This way, that way, left and right. Up above, down below, left or right? Black and white and gray and blue? Lower, lower, what do you see? Nothing, sir, I see nothing. Exactly, do you know why? No sir, I don’t. Good. Turn around to your left, wait no, to your right, see there? See there? It’s black and blue and red and green and big and small and shapeless and square and round and tall. Feel that? That wind, that thing? Sliding, squirming, touching, feeling, it’s sour and sweet and salty and fresh. See there? Squint your eyes, is it too dark? Wait –what’s that sound? Over there! No to your left, no –right. Do you hear it? Listen, listen its there. Loud yet not, here yet there, left or right, where is it? Find it, find it.
Drip, drop goes the tap water against a white sink. Drip, drop the sound echoes through the dirtied bathroom walls, walls stained with dirt and dust and mud and grime. Off-white tiles covered with it, the grime, the mud, the filth, me, you, them, us. An arm sprawled around the foul toilet lid, inside only clear water swirls. Throat so soar, can’t barely talk, can you? Breathe, breathe. The air isn’t there it whistles by your lungs, whoosh, it goes, out but not in, chest rises and falls rapidly trying to catch some lingering tastes of oxygen, it’s there, it’s there.
Breathe.
You can’t, can you?
The bathtub’s curtain is torn to shreds; they lay atop your body. Inside, mixed with the dirty water blood swirls in circles and circles and circles. Blood, red and crimson, dirty and clean. Do you hear that? Drip drop drip goes the tap water, drip drop drip goes the blood, drip drop drip goes the bathroom. It is almost like a song, soft and sweet in the background like hearing the gentle singing of birds, the warbles and chirps composing the loveliest melody. Do you hear it now?
The shower starts running, full force, you hear that don’t you? Eyes widen, heart speeds, breathe gasps. It is quicker now, repeated drip drop drips forming a faster song, a faster rhythm. Hear it, hear it.
Hear it.
A hand wraps around your shirt. No, please god no. Yes, yes. I’ll do anything, anything you want, but, Jesus Christ just let me go, please, I haven’t done anything to you, I don’t even know you, please, god, let me go. Know me? I don’t know you; please just let me go, please, please, I beg of you. Shhh, do you hear that? W-what? Hear what? The water, it runs, it’s almost like… a prayer, listen, listen. No, no you’re crazy! Let me go, let me go, let me go, LET ME GO! I can’t. I won’t, I won’t say a word let me go let me go let me go letmegoibegofyou.
Kick, scream, yank, pull. The grip doesn’t loosen, it never does, louder, louder scream louder. Fabric tearing, throat screeching, nails digging, nails on flesh, teeth on nails. A punch, so hard on the lower jaw it stings you. The shock of it leaves you hanging like a small lifeless doll, limp, almost dead. The shower runs, the tap water drips.
Nonononononono. It can’t end like this.
Oh, but it does.
Head under the water, silent screams. Have mercy, help. Don’t do this. Kick, bubbles, scream, splashes, give up, surrender.
Silence.
What do you see? I-I can’t see anything. Now?
Black, black, black. Stark dark walls stretch impossibly forward, a small black box of nightmares, deeper, deeper. Are you in a corner? Or are you in the middle. The floor, the floor, it’s black and black and black and black. Everything’s black, it’s all black, black black black. You see but you can’t too dark, too dark. Squint, squint, move, swirl, what is this? Black, nothing but black, is this a wall or furniture? It’s black too, it looks like furniture, it has the shape of furniture. But it’s too black, too black. Move, squirm, squint, mouth hangs open in a light ‘o’ shape, eyes squinting, hands shacking, knees cackling.
Look up.
The ceiling.
Or the sky?
Ceiling or sky? Sky or ceiling? What is this, white dots, white white, blue blue, yellow yellow dots. They stretch forever, forever and ever showing no evidence of edge or ending. See? What use is sight when everything is so confusing? In the blackness something swirls and moves and shifts, head goes round and round in circles like a mad merry go round. Where am I? What is this?
Home.
What? What? Who said that? I can’t see, I can’t see, show yourself! Nothing, no movement, no voice, no chuckles, no smiles, no sound, no void, no sight, no nothing. Please, oh, please, show yourself. Is it the glasses? Glasses? What glasses? No? No! No what?! No what indeed. What?! What?! Explain yourself!
Nothing, nothing.
Move, move, you have to move, move, move move. Legs, arms, fingers, toes, shoulders, mucles, bones, they all work together. They create movement and you see. You see.
You see a flash of silver and crimson and gold and life and soul and death.
Musky, musky and dirty. It’s humid, it’s humid and musky and sweat, there’s the smell of sweat lingering in the very air you breathe. Deeper breath, deeper. Not just any sweat, it’s the sweat of bodies mingling together, dancing, dancing that dance. What is that? Where am I? The feel, there’s fabric underneath your fingers, squeeze, smell. Perfume, perfume and sweat. Where in the world…?
