Slowly driven remorse submerged the skeletal corpse as it lay on the gravel path. Ava’s face peered up towards the euphoric mirage of a pristine lake. Quivering with agony, she limped towards the water only to have her movements restricted as she collided with the harsh cold steel of a signpost. After a moment’s delay Ava squinted at the corroded letters which faintly read “Greenville”. A heroic adjustment bruesly replaced her usual face ,devoid of any emotion, as she entered the realms of a foreign empire. Traipsing into the nearest building, Ava trespassed a signpost that boldly inscribed “Commune of Rehabilitation, established by the Guru ”. She miserably collapsed before the reception, as a blurred cluster of men encircled her fallen figure.
Her psyche, nauseated was greeted by the clinical plunge of syringe inserted into her wrists. Her lousy carcass was transported into the dimensions of an audaciously yellow room in which Ava’s quick tongue immediately commenced a heated discourse with the cemented wall fixture. A coarse clamp on Ava’s shoulders calmed her into a tranquil state as the familiar group of effeminately built men surrounded her. Utter random and mounting hilarity seemed to rid Ava of the malevolent spirits trapped within her soul. A surreal seventeen minutes of intense laughter. The newfound serenity that inhabited her whole self was interrupted by a plethora of smoke shadowed by the hoarse voice of a haggard man moving towards Ava. “Exuberant laughter quenches the soul, we believe”. Mesmerised by the entrance and exit of the figure, Ava failed to recognise the slip of paper he had placed on her lap. Her innate sense of curiosity was stirred from its sleep as she attempted to decode the foreign document. Ava’s pupils darted across the paper reigniting a stagnant feeling of eagerness. Her inquisitively marked expression compelled her bodily functions to match those of the men amongst her.
The horde of men enigmatically established a line of tribal instruments and stood in silence where their eyes solemnly conversed with Ava’s. Battling with much intimidation, Ava reluctantly joined the disorderly drumming of the men. Ava initial’s awkwardness was glazed with passion and heat as her roughly moulded palms beat against the hard wood djembes. The salty waters diminished Ava’s china blue corneas as tears spilt down her emaciated face. This exquisite pain of misunderstanding was oddly adjoined by the crowd of enigmas around her. Ava’s gradual descend into gratitude deemed her restless throughout the night. She fidgeted with the creased paper she had questioned earlier, studying its premise. Slowly decoding the language identifying the prior outbursts of laughter and drumming as regimes on the sheet.
Ava awoke an incandescent sunrise as she stretched her arms across the vast patch of weeds. An acquainted figure neared her position, it was the old man, the Guru. He lay beside her as he began to speak of a strange tale. The Guru explained this.
“A life time ago there simply existed a girl, blanked with emotions that suffocated her. She breezed through her vacant life, until one day pills rid her soul from her body, and thus she no longer simply existed either.”
Ava immediately assumed herself as another expendable loss, as the guru shameless accused Ava of leading this life. He inspected her predictably yearnful eyes, this silent treaty ensured the Guru’s protection over her. Ava presumed that from this moment that she needn’t ever to speak to him again. She had encountered much more emotion through the past day than in a lifetime and her desperate desire to truly live was emergent of the appreciation she held for this absurd commune.
The first class had commenced. Ava wondered into a room, inquisitively grasping the concept of crying. Figures of men and women tightly embracing each other, purely unleashing their insecurities into the other person as their tear soaked faces began to saturated those of the clothes they wore. Ava was overwhelmed by the intimate grasp upon her as a short elderly lady continuously pounded her head against Ava’s breast. The woman made piercing cries into Ava’s chest forcing tears to spill down Ava’s face as she too bawled intensely out of anguish. A midst the howls of sorrow Ava stopped, exhausted, she pulled away from the old woman and glanced around. She lashed out abruptly, in uncertainty, “Is sanity non-existent amongst you people?” Immediately tainted by guilt, she shamefully acknowledged that these were the mere strangers that attempted to support to her. These were friends that bore the same sorrow and misunderstanding, yet she was criticising them?
Ava fled to the commune’s library, she desired a silent atmosphere where she could gather her thoughts. No interruptions. She crouched into one of the aisles peering upon the other figures through the gaps in the bookshelf. Her subconscious denied her to equate herself amongst these senseless low-lives, however scrutinizing over the quire mannerisms of these other beings only illustrated how alike she was to them.
Was this her station? Ava’s behaviour deemed her more colourful and vulnerable than prior self during her time at the commune. This force field of suppression, of denial, had been destroyed as she exposed the raw material within her in a most bipolar way. This establishment hadn’t damaged her but possibly repaired her in a most alternative form. Really, a most authentic form.
It was an invisible kibbutz in the midst of nowhere. The town of “Greenville”