Tracks

There is this girl that lives around the corner. Her town borders on the edge of existence, bordering things that are seen and those that are just believed. Everyone there knows each other, but not a thing about anyone. I talked to her once—she was very smart. Very alert. Very sane. But it could have all been a show. Her mind got lost long ago, I’m sure. I think it got curious and followed the razorblade footprints on her arm. There were so many forks in the road it’s not a wonder why it turned up missing. If you had good navigational skills, though, the tracks would take you behind locked doors. And behind those doors a self-inflicted genocide goes on that no war can fix. Her friends tried to be the peace makers and make things right, so they chased after her mind but the razorblade footprints stumped them. They just kept going around and around in circles until they bumped heads with each other and passed out. When they awoke, they had forgotten all about the search party and their friend. They claimed to at least. So now this girl that lives around the corner is all alone behind some locked door with no one to talk to. She does have her shadow, though; but she won’t talk to that. What good is a friend that runs away in dark times?