Humid and masky and dirty and sweaty. And… a wrinkle of the nose arms thrown roughly against your face, cover yourself, cover yourself. What’s that smell? A smell a smell most odd, misplaced, can’t place it, what’s that smell. Deeper, smell deeper. It’s terrible that smell, it smells of hospital and death. Rotting, a rotting corpse, the flesh it rots like flowers in full bloom the scent ripe and sweet and violent and horrible wafts throughout the room like a fine aroma. The smell, it’s horrible, what is that? Open one eye, a single eye to gaze at another eye.
A still and dead and scared and lifeless and rotten eye.
Sharp intake of breath, the flesh it rots and falls and weeps and dies. The flesh it smells and multiplies and spreads like a fine disease, a parasite digs into the flesh. A maggot peaks from the surface with it comes the most horrible smell, cover your nose, quick cover it. What is that? Corpse, the dead, the life, the dead, the not-living.
Musky and sweaty and dirty and dusty and humid and death.
The need to get out.
The need so overpowering to move.
But it stays, it lingers it sticks to your body as you stand, as you move as you dance as your waltz. The rotten lay sprawled on the floor like discarded toys, a half-flowered face, it smiles and smirks and the aroma. The smell, it chokes up in your throat makes the bile rise, it moves it moves and reeks and stinks. It moves and moves and fogs the mind and makes you stop, it makes you bend over at the waist, clutch you stomach, and heave. Puke, dead, smell, dying, rotting, smell, vomit, what is that? White and yellow and swirling, acid, it smells, it smells like food that once was. It smells wrong. It smells of fears.
Move, move, move, nothing, nothing nothing. Oh, there you are. What? I knew you’d be awake, you see I have a surprise for you.
The scent of fear.
The smell of lingering bodies of cheap perfume of the rotting dead.
The flowers, they bloom, the pollen floats softly on the wind. The flowers, they rot, the petals drift slowly atop the water.
Beautiful isn’t it?
What?
All this, beautiful.
It smells.
I don’t, I don’t.
Run, run, run, runrunrunrun. Move, run. Trip, fall, crush against rotting bodies, the smell the smell, eyes water, nose runs, bile rises. The vomit, the death, it’s all mixed in. Naked bodies, flower-covered bodies, rotting bodies, dead bodies.
Deaddeaddeaddeaddead.
And they move, towards you. Hands wrap tastefully around your arms, embracing, ready, there, rotting. It chokes your throat and floods your brain and dies of fright.
Little flower growing through the cracks how lovely you smell, how lovely you look as you rot and die.
Joy, memories, sadness, death, life, live, breathe. Tangy and sweet and spicy and wrong and right and left. A kiss, so soft. Soda and nachos, it’s been eating soda and nachos, is it really that pleasant? Of course not, beer and ribs, it’s been eating ribs and beer, is it really that pleasant? Of course not, steak and sauce, stake and sauce, it’s been eating stake and sauce, is it really that pleasant? Of course not, but… But? It’s there, it exists and it blossoms on your tongue and it slithers down your throat and what does is this?
Soup, the taste of the vegetables and rice lingers there on my tongue, it swims in my mouth. Is it good? Oh yes.
And the kiss? Oh no. And what else? Is there anything else? Tea, earl gray, and leaves and grass, is it any good? Oh yes, and the kiss? Oh no. Ice cream, sweet and milky and thick and nice, strawberry with real bits of the frozen fruit it adds texture, but above all, it adds to that feeling that lingers in your tongue and ties a smile to your lips. Is it any good? Oh yes. And the kiss? Oh no. Is there anything else? Oh yes, the chicken, it is tangy and sweet, oranges and pineapple mixed with the supple flavor of the white meat, all cooked tenderly so that it is tied with an invisible ribbon of flavor and flourish. Is it good? Oh yes. And the kiss? Oh no. Anything else?
Wine.
Wine? Wine, sweet and not, it lingers and leaves. Another sip, oh take another sip. It’s wonderful and red, the taste it lingers in the right ways, it tickles the taste buds and lingers just enough for the enjoyment, just enough, but then it leaves wanting more. Is it any good? Oh yes. And the kiss? I feel it. More wine?
Yes please.
It lingers, longer, longer, time stretches into forever. More, more wine waitress, more, more wine. It lingers and stretches like a fine thread it stays, it tastes… bitter. What is this taste? It poisons and spreads and lingers and grows. The throat, it closes and clenches the muscles contrast and spasm and the taste it spreads. Quickly, quickly now it spreads and stretches and grows.
Is it any good?
Oh yes.
And the kiss?
It’s there.
And?
It kills.
I like it, rough and smooth and present and not. What is this? Touch it, touch it, see? Rough and smooth, it’s just perfect, it’ll do, it’s perfect, it’ll do. But you don’t understand. I don’t, what don’t I understand? Trust me, you don’t, you don’t. See? It’s rough and smooth, but touch it here, dig your nails into that, it’s smooth and rough but it breaks easily. Watch it tear, watch it give way, watch the rough and smooth away.
It tears it breaks it pains it lives it dies it feels.
Feels.
It was smooth and rough yet no longer. What’s this? It’s rugged, rugged and lumpy, touch it, touch it. Rugged and what’s that? Run your fingers over it again and again and again, see? It’s rugged but there’s a lump, a big one, see? Is it broken? Of course not. Then, what is it? It’s the texture, it’s the feel. It’s the feel. It is. Feel it feel it. Round and continuous and smooth, it stretched on into forever and on and on it stretches on.
Fabric under your fingers. Gun at your head. Hands tied behind back. The swirling bodies, they move, they move.
The curtain, the seat, the wood, feel it, feel it. Touch it, feel it.
Not enough, not enough. The dark, the wind, its cold, its humid, its perfect. Feel it, feel it, the wind on your face. Its lovely, its there, its present, it blows, it dances and sings. It snows, it snows. It breaks, it breaks. It tears, it tears.
Lets take a shortcut, a shortcut through this alley. It feels cold and dark and scary. The walls are rugged and worn and rough. Run your hands through the bricks there, run a hand through your hair, run a hand through the walls. What are they, what is this? Sticky and warm and crimson. It runs, it runs, it flees. Or it tries.
It gets dragged back, heels against the sidewalk. No! It screams, but it screams go unheard, it feels the hand pressing against its mouth, it feels the air whooshing past. It feels everything as it gets dragged by into the house, the dark house the black house the worn house the used house.
A rope by the neck, the air is cut off. It feels like a thousand knifes getting shoved down your throat, kick, scream, don’t do this, don’t do this. The rope it tightens, it rubs against the neck, it clenches at the throat and it cuts off the air. No, please, no. It hurts, it hurts and it tires and it drifts away and the kicking stops and the whooshing breath quiets and the world swirls for one painful moment, a moment in time where it’s all pain and sensation and the feel of the rope on your fingertips and you feel every fiber, every cord, closing, closing.
And it feels no more.
- - - - - -
wheeeeee!
-P&U
Friday, March 19, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Broken Lullaby
She always had a lovely voice. A voice made for singing, something that would comfort even the most scared of children and when she sung it always demanded attention. Soft yet so full of emotion, she could hit the highest note with what seemed like incredible ease, as well as lower her voice so that it was barely above a whisper. For all her bad qualities, her singing seemed to overpower the rest.
Yet, something about her manner, the way she grew quiet, retreated to a shell of protection every time she finished a song troubled me. And I wish I knew why her eyes were so full of pain, and I wish I knew why she would stare at nothing but the floor, and I wish I knew why she refused to meet anyone’s gaze and I wish I knew so many things. Melancholy seemed to fill her every action and you could only guess at how profound her sadness was, but you could never tell how profound this sadness truly was until she closed her eyes and weaved a melody with her voice.
I watched her as her eyes closed and her rosy lips parted. A haunting melody came to life, soft and sweet, but also, hopeless.
Without a word, I reached for her hand, my finger barely squeezing her digits, but it was enough. Her song was cut short so abruptly that the room was suddenly too quiet. She met my eyes, a question encrypted in her expression.
“Is something wrong?” her eyes dropped from my gaze and her hand freed from my grasp, tucking them neatly in her lap.
“No, of course not, what would make you think that?” she said with a light smile.
And that was always the answer she would give me and she would refuse to say anything more.
And out of respect or maybe shyness, I let her have her way. I let her have her vague answers.
Even now I can’t help but think that maybe if I had insisted on an answer that day or any other day for that matter, things would be different.
***
I squinted at the paper, trying to decipher what the words imprinted on the blank sheet meant, however hard I tried the words, clearly written in plain English, seemed to jumble up together to form a whole different language. My brain moved with such slowness and that everything I read seemed to be lost merely seconds later. I couldn’t contain information; I could barely keep my eyes open!
I sighed in frustration, pushing the paper aside. I glared at the mess in my desk, for a moment I had this strong urge to just throw it all on the ground, months worth of paperwork discarded and useless. It was infuriating, everything seemed to be so much work recently, abilities or words that came naturally bubbled up slowly now, I had to urge and push them so that I could function, and I couldn’t even bring forth the tireless motivation I seemed to have had before. The day seemed to hold back, stretching the hours into years. The time couldn’t come fast enough so that I was back at home, resting in the comfort of my bed.
How I could use some sleep.
When someone knocked at my door I nearly had a heart attack, I jumped in my chair, involuntarily pushing a stack of papers that felt with a muffled ‘thump’ to the carpeted floor. I cursed beneath by breath before directing my gaze towards the wooden door.
“Come in!” I said, my voice sounding hoarse and tired.
The door swung open revealing a very flustered looking co-worker. Her eyes were wide and darting, hair stuck up around her forming a wild mane, despite having a ponytail. She panted a tad before controlling herself, running a manicured hand through her raged hair and shifting the position of her other arm, which currently seemed to be holding a menacing stack of papers. I eyed them with disdain, my frustration climbing to irritation at the prospect of more work. She moved towards my desk, setting the stack of papers down.
