Queen of Hearts, Written 11/21/14

Queen of Hearts, Written 11/21/14

This is a work of fiction. Do not interpret it as anything more. 

My hand trembles as it is my turn to pick up.
Reaching over the discard pile, I can feel the terror
in the eyes of the jack and the queen that lie below.
"Don't pick me", they whisper.
"I don't know which pile to take away from."
"It's just a game of cards," He reassures me.
They can't feel the eyes watching me.
They don't know what the eyes are afraid of.
They're nice.
They don't understand.


She plays her last hand: 2,3,4 of hearts, and throws her last heart into the pile.
"The Queen of Hearts has green eyes. Just like you."
"Oh, Really?" She feigns a smile for my benefit.
I wish I didn't make her so uncomfortable.
I know they try to treat me like everyone else.
I know that I'm NOT like everyone else.
Sadly, this Desperado has his reasons
for never coming to his senses.

All the cards are swept away,
and lined up to be shuffled.
The bird on her chest catches the light as it beats its wings, trying to fly free.
"That's a nice necklace. You must come from a nice family."
"It's just an ordinary necklace", she says, as she tucks the bird under her shirt.
Does that make it feel trapped? Or does that make it feel loved?
I remember a necklace, not unlike that one.
Mom never wore it after the chain snapped.
I thought Dad was just trying to set the bird free.

I watch her hands play music
with the grace of a pianist
as she conducts all the soldiers, marching down the bridge.
Time seems to slow until i can hear the crack of every card...
The tune changes from a fluttering breeze blowing dry leaves down a street,
to the sound of a house being rattled by a monsoon,
Rejecting the putrid waters from which the storm was born
and I can hear the foundations struggling not to give way.
I can smell whiskey.
I can taste salt.
I can feel the eyes, peeking through the doorway. Horrified.
I can't blame them for being glad that it wasn't them.

Snap.
I'm SORRY.
SNAP.
PLEASE, STOP.
I can feel myself leaving the present as I flinch under the concussion of each crack.
SNAP.
I'm SORRY!

"I had a horrible childhood..."
I think I said something else too, because they leaned in to listen.
They try their best not to look horrified.
Her eyes change color from green to black, but no one else noticed.
I don't even need to hear them whisper "Where did THAT come from???"
They're nice.
They don't understand.