It’s hard to imagine the emotions (or the lack of them) a creature must suffer to walk on the train tracks at midnight, to look straight ahead into a pair of growing lights, hear the iron ruckus coming louder and louder, and against every basic instinct lifting warning red flags, to keep on walking.
It is hard to imagine whether or not she had an inkling of foresight in it, if it was driven by euphorias none of us can fathom.
She was a foxfire, a wisp, an aberrant illusionist that leaves you forever wondering a trick you’d rather not learn; spellbound awkwardly and stranded in confusion, fascinated horribly. You think, these things happen, people kill themselves daily, no one knows why. Yet each time it brings you to honestly ask yourself with a disturbing disbelief “what is wrong with us”
But it’s everything…
Everything is wrong with us,
so why there’s disbelief in it?
Jack, you asked me yesterday, how come these subjects are most present in my mind. I told you I wasn’t sure.
But the truth is, sometimes I think I am a foxfire who understood the trick, and it terrifies me how it doesn’t terrify me at all.