The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us

I seem to have this habit of being inspired at 2 or 3 am and writing short stories based off of songs. So this time it was a Sufjan Stevens song, one of my favorites. Here's the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRW2g2l49fk

I'm not sure how i feel about this one yet. It has a few things going for it, but generally I think my first one was better. Here it goes~

The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us

            It’s deep winter and the snowstorm has created a dark frost over the window.  I’ve been thinking a lot recently, thinking outrageously. I sit here now writing this letter in cursive to you, knowing this recollection will never find your hands. The cold has spread throughout the house and as I write here, wearing three layers of coats and leg warmers, I am reminded of you and that night we were together. The storm carried the same cold, but here it is not your breath I see on the face of the door, but my own. I can no longer seem to grown warm.

            I remember staying awake that night, not quite sleeping, but pretending to, laying fast in bed. Watching that storm grow out the window, I remember seeing the wasp, wings outstretched, creeping along the bedroom wall just above your headboard. You shuffled in your sleep, and eventually the wasp disappeared into the darkness of the storm.

            The next day, the storm calmed and we took a trip north of Savanna- to the palisades. We fooled around the whole way, as best friends do, sharing our love for each other in our laughter and energy. On a dare you stripped naked and ran splashing into the freezing water; I followed shortly behind. The water bit, but the thrill was exhilarating. Racing back to the car to dry ourselves, I remember my brother’s red hat catching the wind- but you were there to save it, and I came out wearing it.

             I remember suddenly growing jealous of you, and all of my old memories returned, and I despised myself for it. The wasp reappeared, floating down through the frost and stung you seven times there on the shoulder, close to the heart. You ran off to the car, washing your face in your hands with your tears. 

            I’ve never felt worse about any time of my life.

            I’d only meant to tease you; I never intended harm. I ran after you and tried to soften the wasp stings, but to no avail. For I saw the wasp sitting on the length of my arm.

            We’ve seen so many things together dear friend, throughout this state and beyond. So many that they start to become a blur. Wonders bright, and rivers, lakes. The Trail of Tears, and Horseshoe Lake. Back then we trusted things beyond mistake. But this was a mistake that could not be taken back despite my efforts.

            We were in love then, innocent youthful love. That day at the palisades haunts me, replaying in my memory too often to function normally… Even now I wait. I tell myself I can wait just a bit longer, I can wait. Oh, Lamb of God, we chased after you that night, sounding the horn. Now all of you that we find is the ghost that was born within ourselves.

            I can’t explain the state that I’m in, the state of my heart. You were my best friend. At the palisades, we climbed into the car from the backseat and I found such admiration in falling asleep, forgetting the wasp and just being with you…

            All of my powers, day after day, are spent regretting everything, all those times the wasp appeared. For I can tell you, every time she did, we swaggered and swayed. I’ve tried throughout my life to lock away these memories and regrets deep in the tower of my mind, the free and beautiful prairies below. But they were never contained. I can tell you, the telling gets old.

            Finally, that last night during the worst leg of that storm, the sting was too strong. We’ve created all these memories throughout our lives- I can tell you the day we were born. But now, my friend, you’re gone. You ran away into that terrible storm. Despite all of our efforts, we couldn’t find you in that darkness and cold. We lost you. But I can tell you, I still love you each day. Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged, I can honestly tell you that I love you each day.

            That terrible sting, that terrible storm. I can tell you….. The predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us.

            I miss you now more than ever. Sometimes I still expect you to come running out to greet me from the woods, saved from the frost. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t love and miss you. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t regret my part in your flight.

            I wish I could take everything back. I suppose that’s the point of this letter- some way to trap my conscience and memories in the prison of paper and ink. I would give up my life to just bring you back again. But, alas, that is not possible.

            Or maybe I thought writing it out would somehow bring you back, move the ghost inside me to come out of hiding and find your body.

            I doubt either will work.

            I love you. I miss you. Beyond words. But I guess I will have to wait until it is our time again. The time of friends. The time of death. The time of reunion…

            The time of love.