Scout E.S. in the Shadows

Posts

Scout on Existing/Words

Words are everything. Words line my spine and every inch of my intestines, words cover every spot on my skin, over it, under it, in it. Words define me, define who I will be, and what I’m looking for. They know every secret and insecurity, even though I don’t tell them, don’t approve of their existence, their absorption of my being. The words come from everyone, from directions I didn’t know existed, from people who weren't speaking to me and don’t know my name. The only words that are mine confirm what they have rooted inside me. I sit scrubbing them off with wool wire and drinking bleach to pour them from the inside out, but to no avail. You can’t erase what isn’t really there, can’t kill a ghost or maim a spirit. I grab onto poles in trains and hang onto car doors, hoping I don’t get pushed behind and forgotten, hoping I am real. The only thing that makes me feel real is words. They give me meaning, give me something to define, something to become, something to look for. I l...

Scout on 2026/Perish

I pine, I perish. I watch myself from above as I lose my mind over a glance and a laugh. It glazes over me like the silky mixture covering donuts, but in my case, it doesn’t sweeten me; it hardens like a crust. It pretends to be enough to hide that delicate, doughy base underneath. It pretends like the lights above don’t burn their eyes, and the sound of the televisions doesn’t fry their brain. I enjoy light distractions until I get upset with myself for running from reality. You can only run from the world for so long before it comes banging at your door, pushing aside the glaze and releasing you, all dough. I always dreamed of being a righteous politician, changing the world in a fair system that would reward my intelligence and integrity. Now I watch my country become the opposite of what it was, what I was taught it stood for. Born and raised in the United States, with the language and culture of Egypt in my veins. I believed that being here was better, being an American, whe...

Scout on Memories/In the Stars

I wanted to write a story about you. That’s why I ran down to Chan’s Grocery so late at night; I needed to get one of those stupid drinks you love to try and trigger a memory. It was something you had said on one of the days we sat outside of the little shop, with its blinding lights hitting our backs in the dark street. I was always in the light when I was with you, inside and out. Anyway, that day we were laughing so hard that people thought we were drunk. You had spit out your drink so far that it practically hit a moving car, which made us laugh harder and stumble back into the store to buy more, much to the amusement of the teenage cashier. Well, I forgot what had made us laugh so hard, so I thought that sitting here and drinking that terrible sugary concoction might bring it back into my mind. The cashier is different, much older and more tired, so I hope I don’t have to hysterically repurchase anything. I’m not sure if time is messing with my head, but sitting here, the li...

Scout on Disconnect/Letters

I wrote you a letter, but you never responded. I guess I could summarize it here, but you might not be able to get the original sentiment. It’s more of the fact that I can’t remember exactly how I felt when I wrote it, or what I felt that entire year, to be honest. I know who was there and, most importantly, who wasn’t, and that I was absent, at least mentally. Sometimes I look back and wonder what would have happened if I weren’t me, if I did things like all the people around me, who everyone says are more reasonable and level-headed. The truth is that I’m sorry about how I treated you. You never deserved to be ignored or taken for granted, but I can’t say that you didn’t set it up for yourself. Watching those people trample you and waiting so long to leave, it was as if you thought you couldn’t do better. Maybe you couldn’t, and maybe you still can’t, but there has to be more out there. If you weren’t so angry and rash all the time, then- no, I didn’t mean that, not completely....

Scout on Flowers/Smooth Blues

A man in a stiff black suit holding flowers and cheap chocolates walks into a well-lit dining room with untouched plate ware, chandeliers, and landscape paintings. A dull, empty vase and a cold rack of ribs sit on the table by a sad yet otherworldly beautiful woman. Her red lipstick is stained on a wine glass, with the evidence of an empty champagne by her side. Their eyes meet as he places the bouquet into the vase and the chocolates beside. He walks off down the long, dark hall, and the woman grabs the flowers. A thorn cuts her finger, and she calmly wipes the blood on the pristine white tablecloth. Tears drip down her unmoving face as she grabs the rack of ribs and walks off into the dark kitchen behind her. A single petal falls from one of the roses. The hallway in front of the dining room lights up as the television plays a sultry romantic comedy, drowning the woman’s hysterical crying. The sun rises, and the house is unchanged except for many fallen petals. The woman, in a ...

Scout on Deserving Better/Five

Five days ago, he called. Said he was lost, that he ‘needed’ me. I’ve heard that one before, I told him, and shut the phone. I regretted it immediately, of course; I loved him, would never stop loving him, but I couldn’t do that to myself again. I couldn’t settle for carelessness when it was all I had known, when it was everything that had damaged me and everything I despised. There were sleepless nights were I had sat repeating to myself that I deserved better, I deserved someone who noticed when I was there and when I wasn’t, what I liked and what I hated, what I wanted and not just what I needed. It's Friday night, and I sit waiting in front of my phone for his call. Deep down, I don’t believe I can do better. What made me any more deserving of love than anyone else? I should take it in any shape, way, or form that it comes because it’s better than nothing. It’s better than sleeping alone. A small, younger part of me doesn’t truly think that. It’s the part of me that doesn’t...