Hello again! It's been a long time.
Anyway I had this little idea running through my head for a week and a half. Enjoy!
"In love you move, I move and one more time with feeling."
- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
The young red porcupine with snowy dandruff flakes in her quills sat down by her piano. She sighed and looked at the multicolored keys in front of her. Her hands floated over the keys, ready to pounce whenever she got into the mood of playing. Her piano comforted her and she kept going to it more and more each week.
She started to play. She tuned to the imaginary radio in her head and played whatever song came up in her mind. She knew whatever she played would be a depressing little thing, reflecting her life and how she felt about the damned town she lived in. She hated the place with a passion. Happy Tree Town should've been named Hell, for all the infernal fucking shit that happened.
She reflected on the curse. People died every day and, yet, they came back the very next day, as if nothing had happened. And so the cycle continued, day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year. She longed to find out who, or what was responsible for the curse. She'd be the first to stab and destroy it with one of her quills. All she got from it was heartbreak. And panic attacks.
She remembered the first time she had died. She had taken a walk in the park to get used to the town. She liked the scenery and the people all seemed nice if a little eccentric. That's when it happened. The sudden pain in her chest. The blood pouring out from a hole made by a piece of glass from an exploded window. The darkness coming in, choking her, extinguishing the light. And then the light returning with vigor. She came to in a hospital and looked at the blue anteater who told her about the curse and that she would be stuck in this town forever. And she would die again and again and again and again.
The repeated deaths reminded her of a director telling an actor the speech was good, but they should do it one more time with feeling. That's what it felt like, one more time with feeling. She stopped playing and let the tears run down her face in tiny rivers. She got up and grabbed a tissue, wiping away the tears. She hated crying. It made her feel weak and pitiful. She never liked being pitied. She never liked crying. She never liked her anxiety attacks.
She experienced them when she couldn't bear the horror of the town. She would start shaking, her heart would race, and she would admonish herself afterward for giving into her fears. But she knew her anxiety represented how she felt inside. She felt like a lone firefly flickering in the dark. She felt like a sane man trapped in an asylum. She felt like a ghost wading through a crowd of people, realizing no one could see them.
Most of all, she felt like a terrified kid who just lost their parents in the supermarket.
Now, back to the piano. One more time with feeling.
She tuned back to her radio and played. She started off with a simple Beatles tune. Then moved to a dark and somber Nick Cave song. Then a complex Pink Floyd number. Then a Paul Simon love song.
Her thoughts turned to him, as they always did whenever she played a love song. She couldn't help it. She closed her eyes and imagined his face. Her angel. And her devil. The town even made love a cruel enterprise.
His other side, his demon, killed for fun whenever the good side, the angel, heard or saw something that reminded him of the war. God could be so cruel sometimes. He had killed on many occasions. But sometimes she stopped him, or he left her alone. She didn't know why. She wondered if he reciprocated her love. She'd take him to bed if she didn't have the fear of seeing her dark blood spurting across her sheets. Her neighbors would mistake her screams of pain as cries of pleasure.
She opened her eyes and continued playing. Her only solace in life. She thought about what she could have been. She could've been anything. A famous actress. A musician. She'd even take being a pregnant high school student whose boyfriend left because of the kid. That'd be better than what she endured every day. If she had a poet's soul, she'd emulate Dickinson, although she stopped for Death every day. But she had to be stuck in the gut-wrenching cycle of the town. And no one could stop it.
And yet she wouldn't back down. She wouldn't cry anymore dammit! She needed to be strong. She needed to survive. She needed to be a brave porcupine, not a scared, timid one. And she try her damnedest to do just that. No matter what it would take. She'd be brave. She'd be strong. She'd survive.
She heard a knock on the door. She got up from her piano, looking at the black furnish and thinking about better times. She went to the door and opened it, making sure to look through the peephole first. She came face to face with her friend Nutty, the hyperactive squirrel who tried to cheer up whenever she felt down.
"Hey, Flakes! Mime and I were just going to the mall. Wanna come?" he asked.
She looked into his eyes and nodded. "Okay. I just need to get a few things."
She'd go out and face the world.
One more time with feeling.
So, tell me what you thought! Please review and give feedback! It helps tell me what I need to do better!