“More of the same,” she squealed as the only explanation, her eyes analyzing my tired expression and overall scruffiness. “Haven’t been sleeping much, eh?”
A forced a dry, humorless smile to my lips “No, the baby keeps me up at night.”
Something flashed through her eyes, maybe understanding but beneath the layers of tiredness I couldn’t be quite sure, “Ah yes, you’ll get used to not sleeping eventually. Boy or girl?”
My smile seemed more genuine now, a flash of those chubby cheeks and that little smile passing through my mind. “A girl, a chubby little girl.”
She chuckled, making a clucking sound at the back of her throat, “What’s her name?”
“Annalee.”
“Cute name,” she nodded, her hair loose, ponytail bobbing up and down as she did so “but you look like shit, really. Why not take the rest of the day off, hmm? Looks like you deserve it.”
Even before she had finished her sentence I was already shaking my head, “Naw, I’m fine, really. Just need some sleep and I’ll be up and running again, and besides, I have to finish some of this up,” I replied vaguely, waving a hand lazily to demonstrate the stack of papers. She nodded again and wobbled towards the door, turning to look one last time at me before disappearing and closing the door behind her.
I yawned loudly before turning my attention back to my work.
***
I can’t stand it anymore…
I blinked, thinking I should be crying or mourning, but nothing came. Just this feeling of detached disbelief, I found myself repeating over and over in my head: this isn’t true, this isn’t happening; it’s just a bad dream. Hoping against hoping that somehow, denying what my eyes showed me would make it all disappear. Make the truth a lie, fix it, somehow. But I knew it wouldn’t help much, yet still I just couldn’t stop myself from hoping.
It’s not you, it’s never you. Never think it is…
My gaze traveled to her face, pale and peaceful now, her eyelids closed and light makeup coloring her features, her hands neatly tucked before her, wearing her favorite dress, her wavy hair forming a halo around her face. She looked beautiful, as did she always.
You made me happy, truly happy, but there are things I tried to hide…
This time I did feel the tears come, the back of my eyes burned, but I did not welcome them, the only think about was the same question over and over again. If I did make you happy why did you do it? Why would you not speak to me? I would have tried to fix it, to make it better in any way I could. If I was making you happy why did you die? It wasn’t fair, you leave me alone, and you left me all alone and for what? If I truly did make you happy you wouldn’t have done it. You would have stayed with me, with us, with our child. You abandoned her too; you abandoned both her and me.
And I love you, I really do. But I beg you to understand…
Understand what? I wanted to scream. What was I suppose to understand?
Anger tainted my thoughts and colored my senses. I was suffering because of her cowardice, her silence. We were happy, we had a family, our daughter and everything seemed to be right when she held our daughter in her arms and softly sung a small lullaby made up of simple notes and no words.
For a minute I just held that image in my head, her arms tenderly wrapped around our child, lifting a hand to touch the baby’s cheek, a soft smile spreading across her lips. Then she seemed to have finally noticed my presence, I could see her now, lifting her eyes towards me and then…
I noticed how her smile looked fake –her eyes were sad. Infinite pools of grief, but I never asked. I never insisted, I should have pushed her for an answer and maybe then…
Maybe things would be different now.
I hope you forgive me…
Why should I forgive you?
And even if you don’t…
And I won’t and I won’t.
Is this the image she held of me?
I have just one favor to ask you…
Even when you abandon us you say this, you ask a favor. What more could I give you?
Take care of our daughter…
The thud as the coffin was closed made me lift my gaze from the letter. For a moment I just stared at it, almost as if expecting something to happen, a whisper in the wind to tell me everything would be fine. A flash of emotion to let me know if this is how she truly felt.
But nothing came except a sense of profound loss.
And with that I moved out of the way, allowing her coffin to be carried away. Outside, the wind blew softly, making the grass move in small waves. The crowd started standing up, talking in low hushed tones. Footsteps echoed in the distance. Someone sneezed, followed by a muttered “bless you.” A child complained that he felt tired and wanted to go home. Someone turned to look at me, trying to meet my gaze but eventually simply turning away with a light shake of their head. I felt someone squeeze my shoulder, mutter some words I barely understood and walked away.
My eyes traveled the white walls of the church and then down, briefly resting on the bible that rested on the large wooden table.
Then I turned around to follow the procession, a weary sigh escaping my lips.
***
The ringing of the phone was an annoying addition to my pulsing head. I was hardly in the mood to listen to these kind of loud and blaring sounds so it was to be expected that talking with anyone would prove far drearier than simply listening. So I simply vouched for ignoring its ceaseless blaring and simply turned to my own gloomy thoughts. I didn’t want to answer, I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to be comforted; I didn’t need to be comforted. I was fine all by myself.
They just keep calling…
On and on it blared until at last the answering machine picked it up.
“This is Lizzy” chimed in the voice mail message, using her voice, “And Gerry” “We’re not available right now” “But leave a message and we’ll get back to you” “As soon as possible.”
