Creating Destruction

I discovered something today, an escape if you will.

I was fired the other day. She asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I told her photography, I never mention my writing. Its my secret, whisperings of and empty face from behind anonymous keystrokes. She smiled then, like she knew me. It was the second time we met. “You’re creative then”. I treated her to another blank smile and responded with a small: “I guess so”.

I drove home in a daze, not a good way to be in the rain. The tracks of rubber on the old back road were a testament to that fact, pulling off the road I glanced down at my hands out of curiosity and took stock. Steady, nothing was different, not heartbeat, hands, nothing. Not even a hint of adrenaline. For the amount of rubber my tires had just left on the road I was emotionless. Continuing home I remained in the same state, empty.

All my life I’ve been destructive, destroying and scarring everything that I brush past, and now there was a new word. One that more people were starting to refer to me as ‘creative’. Tracing the scars on my hand, I pondered this for a while and began to create. Pen touched paper and blue ink began to outline my creation. And this I created: A character, a beautiful woman. For a while I immersed myself in her and reality faded. Her soft skin was mine, her eyes became my window to her world and I became her. My escape became her existential journey and, as one, we continued to create.

A man and woman’s voice became the soundtrack for my madness as something else faded into my creation. A buzz. A tinny vibration began once again inside my head reminding me that I wasn’t filling this created woman, but instead empty myself.  But within that emptiness was an irritation, not painful it was simply that an irritation. Maybe I was overstimulated, under-motivated, something.

Still nothing.