After having been spat out of hell she would walk through fire, swimming against rip tides and all manner of unnatural quests in order to... is this it? Seems rather anti-climactic yet.
Perchance some semblance of subtext is in order, but I’ll offer little in the way of explanation. It can never make good sense no matter how much I say. The story is settled solidly in the absurd. A life like this can only have been lived blindly, no mirrors, no self reflection. This will come clear in the telling: you will find me a grown woman, still floundering and uncertain as a child. Bottom line: I never knew how to act. I behaved poorly at each offered opportunity.
Once and always, when at a crossroads I’d manage to go backwards. Or fall tumbling and unaware, though the nth time, into some netherworld of my own sordid creation. Now that I am reformed, even if it comes from the most genuine place within me, (I swear such a place exists!) No one can swallow sincerity from the likes of me. Hard to believe that this pretender could be decent. I know I say I’m faking but all that I pronounce henceforth is the truth and nothing but.
It’s the same old story, you’ll come to find. But it’s a good one and it gets better with each telling. Each installment is a new brand of rejection and humiliation and a reminder that there is no walk-away-clean to be had here. You’ll pay through the nose girl. Forever and ever, world without end, amen.
Not that I am without faith, nor do I mind, really. I am well aware this chase will prove endless; there’s no finish line in sight as I run full tilt toward some imagined horizon. Fortuitously, the drive within me is indefatigable and of some alien (divine?) origin. From whence it comes I cannot say. Source matters little though. Watch me, I’m racing in a brand new direction and going nowhere. At least there is solace in movement, at any rate I’ve something to blather on and on about. I’ve a lot to tell.