“Thanks!” chorused the recorded message.
There was silence and I found that my hands were clenched into angry fists and that I was holding my breath, expecting someone to speak, but my anxiousness was only met by more silence. After a few seconds of this I turned my head towards the sleek surface of the phone, almost expecting it to hear the clicking sound that would indicate the other person had given up and hung up. However I was mistaken in believing so.
“Gerard… I know you’re there, pick up the phone. It’s me, your brother…”
Seconds ticked by, seconds that only carried a tense moment of silence. I had been evading their calls for two weeks now, every day they called and every day I ignored. I was aware this couldn’t keep on forever but I just wanted it to stretch out for as long as it could.
But my actions spoke against my thoughts and I found myself holding the device to my ear.
“I’m here,” came my dull reply.
“Gerry?” his voice was lazed with sheer surprise “I thought you would never answer!”
A pause.
“Listen I know you’re sad and stuff but I thought we could…” he began again.
“Yes?”
“We could go do something fun, you know Sascha will take care of the baby and you could-”
“I’m not leaving her,” I interrupted; the tone I used was both bitter and annoyed.
“Pardon?”
“I’m not leaving her with a stranger.”
Another pause.
“Sascha is hardly a stranger, she has her own…” his voice faded away, my attention turned elsewhere.
And where my eyes traveled was towards the flight of stairs that lay just behind the sofa to the second door in the left. Right now she should be sleeping, it was much too late for her to be awake but I have heard stories of babies who sleep all day and cry all nigh, she used to do that at first, I could recall that. However, I never did manage to get some proper sleep but every now and then I would obtain an hour or two of nothing but silence, yet still I could barely blink. I forced myself night after night to stay awake…
“I’m not leaving her,” I stated.
“Hey, you need to relax. I understand you really miss Liz, but you have to move on.”
“I will. In time.”
“No time like the present.”
For a minute I had the strong urge to just hang up, the reasons why I had picked up the call in the first place was a complete mystery to me. So it would hardly matter if I chose to hang up and leave him talking to himself.
“Not now, Bryan. Not soon either, I have a child and I’ll take care of her.”
A sigh, “Gerry, listen you need to move on, it’s been nearly a month now….”
“It’s not that long you know?”
Silence.
“Well, O.K. buddy, I’ll drop the subject –for now. But I’ll be calling back soon.”
“Alright.”
“Good night.”
“G’night to you too.”
And with that I sunk back into the sofa, turning my eyes towards the TV in hopes to obtain some moment of peace.
***
“What’s wrong?” I asked miserably, holding my child to my chest, I felt tears and mucus dribbling down my chest. She was crying, she was crying and she wouldn’t stop, she wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do. So in my moment of desperation I had turned to ask the walls what was wrong with my child, but of course they remained grim and stark and not very helpful, not providing any clue as to what kind of horrible internal pain my child was experiencing.
So instead I leaned against the wall and began to softly rock her, it did very little to calm her or myself down but I was truly desperate, she had refused her bottle, toys, everything. I had this strong urge she was crying for no reason, but I could barely even think straight beyond the baby’s crying.
“Shhh, shh, shh, shhh,” was the only sound that came out of my throat.
I was desperate, I just wanted her to calm down, if only a little, but she just kept screaming and crying. Her face flushed and her tiny hands curled into a miniature fist.
I closed my eyes begging for some stroke of inspiration to smash into my like a freight train but nothing came, only wave after wave of concern and something hinting towards panic.
Then I remembered her serene face and her soft voice.
I took a deep breath, trying to center myself and began humming softly, trying to pick up the rhythm of her lovely voice. I wasn’t aware of how much time passed, but I guess, after a few minutes of my lullaby her crying started to calm until eventually it just turned to some light sobs and faded away to nothing. Not quite stopping to think I picked up my child, balancing her tiny body in my arms. Her lips parted and her eyes opened, blindly staring at nothing, the sight of her calmed self brought a sad smile to her lips. Hot tears traced down my cheeks, however it took me a while to indentify them and when I did they startled me.
I kept humming to the rhythm of that lullaby, tears choking up my throat and every now and then falling out of rhythm or cutting the soft singing.
I hope you forgive me… and even if you don’t, I have just one favor to ask you… take care of our child…
- - -
Yeah, jumps style a lot, I believe.
- P&U
Yet, something about her manner, the way she grew quiet, retreated to a shell of protection every time she finished a song troubled me. And I wish I knew why her eyes were so full of pain, and I wish I knew why she would stare at nothing but the floor, and I wish I knew why she refused to meet anyone’s gaze and I wish I knew so many things. Melancholy seemed to fill her every action and you could only guess at how profound her sadness was, but you could never tell how profound this sadness truly was until she closed her eyes and weaved a melody with her voice.
I watched her as her eyes closed and her rosy lips parted. A haunting melody came to life, soft and sweet, but also, hopeless.
