Memories of June 28th and More

Recently, I keep thinking about the chipmunk I buried earlier this year. I'm still not sure why I did, but it felt right. Better than leaving it on the sidewalk. Its small body almost ripped in two. I remember digging through the dirt with my hands. All my clothes were getting muddy and as I pushed my hair back, so was my face.

I had held it with a leaf when I carried it into the forest, but when I laid it down to finally rest I pet it a few times. Its body cold but its fur still so soft. I started crying at one point. I don't cry often or easily but something about this broke me. I stared at the now filled hole and began to give a mindless speech. The life the chipmunk held, the others it knew, what it experienced. As I stared into the moon all I could do was cry for the small animal's life. Babbling about a life I did not know.

I sat and cried for a while, but I could not stay. I bowed down to the chipmunk. Another thing I'm not sure why I did, but felt right. It still feels right. As I walked back to the house, the remnants of my actions stayed. The dirt on my clothes and face. The tears staining my face. The pain in my chest. I hope it lived a good life. I hoped I could ease the afterlife. I hope life is kinder to me and that chipmunk. I hope its life was kinder than its death.

I think if I told people, they would not believe me. If they did they would just think I was odd. Maybe I am, sure. But I think disbelief is more likely. Unbelieving at the fact that I would do it for no real reason. Unbelieving that I had not just kicked it to the grass. What I did feels right to me. But I do not think it would match how people view me. A coldhearted person that does not care about others. Someone that goes on their own without a second glance towards anyone in the area. 

I remember the first time my mom called me coldhearted. She framed it as a joke but I'll never forget my 8 year old self sitting in the theatre hearing that. I didn't think much of it then I don't think. But now I think of it all the time. That was before I was more closed off. Am I more coldhearted now in other's eyes? Does the chipmunk view me differently? A person can never really be themselves. It can be easier when you're alone. But were my actions my own? Was I following some delusions in my mind? Does the lack of outward emotion make me lesser? Even when I try to feel, it always comes short in my head.

I'm glad I buried that chipmunk. I'm glad that even if the audience was just the moon, that I could do that for the chipmunk. I hope life is kinder to me and that chipmunk. We cannot express ourselves wholly, but that does not mean our existence is less.

(click for better quality)

A piece I made inspired by the events.

The memorial left in place.