Searching for a Pulse : I


Searching for a Pulse : I

Her fingers coax life out of the musical apparatus, lighting the air with wavering warmth. The cool ivory keys glide beneath her pale, numb fingers, arousing memories of her sugary childhood.

If only those carefree years had lasted.

Now, Jamie has returned to her deceased parent’s home to rid the loveless abode of any remnants of her parents.

She roamed the empty hallways, searching for residue to console her of the absence of her parent’s love.

Jamie rests her hands on the keys. She closes her eyes tight as a wave of acute loneliness ignites inside of her and leaves her shaky and panicked.

Jamie leaves the piano, too many painful memories rest in the fibers of the contraption, and finds herself entering her old parent’s bedroom. Out the window, Jamie finds solace in the view of the old tire swing. She recalls sweet summers swinging, pursuing the sky with the souls of her shoes.

Tears moisten her tired, dull eyes and pangs of dense desperation explode in her chest.

Breathing becomes difficult and she coils her thin arms around her chest, holding her heart before it crystallizes and splinters.

She shrinks down and clutches herself together, focusing on the ragged rising of her quivering chest.

So … al-alone, she whispers to the walls that seem painted with ice and the dark corners shadowed by a phantom’s haunted taunting.

The pencil poses for a perfect drift across the canvas, composing a semi-masterpiece, in a hurry to meet the deadline: rent is due.

Avery sketches and allows his mind to purify, distilling and diluting the dementia of the day.

A lone artist, traveled far to flee his family and already-verified future by his father. Moving into a cubic, over-priced loft, not sure if fully prepared for the finances and functions of life on his own.

Avery has yet to find someone who understands his art, which is his soul embroidered in pastels and paint.

Heather’s eyes glisten as they peer among the photos of fashion and feminine perfection. Page after page of anorexia at its peak, the pathetic epitome of adulation for vanity; dramatic depictions of inhumanely gorgeous creatures, crawling across the binding of a drugstore magazine.

Even though she values the pure, honest traits of humanity, instead of the glamorous glitter glued to the surface, Heather feels a roiling envy rise inside of her. Especially when her sister, Camille, primps her gorgeous golden locks against a full-length mirror.


Camille grins at the familiar reflection. Music drifts daintily across the apartment. Darkness fills windows and fatigue settles over the sisters.

Camille gives her friend a final smile and turns to her little sister.
“I’m going to go to bed; don’t stay up too late,” Camille calls as she crosses the living room.

“Night,” Heather murmurs to the magazine, looking at the emaciated models, trying to assure herself of her acceptable appearance.





The buttery sunrays rest upon the friends, slightly swaying on the park’s swing set.  Light laughter has just dwindled between them in their reminiscent conversation. They share memories of their graduation, just months earlier, at the beginning of their ideal summer vacation.

Kendra shares her nervousness for her art classes in the autumn and Angel supplies her empathy.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Angel soft voice whimpers. “What am I going to do without you?”

Kendra playfully grimaces, “I’m sure you’ll find someone to annoy while I’m gone.”

Angel’s smile saddens as she realizes, in just a few weeks, her life with change completely.

Robbie functions solely on touch, on feeling, on instinct. He’s shut his mind down, shut it off. He’s drank at the bar, but not nearly enough. Some girl, he has already forgotten her name, approached him with a wide smile and tentative eyes. It was an immediate turn-off, for her to approach him. He preferred the role to be his, but bought her a few drinks for her boldness. She then dragged him to the dance floor.

She wasn’t bad looking, not really, and he was sexually frustrated anyway. So he took her home, her hands more than willing on the drive to his parent’s house, and they sneaked to his bedroom in the basement. She left early in the morning, before his mother woke.


8 thoughts on “Searching for a Pulse : I

  1. Look mah buddeh, I’m adding yah on the site and this is RIGHT NOW heading to my Favourites bar.
    MORE! MORRRRE! I demand it!

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