Without a word, I reached for her hand, my finger barely squeezing her digits, but it was enough. Her song was cut short so abruptly that the room was suddenly too quiet. She met my eyes, a question encrypted in her expression.
“Is something wrong?” her eyes dropped from my gaze and her hand freed from my grasp, tucking them neatly in her lap.
“No, of course not, what would make you think that?” she said with a light smile.
And that was always the answer she would give me and she would refuse to say anything more.
And out of respect or maybe shyness, I let her have her way. I let her have her vague answers.
Even now I can’t help but think that maybe if I had insisted on an answer that day or any other day for that matter, things would be different.
***
I squinted at the paper, trying to decipher what the words imprinted on the blank sheet meant, however hard I tried the words, clearly written in plain English, seemed to jumble up together to form a whole different language. My brain moved with such slowness and that everything I read seemed to be lost merely seconds later. I couldn’t contain information; I could barely keep my eyes open!
I sighed in frustration, pushing the paper aside. I glared at the mess in my desk, for a moment I had this strong urge to just throw it all on the ground, months worth of paperwork discarded and useless. It was infuriating, everything seemed to be so much work recently, abilities or words that came naturally bubbled up slowly now, I had to urge and push them so that I could function, and I couldn’t even bring forth the tireless motivation I seemed to have had before. The day seemed to hold back, stretching the hours into years. The time couldn’t come fast enough so that I was back at home, resting in the comfort of my bed.
How I could use some sleep.
When someone knocked at my door I nearly had a heart attack, I jumped in my chair, involuntarily pushing a stack of papers that felt with a muffled ‘thump’ to the carpeted floor. I cursed beneath by breath before directing my gaze towards the wooden door.
“Come in!” I said, my voice sounding hoarse and tired.
The door swung open revealing a very flustered looking co-worker. Her eyes were wide and darting, hair stuck up around her forming a wild mane, despite having a ponytail. She panted a tad before controlling herself, running a manicured hand through her raged hair and shifting the position of her other arm, which currently seemed to be holding a menacing stack of papers. I eyed them with disdain, my frustration climbing to irritation at the prospect of more work. She moved towards my desk, setting the stack of papers down.
“More of the same,” she squealed as the only explanation, her eyes analyzing my tired expression and overall scruffiness. “Haven’t been sleeping much, eh?”
A forced a dry, humorless smile to my lips “No, the baby keeps me up at night.”
Something flashed through her eyes, maybe understanding but beneath the layers of tiredness I couldn’t be quite sure, “Ah yes, you’ll get used to not sleeping eventually. Boy or girl?”
My smile seemed more genuine now, a flash of those chubby cheeks and that little smile passing through my mind. “A girl, a chubby little girl.”
She chuckled, making a clucking sound at the back of her throat, “What’s her name?”
“Annalee.”
“Cute name,” she nodded, her hair loose, ponytail bobbing up and down as she did so “but you look like shit, really. Why not take the rest of the day off, hmm? Looks like you deserve it.”
Even before she had finished her sentence I was already shaking my head, “Naw, I’m fine, really. Just need some sleep and I’ll be up and running again, and besides, I have to finish some of this up,” I replied vaguely, waving a hand lazily to demonstrate the stack of papers. She nodded again and wobbled towards the door, turning to look one last time at me before disappearing and closing the door behind her.
I yawned loudly before turning my attention back to my work.
***
I can’t stand it anymore…
I blinked, thinking I should be crying or mourning, but nothing came. Just this feeling of detached disbelief, I found myself repeating over and over in my head: this isn’t true, this isn’t happening; it’s just a bad dream. Hoping against hoping that somehow, denying what my eyes showed me would make it all disappear. Make the truth a lie, fix it, somehow. But I knew it wouldn’t help much, yet still I just couldn’t stop myself from hoping.
It’s not you, it’s never you. Never think it is…
My gaze traveled to her face, pale and peaceful now, her eyelids closed and light makeup coloring her features, her hands neatly tucked before her, wearing her favorite dress, her wavy hair forming a halo around her face. She looked beautiful, as did she always.
You made me happy, truly happy, but there are things I tried to hide…
This time I did feel the tears come, the back of my eyes burned, but I did not welcome them, the only think about was the same question over and over again. If I did make you happy why did you do it? Why would you not speak to me? I would have tried to fix it, to make it better in any way I could. If I was making you happy why did you die? It wasn’t fair, you leave me alone, and you left me all alone and for what? If I truly did make you happy you wouldn’t have done it. You would have stayed with me, with us, with our child. You abandoned her too; you abandoned both her and me.
And I love you, I really do. But I beg you to understand…
Understand what? I wanted to scream. What was I suppose to understand?
Anger tainted my thoughts and colored my senses. I was suffering because of her cowardice, her silence. We were happy, we had a family, our daughter and everything seemed to be right when she held our daughter in her arms and softly sung a small lullaby made up of simple notes and no words.
