ruby slippers

ventilate


she remembers wearing red shoes. her ruby slippers as she has come to think of them these days. after all they are what sent her home. they are what took her away from the fantastic and cast her back in the world of black and white, back in the world that she only missed once she was away. as she straps them on tonight, as she straightens her stockings, as she makes sure that the last touches on her face are holding up perfect, as she loads her shotguns, her mind goes to his face. she wonders where he is now, what part of the horizon that he still needs to touch in his endless journey to find a place in this world. she wonders if he thinks of her while he wanders between twilights, in the darklights, in the whitelights. with a smack of her lips and a tug of her skirt she slings the guns over her shoulders and begins the 515 steps back into a world of color and all the greys that go between.

there is a corner in a city, the towers that sit there overlook unnatural greenery that seems to stretch like a verdant sea whose shores are lined with spires and glittering windows. this is a corner of envy and greed, of hope and faith. there is a vacant storefront, a blank marquee lined by green stars the only remnant of its last incarnation. considered an eyesore to some it stands as a grim reminder of the unchangable truth of the one city. decay. most tend to forget its presence, tend to overlook the eyesore in uptown. that may be why the woman with the twin shotguns walks unnoticed out of the taxi that idles on the curb, and no one notices the severed arm of a young man that only stopped to give a pretty girl a ride.
she takes her first step.

she steps through the plate glass, its solidity fading for but a moment as she walks closer. 20 steps down. inside are the remains of broken bar stools and tables, rat feces and cardboard. here and there is the sound of the chittering, the rats paying homage to the godess in the black dress as she makes her way toward the back.

20 more steps and there is the door. from somewhere beyond there is a light and music softly playing, maybe kate bush or tori amos screaming about the rape of the mystic, the ignorance of the devine. somewhere there is a shriek of pain followed by a bellow of pleasure. she pauses and listens to the symphony of decay, the cacaphony of the divine. she thinks once more of the ruby slippers. will glinda wait behind that door?

67 more steps and there is a stairway covered in a film of dust and filth. a skelatal hand rests at the foot, a beckoning finger inviting all to step forward. there is no banister. from the walls faces sneer from the rose colored patterns.

12 more steps, what a magic number. there is a landing with a window, the window overlooking the street. a crowd of people sit in an alley, betting their lives on the roll of the dice. their eyes are hollow, their souls spinning restlessly above their heads praying for escape. after all this is the one city. no one wants to stay lest they become apart of the eternity of it.

23 more steps another corridor. doors line the debris strewn wood floor more rats silently praying to the rat god that this girl thing has not come for them, is not their end. she nods at each with reverence, knowing they are her only allies in these hallowed halls that lead her farther into and away from the one city.

over the next 56 steps she glances into each door where scenes from the city play themselves out to her, tempting and beckoning. she sees two pairs of eyes peer through a doorway, a smile illuminated by the quick flash of a lighter and sweet smelling smoke. the music here is louder, hundreds of songs jumbled together, a passion of the sound. there is a woman, her legs spread in a pair of metal stirrups, her insides pulsing and wanting to push out the dead unwanted flesh that has gestated inside her for years. men feeding each other bowls of their own urine, smiling as it drips down their festering chests that glow with the sweet stench of radiation.

103 steps through hell after heaven, through saints and sinners intertwined in comprimising situations. 104 more steps of darkness. 105 steps past doorways into lives and heartaches and hopes. and then there are more stairs

5 steps and there is a human skull that leers up from the floor.

10 steps and the stairs turn back, another hallway, another world of hurt.

and the door. she looks at the slippers and the world begins to slide again. she thought that she had picked her side when she let him go into the sunset. the sunset welcomed him and she rejected the light. darkness had become her, and she had become the darkness. its weapon, its wrath. this was not a war that she wanted, not the war that she had signed up for. once upon a time she fought causes that mattered. the continued suffering of the innocents so that maybe once in their future that they can feel happiness. the continued confusion so that maybe one day they can see clarity. chaos to make order.

and now the world becomes colorful. black and white taken over by brilliant blues and reds and purples. and the shades of grey in the shadows.

from all sides the walls seem to pulse as she gets closer. there are no more steps, her feet just seem to glide. the door stands sturdy as if built yesterday, its brass handle glinting under the ever brightening red light.
she takes the first shell and cocks a shotgun.