This is Rada's shadow. She sees the outline, fine threads of hair dancing impulsively. And this is her hand, caressing the keyboard. Here are her eyes, looking out the window.
"I'm like that ladder."
"Out in the rain like that."
Those rain splatters like dying insects. She felt truly, the deepest need to occupy space, to come outdoors, to feel cold, to sense the numbness spread from her pelvis upwards, thighs, and then settle in her muscles, impaired movement and so on.
Zeeep. The bizarre, irritating, hateful ring of the telephone unexpected. Oh, it was just a message from Silvi, he's out in his van smoking. Come over and talk 2 me. Silvi lives across the field, which from the human eye perspective looks galaxies away, and yet, one foot in front of the other, and she's there. Already after she crossed through the little fake forest, and ducked under some old clearly abandoned metal fence she saw the dark outline of his body in the drivers seat.
It's way too cold to be smoking outside, no well meaning person ought to be outside in this.
When Rada gets to the car, she watches her arm raise itself, hand unclasp, rest upon door latch, open and swing towards the seat. Her legs do a strange sliding movement and she sits down. It's damp in that car.
"Huh." Her way of saying hello. Non commital.
"Hm." Silvi says.
"Haha, were you watching the news t'smorning?...Typical."
"I don't really enjoy using electronics so early in the morning...I mean, I really don't. It's like...I need time to wake up and re-evaluate my environment. I was having another weird dream, probably, too, and-"
"It's so weird.I just don't understand what they even expect I'm supposed to do for money after this. And then they want two months rent up front. I'll never come up with that."
She hates sitting there suddenly. "I have to go."
Later on that night she sees it all again for myself. In her head. She stops up in front of the mirror. Pinches her stomach fat. I hate it, she thinks. And my hair. I think I may shave my head, she thinks. I don't know what's left to care about, really, she thinks. She's just feeling hateful towards her body, as if its disobeyed her. And her face seems to be....something else. She can't relate to it. It feels as though she's a pet, or some object that belongs to someone else. Then, the silence rings in and she starts to feel her ear pounding, and the sense of blood swelling, thudding, thundering inside.
Later on she decides something has to be done. Rada saunters around the bedroom, opens the curtains. Five minutes later, she's back, and closes them. The window is still open, and the wind blowing rattles the metal hoops on the curtains. Fucking irritating sound. The bed is broken. The wooden slats are missing a latch so they slide around and in the middle of the night spit her out and she falls into a swaddled burrowed hole. A lot of times she sits and think about how nice it feels, and then remember in the mornings how painful and fucked her spinal cord is, and thus gets up and wiggle the wooden slats around, feeling anger/stress/frustration welling up inside her chest.
2 hours later, she has managed to gather up at least half of what was laying on the floor. The clothes moved closer to the washer, and the books go back in the right places, the cups of half drank water, closer to the sink, the dishwasher. The silence again. She lays down. Boredom. And future. And pencil, paper, stamps, money. Suicide. She closes her eyes a little. Boredom. Her hands first rest on her navel. Then, fingers touching her thighs. Soft. And itch a little. And then scratch the newly shaved cunt/vagina/pussy area. Closing eyes again. Pushes her pants off first, then underwear, not off, just to her ankles. She gathers up some saliva in her mouth, spits on her fingers and cradles them strangely to prevent dripping drool all over her shirt. When it gets close enough to her clit she uses two fingers to open, and the other spit dripping fingers and tip them sideways so that the spit grazes down. She watches it drip off her finger. The cold air whispers in, it feels good across her thighs. Now she's a little wet, she rubs a little, she doesn't feel much. She closes her eyes. Think of something, she commands herself. She can't think of anything. She uses old, silly fantasy material, one about a woman at her doctors office, and he starts sucking on her clit. It was set in the 1920's or something, and the doctor assured her this was part of the treatment. She feels a bit more relaxed and sort of eager.
Her leg starts aching. She pulls it up, pushes it up sideways, roll over, ruining everything. Raises her hand to her nose, inhales, grabs a tissue, wipes fingers and rolls over. Cries.