For a minute I just held that image in my head, her arms tenderly wrapped around our child, lifting a hand to touch the baby’s cheek, a soft smile spreading across her lips. Then she seemed to have finally noticed my presence, I could see her now, lifting her eyes towards me and then…
I noticed how her smile looked fake –her eyes were sad. Infinite pools of grief, but I never asked. I never insisted, I should have pushed her for an answer and maybe then…
Maybe things would be different now.
I hope you forgive me…
Why should I forgive you?
And even if you don’t…
And I won’t and I won’t.
Is this the image she held of me?
I have just one favor to ask you…
Even when you abandon us you say this, you ask a favor. What more could I give you?
Take care of our daughter…
The thud as the coffin was closed made me lift my gaze from the letter. For a moment I just stared at it, almost as if expecting something to happen, a whisper in the wind to tell me everything would be fine. A flash of emotion to let me know if this is how she truly felt.
But nothing came except a sense of profound loss.
And with that I moved out of the way, allowing her coffin to be carried away. Outside, the wind blew softly, making the grass move in small waves. The crowd started standing up, talking in low hushed tones. Footsteps echoed in the distance. Someone sneezed, followed by a muttered “bless you.” A child complained that he felt tired and wanted to go home. Someone turned to look at me, trying to meet my gaze but eventually simply turning away with a light shake of their head. I felt someone squeeze my shoulder, mutter some words I barely understood and walked away.
My eyes traveled the white walls of the church and then down, briefly resting on the bible that rested on the large wooden table.
Then I turned around to follow the procession, a weary sigh escaping my lips.
***
The ringing of the phone was an annoying addition to my pulsing head. I was hardly in the mood to listen to these kind of loud and blaring sounds so it was to be expected that talking with anyone would prove far drearier than simply listening. So I simply vouched for ignoring its ceaseless blaring and simply turned to my own gloomy thoughts. I didn’t want to answer, I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to be comforted; I didn’t need to be comforted. I was fine all by myself.
They just keep calling…
On and on it blared until at last the answering machine picked it up.
“This is Lizzy” chimed in the voice mail message, using her voice, “And Gerry” “We’re not available right now” “But leave a message and we’ll get back to you” “As soon as possible.”
“Thanks!” chorused the recorded message.
There was silence and I found that my hands were clenched into angry fists and that I was holding my breath, expecting someone to speak, but my anxiousness was only met by more silence. After a few seconds of this I turned my head towards the sleek surface of the phone, almost expecting it to hear the clicking sound that would indicate the other person had given up and hung up. However I was mistaken in believing so.
“Gerard… I know you’re there, pick up the phone. It’s me, your brother…”
Seconds ticked by, seconds that only carried a tense moment of silence. I had been evading their calls for two weeks now, every day they called and every day I ignored. I was aware this couldn’t keep on forever but I just wanted it to stretch out for as long as it could.
But my actions spoke against my thoughts and I found myself holding the device to my ear.
“I’m here,” came my dull reply.
“Gerry?” his voice was lazed with sheer surprise “I thought you would never answer!”
A pause.
“Listen I know you’re sad and stuff but I thought we could…” he began again.
“Yes?”
“We could go do something fun, you know Sascha will take care of the baby and you could-”
“I’m not leaving her,” I interrupted; the tone I used was both bitter and annoyed.
“Pardon?”
“I’m not leaving her with a stranger.”
Another pause.
“Sascha is hardly a stranger, she has her own…” his voice faded away, my attention turned elsewhere.
And where my eyes traveled was towards the flight of stairs that lay just behind the sofa to the second door in the left. Right now she should be sleeping, it was much too late for her to be awake but I have heard stories of babies who sleep all day and cry all nigh, she used to do that at first, I could recall that. However, I never did manage to get some proper sleep but every now and then I would obtain an hour or two of nothing but silence, yet still I could barely blink. I forced myself night after night to stay awake…
“I’m not leaving her,” I stated.
“Hey, you need to relax. I understand you really miss Liz, but you have to move on.”
“I will. In time.”
“No time like the present.”
For a minute I had the strong urge to just hang up, the reasons why I had picked up the call in the first place was a complete mystery to me. So it would hardly matter if I chose to hang up and leave him talking to himself.
“Not now, Bryan. Not soon either, I have a child and I’ll take care of her.”
A sigh, “Gerry, listen you need to move on, it’s been nearly a month now….”
“It’s not that long you know?”
Silence.
“Well, O.K. buddy, I’ll drop the subject –for now. But I’ll be calling back soon.”
“Alright.”
“Good night.”
“G’night to you too.”
And with that I sunk back into the sofa, turning my eyes towards the TV in hopes to obtain some moment of peace.
***
“What’s wrong?” I asked miserably, holding my child to my chest, I felt tears and mucus dribbling down my chest. She was crying, she was crying and she wouldn’t stop, she wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do. So in my moment of desperation I had turned to ask the walls what was wrong with my child, but of course they remained grim and stark and not very helpful, not providing any clue as to what kind of horrible internal pain my child was experiencing.
