The day you poison yourself again, you have to poison the plant, too. Pour bleach on it, throw a rock at it… whatever; just do something that will really hurt it. Going forward, you have to treat it the way you treat yourself, because what you do to you doesn’t just affect you.” I looked them in the eye. “Don’t want to hurt the plant? No problem. Be kind to yourself.”
“Ohhhhh,” she’d fret. “Rose, will you grab it? Tell them that I’m in the shower,” she’d plead, bolting, like a deer, into the bathroom. I’d answer the phone, recite what I’d been told to say, and hear the shower nozzle spray into life on the other side of the house.
So I revised the ending by killing death itself off and inserting a halo-holding hipster who took the girl out for ice cream. It was a vomit-y ending, and I totally got called out on it.
Then, I felt like the river, on the side of the dam that I could see. I was rushing away from you — leaving an endless, babbling protest of profanity and blame in my wake. I was shallow, I was deep, I was smooth, I was jagged. I was surrounded, on all sides, by grey, green, and a hazy dark blue. Damn you.
So stop wasting your breath speaking to empty parking lots. Quit straining your eyes, staring after shadows. Just get on your bike — feel the cool wind patting your shoulders and tickling your hair, and go find a warm, safe place to settle down for the night.