Status: This is the strangest story you will ever have the pleasure of reading.
The Entanglement of Cat and Rin Schrodinger
Ch.5
Chapter five
Rin
Purgatory.
A word has been biting at my mind all day. This is very common for me. A word will show up in my head the morning and will not leave me until I’ve used them somewhere. Mostly they make no sense. Some I’ve heard before and some I haven’t. This sunrise, it’s a new one: Purgatory.
Pur·ga·to·ry, n. A place of suffering. In Roman Catholic doctrine, the place where souls remain until they have expiated their sins and can go to heaven.
The first thing I notice is that purr is an odd way to start such a word. I’d expect a cruel, hard consonant. Instead they started it with a good, soft sound in a representation of something so awful. I thank god I’m not Christian. It must be so confusing.
My grandmother was a Christian once. I visited her a few times before she died. That first time I still remember. My mother was nervous and sweaty in the car; I was five. We arrived at the house, a bundle of blanket, since I had slept on the way there. When grandmère opened the door, the first thing I noticed was her eyes. This was unusual because I go out of my way to avoid looking at eyes. They were turquoise, like mine. My mother had told me this before we arrived there, but I didn’t really understand what she was saying until I saw her eyes by myself. They met mine with a force that knocked me down, but instead of a hurricane, it was a tidal wave surging with all the ocean’s comfort and stability behind it. Encircling me. I understood, as did she, that while she was water and I was air, we were both very alike. That evening, when the voices started (at that time I called them the Monstewers) and my mother’s mouth brimmed to the top with the normal excuses, grandmère waved them away and came and sat with me the entire night until they had stopped. She wrapped me with warm currents and told me stories from her old black beat up bible way past the point when I’d stopped screaming. Maybe that’s where I heard the word Purgatory. I’d probably stored it somewhere forgotten until it came back today.
I close the dictionary and get up from the table, my eyes fixed on a picture hanging on the wall. The photograph of grandmère was taken about sixty years ago, so her beautiful young face is framed around with grays, whites and blacks. I can still tell her eyes are turquoise. They can shine through the dullest of screens.
I know it’s not true, but I can’t help but think grandmère did teach me the word. For a reason. It doesn’t matters now though. She died six years ago, and is now probably in her heaven turning a blind eye to the hell below her. What bothers me is that I didn’t even known the ocean could have a blind eye.
Purrrr/Gato/Rye. My mind splits into panels.
Purgatory. It’s a time of waiting, vague,unclear, apathetic unhappenings. It’s not such a bad word. I do wonder though, when my purgatory will be complete and I may move on to whichever heaven or hell is waiting for me.
Rin
Purgatory.
A word has been biting at my mind all day. This is very common for me. A word will show up in my head the morning and will not leave me until I’ve used them somewhere. Mostly they make no sense. Some I’ve heard before and some I haven’t. This sunrise, it’s a new one: Purgatory.
Pur·ga·to·ry, n. A place of suffering. In Roman Catholic doctrine, the place where souls remain until they have expiated their sins and can go to heaven.
The first thing I notice is that purr is an odd way to start such a word. I’d expect a cruel, hard consonant. Instead they started it with a good, soft sound in a representation of something so awful. I thank god I’m not Christian. It must be so confusing.
My grandmother was a Christian once. I visited her a few times before she died. That first time I still remember. My mother was nervous and sweaty in the car; I was five. We arrived at the house, a bundle of blanket, since I had slept on the way there. When grandmère opened the door, the first thing I noticed was her eyes. This was unusual because I go out of my way to avoid looking at eyes. They were turquoise, like mine. My mother had told me this before we arrived there, but I didn’t really understand what she was saying until I saw her eyes by myself. They met mine with a force that knocked me down, but instead of a hurricane, it was a tidal wave surging with all the ocean’s comfort and stability behind it. Encircling me. I understood, as did she, that while she was water and I was air, we were both very alike. That evening, when the voices started (at that time I called them the Monstewers) and my mother’s mouth brimmed to the top with the normal excuses, grandmère waved them away and came and sat with me the entire night until they had stopped. She wrapped me with warm currents and told me stories from her old black beat up bible way past the point when I’d stopped screaming. Maybe that’s where I heard the word Purgatory. I’d probably stored it somewhere forgotten until it came back today.
I close the dictionary and get up from the table, my eyes fixed on a picture hanging on the wall. The photograph of grandmère was taken about sixty years ago, so her beautiful young face is framed around with grays, whites and blacks. I can still tell her eyes are turquoise. They can shine through the dullest of screens.
I know it’s not true, but I can’t help but think grandmère did teach me the word. For a reason. It doesn’t matters now though. She died six years ago, and is now probably in her heaven turning a blind eye to the hell below her. What bothers me is that I didn’t even known the ocean could have a blind eye.
Purrrr/Gato/Rye. My mind splits into panels.
Purgatory. It’s a time of waiting, vague,unclear, apathetic unhappenings. It’s not such a bad word. I do wonder though, when my purgatory will be complete and I may move on to whichever heaven or hell is waiting for me.
♠ ♠ ♠
PUR!!GATO!
RYE!