Tuesday, April 25, 2017

#7 - The Death of Casagemas

She remembered her father’s funeral clearly. Apparently a year had passed since the call from her step-mother, however since then Banks was so numb that the passage of time wasn’t something that mattered anymore. She didn’t know whether Jimmy’s still held her job, and frankly she didn’t care. Her job with the art gallery had barely gone through, and while there were voicemails piling up from other galleries offering art shows to her, she didn’t answer them. Most days Banks just slept. In a ball, on the floor of her living room. Sleeping hurt much less than being awake. Except for when the hurt entered her dreams, and she woke up sobbing into the floor of her red carpet; leaving dark tear stains. The insurance company had given her mass amounts of money, that now sat in various places collecting interest. But no amount of money could fill the gaping hole that grew in her chest. Her apartment became a grayer version of what it had been before, as the creative blossoming of art slowly faded away to nothingness; just like Banks herself.

Raising of voices
Then total silence occurs
Nothing makes it up

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