Disappearences

Disappearances were like clouds. They took on any shape you perceived for them. Some disappearances were boring, like the normal regular cotton ball resembling clouds. Some of them were interesting, like the shape-shifter clouds that assumed so many different shapes in one minute. Some disappearances were dramatic, quite like the storm clouds, there was so much happening in them that you couldn't really tell what was going on, but you knew there was something there.

Aayana wanted to disappear. She was contemplating which kind of disappearance to make. The first one was mundane to the point of being routine almost!! I mean, all she had to do was offer an excuse, follow it up with some facts and then go on to prove that her disappearance was indeed relevant to the general schema of life. The second one seemed to her like being like the plot of one of those "intelligent" Hollywood spy thrillers; everything was there and yet it seemed like it wasn't. The last kind of disappearance was what compelled her. There were so many layers to it. So many things that one could perceive, so many interpretations that could be had. It seemed like a delightful possibility. Sitting at the cashier's desk in a hardly-shopped-at grocery store, Aayana daydreamed, and daydreamed.

Truth was any plan she made seemed deliriously ingenious. She didn't think her disappearing would cause much of an upheaval, she was well aware of the fact that no one was indispensable. The trick here was to make things seem exciting. She wanted to disappear with a flourish, leave a note, probably specifying not to look for her. She sat there lost in her thoughts when a customer walked up to her. For the first time in what seemed like years, she finally put to use what her boss taught her. After giving the man his change, she sat back in her chair, daydreaming again. She knew that she would be back tomorrow, sitting at the cash register and waiting and dreaming some more. She had learned long ago that somethings just kept moving, like sunrise and sunset. They were events you could count on. Her life was an unvariable.

It was into this unvariable life of hers that her dreams began, at first just little splashes of color in her gray world. The more vivid they became, the more intense was her need to step out and disappear. She wanted to claim her tint from the rainbow and become ungray. She saw beautiful bodies to mutilate, she saw how she was going to kill each of the colorful people, until a little bit of their color slipped into her empty palette of gray and gave it depth. She kept killing, in her dreams, until she was the rainbow, full and bright, magical and magnificent, perfect.

She came to a realization: disappearing didn't have to mean going away, disappearing could mean becoming someone else. Acquiring a new personality for oneself that was so far removed from the original that it would seem like the old you had disappeared to give way to the new you. Aayana felt that this almost disappearence was better than the one she had envisioned. The idea of actually going away was not half as thrilling as being everywhere as different people. She could be the cinderella at a party who disappeared at the stroke of midnight. She could be the good samaritan who you wished you could thank.

Aayana smiled inwardly, she was going to live her dream. She saw them as a sign of things. Her dreams were telling her to become something more interesting than a casheir at the hardly-shopped-at grocer. Her dreams were asking her to reach out and seize a moment, make it her own. They told her things with such vivid detail, and her blood sang so loud in those moments of lucid intra-dimensional living that she woke up orgasmically delirious. It took her such effort to calm down. The most vivid picture her mind painted was a killing in the dark night; when the earth wore her black cloak and lined it with silver, embroidered it with stars she would step out, equipped with the finest steel. Her victim was colorful without a doubt. She did not want to kill gray people, gray people would make her grayer. The wound would be inflicted, straight to the heart first, slicing the jugular after and wiping the blade clean on the dead person's clothes. She would lay the knife across their heart and walk away; out of the dark mysterious night and disappear. The next morning she would be back as the cashier at the hardly-shopped-at grocer. Disappearing did not always have to be about going away.