“Why does life scare you?“, people ask her. “Why does life scare you?“, a person asks her.
“Why does life scare you?“, her life asks her.
“No idea”, she answers.
How can’t she be scared of life? The sky above her, so dark and danger-ous. Not the beautiful dark blue of “A starry night”, laced with the bright glow of yellow stars, no, pitch black with white spots like a disease. How can’t she be scared when this above her could be water without a bottom to end and she could be dangling upside down and surely, her feet would suddenly lose touch with the earth beneath her and she would fall fall fall into one of those white spots, forever gone, sucked to no-where, where there was not even a fence to mark where the where ended, there was just no.
How can’t she be scared of life? The river around her, dark and drowning-ous. But it’s somehow not water around her, it’s something else, not air either. The thing around her, it is suffocating her, how is she not dead, when she cannot breathe? How is she not dead, when she does not move? How is she not dead? H-O-W. The letters flow away from her, in the river without water. And then she realizes what the no-t-water is. Or better, what it isn’t: No-thing. No-thing, in which there aren’t even letters to build the word no, aren’t even lips to form the word no, aren’t even throats to sound the word no.
How can’t she be scared of life? The earth of the riverbed below her, dark and dandelion-ous. They are defying the no-thing. But how can’t she be scared when the lions would surely bite off her toes when she took off her shoes, and she couldn’t walk, tumbling, falling. She’d lie there forever, the lions beside her, laughing at her. No-body would find her, because she lost parts of hers, and no-body wanted to go where they might lose bits of their own no-body. Only dande-lions were here, on the dande-ground, in the dande-river, below the dande-trees and under the dande-sky.
How can’t she be scared of life? The trees around her, dark and disaster-ous. She imagines there’s something growing inside her, the kind of black, ominous root with thorns that covers the suddenly oh-no-so-wonderful castle and keeps the princess trapped. But the princess is dumb and steps out on the thorns, and she dies and her blood makes the root grow and grow until there is just darkness and disaster, and her supposed-to-be inner beauty is suddenly oh-no-so-wonderful.
She’s lucky people, person and life judge by the outside.
Except the no-bodies, they can see the no-where that is growing inside her, oh-no-so-wonderful, and the no-thing that flows around her. She can’t ask w-h-o they are because the river, the no-thing took away those letters.
But it’s oh-no-so-wonderful inside them, too.
The only think she could do is ask them Y. She still has that letter.
But No-bodies don’t ask “Why does life scare you?”. So she doesn’t ask Y because she knows.
No-bodies live in no-where and it’s oh-no-so-wonderful there, because there is no fence to mark where the where ends, there’s just no and no-thing, not even letters to build the word no, not even lips to form the word no, not even throats to sound the word no.
“Why does life scare you?”, people ask her.
“Why does life scare you?”, a person asks her.
“Why does life scare you?”, her life asks her.
“No”, she answers