re walking somewhere. And you’re far from your home, wherever that is. Or maybe whatever you’re at is really closer to home than anywhere else you’ve lived.

The outside really is more like home. The wind covers you and holds you, at least this time of year. And the street lights shine gold. Just for you. Except, not just you. For everyone. In the dark, you’re all together—all one person, one idea, even if a lot of people don’t realize it. But you can hear the whispers of their conversations and drunk stumblings like they were meant for you. And then you look at the sky, and there’s this plane. But it’s not a plane, really. Really, it’s this slow moving, almost blinking, red dot. And it’s somehow full of people you can’t see, people who have lives, lives probably totally different from yours. Like, maybe they live in Australia and have sexy accents. Maybe if they ever saw you, they’d fall in love with you on the spot. Or maybe, even though they’re so different, they’d be exactly like you. And all you can see of them, all you know of them, is this tiny red dot, moving millimeter by millimeter, passing stars as it heads up to the moon.

Can you imagine what your life would have been (would be) like if you were on that dot, a passenger of it, instead of walking nowhere and alone?

You’d have a purpose, right? Like, your sister lives in Germany and you’re on your way to see her. And you’re gonna buy a shit ton of German chocolate. I’ve never had German chocolate, I don’t think, but isn’t it supposed to be way better than American? Like everything else, basically. But, anyway, that doesn’t matter. Because you’re also hoping to pick up a bit of German. Your life goal could even be to learn one language from every continent, besides English.

I don’t know if I have a purpose. Or maybe it’s just to get away from all the bullshit that’s disguised as life. Like day time. When everyone pretends to smile. When everyone says, “Well, if that’s what you want. Well, if that’s what you really want.” When everyone pretends to agree, but in their minds, they’re telling you to go fuck yourself.

People don’t do that at night. Not as much, at least. The just walk. And laugh. And stumble. They go nowhere on purpose. That’s the most important part, the on purpose bit.

The only bad thing about night is that it’s sketchy, sometimes. Even though you’re all together, not everyone realizes it. And you can’t tell who does and who doesn’t. The big guy walking towards you might not. He might want to do something to you, and if he does you probably won’t be able to do anything about it.

That’s the one thing I don’t like about walking at night. Because you hear footsteps that aren’t real. Or if they are real, they’re streets away and you don’t know how you heard them. And then those binoculars that look out at the lake catch the corner of your eye, and they look like a face, all smiles. Maybe making fun of you. Or maybe they’re smiling at you for some different reason, because they know something. Or maybe it’s because you’re alone and the swings aren’t moving. It’s the worst when they’re so still like that. It’s like, they have to start moving, because what the fuck else can they do?

But I still don’t want to go anywhere because this is my home. My real home, at least. The one that matters. My house has nothing for me. It means nothing to me. Yeah, it has a bed, but whatever. Grass is enough of a bed for me, I think. I’m gonna try it tonight. I’ve been planning it for a while, but winter, you know. Otherwise I totally would have left before.

That’s kind of what life’s about, too. Leaving. It’s what those people on that plane are doing. I wonder where they are now. I can’t see them anymore.

When I was little, I thought the sky I saw was the sky everyone saw. Like, we all saw the same cloud shapes and everything. And if the furthest edge of the sky was sunny, then it must be sunny in China, too, since that was supposed to be the furthest place there was.

It’s so creepy what the night time does to the water, how it makes it black and foggy and see through all at the same time. And how the jetty has black holes in it. The night makes the gaps in between the rocks look huge, like you could live in one, like really there aren’t more rocks at the bottom of it all. I wonder what it’d be like to live in a black hole, like if you’d be alone or not. If everything would be blowing around you or if everything would be peacefully, unbearably still. Or if there’d even be anything. You know.

And I wonder why there’s a plank of wood floating on the water like a ghost. Really, it’s like a ghost. It’s white on the black water, and the water looks like glass. It doesn’t look real anymore. When I was a kid I’d have said it was from a shipwreck. Probably a pirate ship. Probably Captain Kidd or Black Beard. One of the famous ones, you know. But I’m not a kid anymore. Now, I’m a realist. And I see the world a lot more realistically than a lot of adults I know. A lot more, especially, than the ones I’m supposed to live with—I don’t think they ever really think of anything.

I don’t always know about my life, but I’m fucking glad I wasn’t born them.

It’s weird that there aren’t more animals out. You always, I mean, hear about animals being out at night and doing whatever they like doing best. But maybe it’s not late enough. Too many people out. Too many people echoing and falling. I’m not, but I would if I could, I think. I think everyone probably would, right? Because it means that you belong somewhere besides just in yourself.

I wonder what they want, the people who are already happy and drunk. And if they’re really happy now and times like now. If as a kid, they thought, yeah. When I’m 19, when I’m 22, I’m gonna go to some bar and order like ten shots with this kid I don’t know yet. And then we’re gonna talk about stuff, but it’ll all be about stuff that doesn’t matter, like restaurants and what we were doing five years ago.

I’ve never really thought about it too specifically. But do most people? Do most people plan out their lives at all? I don’t think I really do. Only sort of. Mostly, things just happen.

But I planned this. I don’t know what’s gonna happen after tonight, or even in five minutes, but I have an idea. And it’ll be important.