Bre has no motivation today. She used her vibrator last night, watched a few free porn videos on her iphone and found a new way to give herself an orgasm. She’s actually excited about that. She can’t wait to get home tonight and try it again. Bre feels out of touch with reality. She’s actually waiting for something really big to happen in her life. Everyday she does the same things and expects something fresh to happen; something should take place at least once in a good persons life, right?
Bre only has one sin, or so she believes. So out of touch with reality, that she believes she is in hell, and subjected to torture each day, because God has already come and gone, and the true hell is here and now. She still goes to church and prays that God will have a third encounter. Maybe he will forgive all His people that follow him, but sin? She never talks about her beliefs. The trick’s on us all, she claims, and we are the devil’s pawns. She thinks her obsession with sex is the sin that didn’t allow her to get in the first time, and she hopes that by keeping her playlist on gospel, she’ll get a chance in the third coming. So out of touch from reality she is.
Bre may buy a lotto ticket today. She’s addicted to those things. If she saved up all the money she’s spent on lotto, she’d be rich, but it’s the concept for her of getting rich quickly that appeals to her. As she passes a high end shoe store in SoHo, her eyes glitter with an unamused excitement. She wants to go in, but there really is no point. She got tired of using her cards to prove to people that didn’t care if she could afford the goods. They weren’t worth it anyway. They’re all decomposing in this hell she’s stuck in. Pretty soon, people will start eating each other.
Bre hops on the train right before the doors close on her. She’s in hell. No day goes right anymore since the day she believes He came and left and blotted out their memories. She’s headed to nowhere and the train speeds up and stops, speeds up again and stops. Her gospel playlist is on repeat.
A man gets on the train and in a split second, he slices her neck wide open. Bre smiles as she feels the blood quickly squirt out forward and far across, splattering the nearby neighbors sitting next to her on the train. She feels herself slipping, or so she thinks. That’s the description she’s always heard when people describe death. Someone slips into the light.
Bre isn’t slipping though. She’s happy that she will die, to end the routine that was killing her anyway, but she’s actually in the worse pain ever. Dying is killing her. Everyone is screaming and she hears it. The liars that told her in the doctor sitcom that you would only see the lips moving! It’s taking too long!
Bre falls to the floor, face first. The train is still moving, and her body begins convulsing, jerking, jump jump, quick stepping nerves, giving in to their last jolt.
Bre’s last thought is the ecstasy she felt the night before when she came and came and came. That was her only reality. Her brain rambles and she feels the euphoric ecstasy again. Why didn’t she let someone do this before.
The slasher got away and she died there on this day. Bre is in no better place. We don’t know where she is, or if she is gone for good, or if she may come back, or if she will be caught up. We just have our reality. Her reality is dripping life’s blood on the train subway floor to nowhere as mortified people pray, traumatized that it won’t be them.
The reality of it is, it will one day be each of us.