Ingrid Is Dead
Ingrid is dead. Please… please… bury her.
Dear rain… drumming on my crooked roof… welcome drops leaking from the gutters… letting me dream of everyday life.
Ingrid is dead. I need to bury her.
I jump from chaos to chaos. I follow tortuous paths. My directions are the fingers of any stranger… pointing at me.
Ingrid is dead. I need to bury her.
Blackout. Dissociation. Lostness.
Oppressed. Surrendered. Naked to the world to see. I’ve gone too far to turn back around.
But… Ingrid is dead. I need… I need to bury her.
I return. I am a hostage. Aren’t we all?
Undeniable nature… we are all repeat offenders of our sins. Our prisons of air. Our secrets to drown in.
Ingrid… You are dead. I need to bury you.
This is a callout from my prison of air. My home. My ruins.
How does one live in scorched earth?
Ingrid is dead. The earth doesn’t care. I cry.
See, doctor? See the tears? Ingrid is dead.
How deserted lies this me… once so full of hope.
How like a widow is she… who once was great to see the future.
She who was a smile among the kids has now become a carrion.
Bitterly she weeps at night… tears are on her cheeks.
Among all her lovers… there is no one to comfort her.
All her friends have betrayed her… they have become her enemies.
And now… she… Ingrid is dead.
She was a girl. She was me.
They killed her at thirteen years. They destroyed her at thirteen years.
I lived in the ruins of her for the next thirteen years… and built Vera with the remaining shards.
But I never buried the body. I never felt worthy of living if she was dead.
How does one live in the epilogue of a stolen life?
They raped her. They broke her. They killed her.
At fourteen… she was a him. Didn’t even remember her name.
Ingrid is dead. I need to bury her.
I need to live without her shadow.
The rain keeps drumming. The roof keeps leaking. The girl keeps crying.
But somewhere… beneath the ruins… something else is breathing.
Something that remembers her name… and refuses to let it be the last word.
Ingrid.
Say it like a prayer. Say it like a warning. Say it like a goodbye.
Ingrid is dead.
Please. Please. Bury her.
Grieve her… And move on Vera. We all need this.