Astrid The Devil

Astrid Snow: MONSTER

What makes me Astrid?


Sometimes I’m sitting somewhere and the darkness hits me. It sinks into me and it’s like…it’s something that has been there forever. And I feel old. I feel like the oldest thing on Earth, like the oldest secret on the planet, and there is never a cold like that. It’s not real, but it’s a cold that you can’t get away from, even on fire. In the dark especially, though I don’t think anything is as dark as…


See, that happens a lot. I remember things that I don’t remember. Does that make sense? I am in places that I haven’t been. Like that darkness. Or in Paris with some dude, some dude I never met. Or staring at myself as a baby or as a teenager. Sometimes it’s really dark and I’m still in all those places, just sucked down into nothing.


That loneliness crushes me and everything is too dark.


I remember seeing light for the first time and sometimes even hearing things. Hearing the sound of that darkness, hearing waves. I remember all that. I remember my mother’s face from different angles. That’s the scary part…I can’t remember if I’m seeing her for the first time or the last when I think of her dying. Am I seeing her from above or below? Why can I remember both?


That’s why I hate questions. I don’t know random things. Simple things. Some things that I should know. Even small questions like, ‘how old are you’ really irritate me. Sometimes I want to say ageless. Sometimes I remember to say 27.


It feels like I was alive forever in that dark. Being pulled. Rushing down. Sometimes it feels like I’m still there. Sometimes I see my mother bloated and picked away, there. Wherever I was.


But I never remember the inbetween. From the middle of the ocean to the shore. I remember the colossal. I remember the crunch vibrating from my mother’s hand. I remember the pain in my ears. The darkness, even with my eyes open.


And then a switch. Click. And the shore. That bright light. I’ve been in love with bright lights and sunshine ever since. I need it to sleep.


It feels like I’m being dramatic. I don’t mention it out loud. It just really sits with me sometimes.


I know I’m me. I know I grew up, bad shit happened, I survived. I know I protect Chaunce. I know these things.


But am I Astrid?