Feeding The Habit

"I will go in this Way, Oh but I will find my own way out." -Dave Matthews

Thursday, February 17, 2005

Third Eye Blind (excerpt)

Snoop shut the door behind him, quietly, and made his way through the house. Some things he felt with his fingers, others, he smelled.
With eyes closed, he let his fingers lead across walls until he stood in what must be her bedroom.
He refused to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see it.
In the closet, he settled down on top the pile of shoes and clothes, ignoring at first the heel sticking in his back, then, as the hours cam closer, focusing on it, isolating that pain grinding by his spine, passing the haze, making his eyes see splashes of white.

He dozed there through most of those hours until he woke to a steady breath.
The slit of light that had shot through the closet door when he arrived was replaced with a solemn black.
Slowly, Snoop crept out from his nest and felt along the foot of the bed. He followed it the length until he came to the dresser, where he quietly took off his shoes.
The top of it came just above his waist, and its length stretched out as long as a coffin. Carefully he climbed on top of it.
Her breathing came quicker as the jewels in the box rattled while Snoop steadied himself.
Finally, he sat, perched on the edge of it, toes hanging off, facing her on the bed below. He listened to each breath dragged in between her teeth, his heart beat slowed at intervals of each breath until it matched hers.
He reached his hand around to his back pocket and slowly began the count to one hundred.