August 21, 2000

I want out. Down those tracks and into the woods a tired tale of a tortuous murder is told over and over again by spirits who are stuck here just as I am. Up past this red light is where I attended my best friend’s funeral. This is the bridge we used to sit under and smoke cigarettes. Those three white crosses over on the corner are for some cheerleaders I attended high school with. Down that street is the trailer park where almost half of my old friends now live. I used to work right across from that trailer park which is right across the street from a landfill that smells of rotten eggs and sugar. There’s my old house where I used to contemplate thoughts of suicide brought on by teenage adolescence. Five minutes down the road is where my first true love used to live, but he too moved to the trailer park. On the outskirts of town there is a river where the body parts of an old friend were thrown after a drug deal gone bad. By my current house there is an oversized, always crowded Super Kmart that once possessed a forest of pine trees three years earlier. This is the same house I lived in when my best friend called the night before she died and I was out of town. Past the Super K is the mall I used to frequent every Saturday night at age fourteen looking for the love of my life to show face that night. They have since put down carpeting in the mall, banned smoking, and put in a 24 screen cinema that attracts people from all sides of Houston. Traffic is now always backed up and I have since banned myself from the mall. The tracks off 1st street I used to walk down searching for pastures of shrooms are the same tracks that lead to the two snake pits where a 14 year old girl was thrown in and left for dead by two other friends of mine. These are the same pits that were used as punishment for slaves. There is also a graveyard nearby where those slaves are buried.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist