Free Silly Girl by Brandon Berntson Page B

vision of her death assaulted her:
    The August heat had suffocated her, burning her cheeks, the back of her neck. She’d been coughing up blood, dirt, and broken glass. Manny had pulled her pants down, exposed for all to see. Nothing honorable in that—even death had stripped her of dignity.
    “Is this a joke?” she said in death.
    She could hardly remember the rape, a single, chaotic blur.
    She’d avenge herself if she could remember who she was. Identity was the key to freedom. All she had to do was remember her name. Yes! She’d pluck Manny’s balls from between his thighs!
    Did someone, something laugh as life slipped away? She was still lying in the alleyway! What a cruel, insensitive world!
    Amanda Dear couldn’t blame them. The same world had shaped and molded her into the woman she was now. She’d probably do the same, she thought.
    For the moment, however (still sailing through the dark of space), she forgot about Manny, that he’d raped her at all. Her chance for redemption would come later.
    Amanda closed her eyes, trying to forget she’d actually lived. This amusement park was more thrilling anyway, if not questionable. Some things were actually on her side here, it seemed.
    It’s about time, Amanda thought, and sailed through the confines of limitless space. Sometimes, death could be so predictable.

    *

    It had to be more complete. Death wavered. Sometimes, it thrilled; often, it disappointed. Through the unexplainable—the dark of death—she sailed on, the life she’d lived unfolding before her eyes like a movie screen.
    Amanda moved into a deeper darkness of death, one with fewer stars and consuming black.
    “Mommy?” she said. “Is that you?”
    No reply. An ache developed at her crotch. Apparently, she was still in the alley lying on her stomach and coughing up blood. Someone pointed to her and laughed. She could barely see an ambulance out of one swollen eye. It backed into the alley, police sirens wailing, making her head throb.
    Could someone turn that down, please?
    An officer told everyone to back away. There was nothing to see.
    She’d died on the way to the hospital, she remembered.
    But just as quickly, she returned to the afterlife, not reliving her death in the city. Manny stood in front of her. Had he died, too? Why was he here? Amanda didn’t know, but suddenly…
    Manny kicked her in the stomach. He’d done that before, the reason she’d been spitting up blood in the alley in the first place. He’d pulverized her then, and he was doing it again now, even though she was dead. Manny, apparently, owned power in death.
    Flares of fire shot through Amanda Dear’s abdomen. Blinding light sent her farther into space. Manny, too, made of stars of his own, and Amanda sailed with the momentum of his power.

    *

    Manny was gone. She slowed through space, and the pain subsided.
    Death would be something like this, she thought, a constant reminder, never making sense.
    No wonder she had the thoughts she did. Beauty had always been out of reach, but not now. Beauty was the only thing worth reaching for.
    Another moment in life presented itself, much different than the memories she had of Manny, mommy, and the others.
    Amanda Dear was lying on a bed, looking out the window at the stars. The Milky Way stretched across a cloudless sky.
    Something about stars, she thought. Salvation and death are in the stars.
    She didn’t know it then, but she was looking into the afterlife.
Amanda smiled.
    The window was open. A cool summer breeze, the scent of lush grass and pine trees came in from the window. She’d just finished grinding to an hour of good sex. Amanda Dear needed a cigarette.
    She was made of stars. She pulsed and tingled with lights of her own. The memory was telling her this.
    Yet, this wasn’t Jon the Doctor, Shelby, or Manny. Those bastards never made her feel this way.
    Ah! She had it!
    “I love you, Wesley,” she said.
    Yes. At one time, Wesley had been her guardian, the man