My Perfect World

I live in a Perfect World. I am happy here. I am loved, and no one is not loved. Here, everyone is content with the patterns of the river swishing peacefully, the Perfect temperature, and no one drowns in it. I will never drown again.

From above my glass bubble of Perfect, my mother sits with red eyes and a tear-stained skin, staring down into my empty, peaceful face. She is not with me in my Perfect World. A tear slips and bounces on my skin, on my bubble, causing it to spin dramatically, perfect rainbow spirals. My father lives with me in my Perfect World, but he is not really my father anymore. In my Perfect World, I am not me either.

My mother is fading now, retreating farther away into the Unstable World, the world of which I have come, the world of which I have left. I have already forgiven her, since there are no regrets or blame in this place. I am not sad, because in this world no one is, but I remember that day with such clarity and disturbing mortification that for a moment I forget where I am and a small drop of my saltwater rolls down my cheek. I flick it into the air with my finger, where it turns into a beautiful butterfly. I do not want to leave it to itself, so I sprout wings and pursuit it.

My long hair is a white rainbow of colors, a prism made of me. It flows behind me in waves of hair washing over my shoulders. It will never be tangled, and if it does get tangled, then something will happen to make it untangled. My eyes match my hair, rainbow irises, scanning all of the greenest grass and bluest rivers in this world which I have already flown over.

Soon, the yellow butterfly and I are flying over the waterfall I came through so long ago, with its soothing sound of ever-flowing water. I am closing my eyes and holding out my arms when I feel it. My left hand is tingling and then I am dropping back to the ground as the butterfly becomes a bubble and floats on into eternity, never popping.

My hand feels warm and alive again as I look up into the face of someone I had forgotten about. My old boyfriend. He stands there looking at me with tears flowing freely down his face, and I want to stop them and change them into butterflies but I know it would be pointless to try. I have forgotten his name but I know he is my boyfriend because he is looking with the same gorgeous, river blue eyes that I looked into when I first kissed him. I looked into them whenever I could. His face is bleach white and he looks so sad that I want him to come into my Perfect World to be with me, stay with me forever and have rainbow hair as well. Then I remember he wouldn’t have the same eyes as he does now and a shock goes through me.

Cold rushes onto my hand, or at least the absence of his warmth since there is no cold here, and I see his face, shocked and confused. He is shaking his hand and retreating, one last tear falling onto my bubble. I do not want him to go; in fact, I want him to stay so badly that I feel another tear, then two, slide down my face. This time I don’t flick them away, but let them fall to the ground where they soak into the rich earth.

When I look back up, he is gone, with a new, unfamiliar face blocking my bubble view. This face has deep, dark kohl-lined eyes, mascara lashes, and the darkest red lip color that has the audacity to match this world’s darkest red. Her long hair is bleached so much it is green, and suddenly, I remember who this is.

In my Perfect World, I have forgotten all of the people who I couldn’t forgive, so that instead of holding that grudge until eternity, I move on and they forget about me too. This girl, I don’t remember her name of course, but this girl used to tease me and hurt me when I was in school. In freaky recognition, I know this face. For some reason, I feel as though she is an imposter, a faker, to try and wear my face and hair and mess up completely.

Cold numbness shoots through me and I gasp, my breath coming out in a puff of clouds. Symbols dot the white puffs, not exactly words but a language that calls to me and speaks to me so that I do not have to read. Astonishingly, my words and bad thoughts about the girl have puffed out of my mouth. They float away on an invisible breeze until they reach the membrane of my bubble. White light blinds me and I close my eyes, but when I open them again, the clouds are gone and I am alone.

My father is someone who would keep me company, but I can’t remember what he looks like anymore so I don’t find him. Now I am completely alone, with my Perfect World surrounding me and nothing to do.
I can’t remember what I look like now, or what happened in the last few minutes, and when I try, I am stuck like a deer in headlights for a few seconds. There is no time, actually, but I am used to it. Now I am not and all I can think is that here is now. I lie on my back on the floor, but this is not a floor, is it? It is a floor and if it were something else, I do not know. My eyes are closing and my ears are ringing, but I can’t fall asleep, because then I will never wake up.

A loud buzzing is filling my bubble and I snap my eyes open to look at a chainsaw. No, not a chainsaw, but a scalpel. Wait, now there is a chain saw and scalpel and the faces of two masked men. Something is coming out of my mouth and my body is going numb again, from my feet rising up to my shoulders. I don’t think this is a cloud coming out though, because it feels too heavy. My eyes close and this time, I can’t open them again.

My spirit, I realize. No, a spirit is floating above my empty body, which in truth is not my body. It is becoming ashes and dust and the spirit is floating away until it reaches the bubble’s membrane. There is a blinding white light and the spirit is not in a Perfect World anymore. It is in the Unstable World now, free to be whatever it wants to be.





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