Igniting the Wild Sparks (75 page)

Outside, there are children playing in the parking lot. Playing what? I have no idea, nor do I care. I lie here waiting for something, but nothing ever comes. Just more minutes. More hours. More days. More loneliness.

The sun still shines the same
; the air I breathe is the same. I do the same mundane routine without fail. Every day. That’s all. I live my life. I get by day to day. Nothing more. Always less.

My light is gone.

My spark is gone.

Yet, the world keeps on a spinning around and all I can do is wish it would stop, so I can jump off.

Getting out of bed is a chore every damn morning. Often, I wish I didn’t wake up at all, but I do. Every damn morning. How is this fair? How do I go on with my life? My phone rings, but I don’t answer it. My doorbell rings, but unless they have a key, nobody gets in here. They all see me at work, so why must they bother me at home, too?

Killing
my alarm clock, I rise, but no shine. Not anymore. I sit on the edge of my bed until I find the passing strength to stand; though, I’ve been late for work plenty, or I give up and don’t go in at all, much to the chagrin of my boss and coworkers who call me incessantly, leaving me messages of concern and love. Love. Who needs it?

I know they care, but that doesn’t put the life back into
my soul, in my heart or inside my womb, or at least, near it.

I heavily sigh
and robotically walk out of my room. Going into my bathroom, I flip the switch and the stark light buzzes my mind like angry bees in a hive. Squinting, I hesitantly peer into the mirror. It’s been months, yet feels like years, since I’ve been able to look into a mirror. I’ve aged. My cheeks are sallow, my skin is pasty, my hair is limp, my eyes are even duller than usual, and the lavender bags under them could hold a Buick.

Leaning onto the sink, I
intently study my reflection. What happened to me? The life has literally been sucked out of my body, surgically and otherwise. I remind myself of old, faded wallpaper that nobody pays attention to, and if they do, it’s only to say it needs replaced.

As I was.

I stare for a long time, assessing. Deciding. Executing.

It’s time
to get rid of the dried up wallpaper. Death is just a heartbeat away now. My existence is barely a step above. I’m just a shell of what I used to be.

If I
ever was anything at all.

Something has got to change.

Reaching for a rubber band, I put my hair up, and I sigh at the pallid face that emerges from the veil of hair.

I open the vanity drawer and grab what I need.
Lifting my ponytail up, I assess my face this way for any differences I may not have noticed.

Raising
the scissors, the blades reflect the light before I cut through. When I’m finished, I’m left with a long bundle of light brown hair.

What have I done?

Looking up from the ponytail in my hand to the mirror, I see a different person. I don’t recognize the woman standing here.

Then the reality of what I just did sets in.

And I slowly smile.

I am Hadley Beckett.

Hear me fucking roar.

About the Author

Ren Alexander lives outside Detroit, Michigan with her husband, two daughters, and two cats. Originally from Wheeling, West Virginia, she has a degree in criminal justice from West Liberty University, where she also took a creative writing course. She always dreamed of being a writer, but never thought she could actually do it.

“
Igniting the Wild Sparks” is her third novel.

You can visit Ren @:

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@wild_renalex