“Cause I don’t need boxes wrapped in strings
And designer love and empty things
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days”
-“Better Days” by The Goo Goo Dolls
Marie’s eyes are dry, but scratchy, in a way she knows rubbing won’t relieve. She watches the world revolve, every day- bombs are set off, hunger reigns, thirst drains. Fear rules, injustice thrives, and misery spreads, a black poison seeping through the Earth.
She can’t take it. So much pain, so much suffering. So many sad commercials to save the puppies, to help the homeless. So many scrolling news alerts that send chills down her spine and weakness into her knees. When the blood and death come again, she runs.
Marie runs, concerned shouts of somehow unconcerned family members falling away like dead leaves. The door slams behind her, and she is crying. More than crying, Marie shakes, with rage and fear, and a kind of sickness at her own fear that curdles in her stomach until she is dry heaving and wiping all her makeup off her face.
Curled up against the door, she sees the pen on the floor through her tears, like the parting of a curtain. Smudges of ink have dotted the hardwood, and Marie is moving before she knows why, but then the pen is curled in her hand, and she’s yanking the chair out and plopping down and flipping her hair over her shoulder and writing, writing, writing, writing. The words are coming from the well of pain in her gut. As they channel through the pen, the well is drying up, and Marie can feel it, this magic, leaving her.
Before it does, she writes. Where she writes, the world is made better.