So instead I leaned against the wall and began to softly rock her, it did very little to calm her or myself down but I was truly desperate, she had refused her bottle, toys, everything. I had this strong urge she was crying for no reason, but I could barely even think straight beyond the baby’s crying.
“Shhh, shh, shh, shhh,” was the only sound that came out of my throat.
I was desperate, I just wanted her to calm down, if only a little, but she just kept screaming and crying. Her face flushed and her tiny hands curled into a miniature fist.
I closed my eyes begging for some stroke of inspiration to smash into my like a freight train but nothing came, only wave after wave of concern and something hinting towards panic.
Then I remembered her serene face and her soft voice.
I took a deep breath, trying to center myself and began humming softly, trying to pick up the rhythm of her lovely voice. I wasn’t aware of how much time passed, but I guess, after a few minutes of my lullaby her crying started to calm until eventually it just turned to some light sobs and faded away to nothing. Not quite stopping to think I picked up my child, balancing her tiny body in my arms. Her lips parted and her eyes opened, blindly staring at nothing, the sight of her calmed self brought a sad smile to her lips. Hot tears traced down my cheeks, however it took me a while to indentify them and when I did they startled me.
I kept humming to the rhythm of that lullaby, tears choking up my throat and every now and then falling out of rhythm or cutting the soft singing.
I hope you forgive me… and even if you don’t, I have just one favor to ask you… take care of our child…
- - -
Yeah, jumps style a lot, I believe.
- P&U
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wake
Something cold against my cheek.
The sound of footsteps echoing.
Closer.
Closer.
Then nothing.
“What is this?” the sound startled me, the voice grated against my hearing, unaccustomed to hear talking. It has been so long since I heard a voice.
“It’s still alive!”
“Of course it is, why would it be dead? What use could it be dead?”
I could almost identify the emotion behind the voice, I remembered it from somewhere. The first speaker. A hoarse voice like a person… that has been... what? What would make a voice sound so breathless and scratchy? Smoking, he had been smoking for a long time now. The first speaker had the voice of someone who’d been smoking for at least a few years, that was it and he sounded surprised, his latter statement was that of shock and something else mixed in there… something I couldn’t identify. Something I couldn’t remember.
“Alive it can be, see? It squirms and whimpers like a child,” the other man explained, this one was different, he sounded almost too objective, little emotion leaking into his words, blunt, to the point that even though if I couldn’t quite understand what they were saying it still stung.
I felt something nudging my side and forced myself to take a sharp intake of air. It wasn’t like it hurt, but the contact felt foreign, strange, like no one should be touching me. There was a moment where I felt indignation sweep through me, why was he touching me? I hadn’t touched him. He had no right to much me.
These were the thoughts that kept swirling in my mind, until I forced them to stop, I had to think. Somehow when he nudged me with the tip of his shoe it had made this ugly feeling surface, I didn’t know what it was but it certainly caught my curiosity, with a detached feeling of things I tried to think about the why’s and the how’s without trying to return to the sensation of his foot touching my body.
Then it touched me again.
It really annoyed me.
I felt black rage pour into my body.
I cracked one single eye open. It felt sticky. Like I had been sleeping for a long time.
I tried speaking, I wanted to tell him not to touch me, but the words choked up in my throat and all that came were coughs and spit.
“This one just started stirring, so we took it here and see? It’s awake now.”
I couldn’t see very well, everything was blurry. I blinked and it just made it worse, I couldn’t concentrate on anything. It wasn’t that the room was spinning or everything was swallowed up in black, it was just the opposite of that, it was too bright, even the walls were too bright, the floor, everything.
Breath wheezed through my lungs.
The men’s voices blurred.
My breath slowed.
My vision cleared.
I let out something between a huff and a wheeze of excitement when I could finally indentify what was cold against my cheek, it was a tile. Polished white. I blinked and felt a goofy, crooked smile press against the corner of my lips.
“Ah, see, what did I tell you?”
“What’s wrong with its-”
“Shhh, you’ll startle it.”
I grunted when I realized I couldn’t move right, my hands seemed to be tied at my sides, something metallic rattled and it took me a while to identify them as chains. I really panicked then. I kicked, I grunted, I wheezed, I trashed, I flailed, I pushed, I shoved. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. I. Just. Had. To. Get. Out. Now. My eyes widened in panic. My breathing accreted. A guttural sound escaped my clenched teeth. I wanted to scream. Only wheezes and grunts could come out. My panic overflowed my senses, I couldn’t think of anything but that I needed to have my hands free. The muscles in my back bunched, my arms grew stuff, jaw clenched.
“What’s wrong with it?!”
“It’s chained up-”
My eyes rolled towards the speaker.
“won’t do anything, it won’t be able to get out.”
I let the air out of my lungs through my clenched teeth.
He was short, black hair, beady little eyes, wearing a lab coat. His features were round and childish but there was something cold in his eyes, something in the set of his lips that made him look much older. Skin appeared to have some color, light but still there and his arms were wrapped around his chest, overall he looked relax, albeit a tad impatient.
I stared.
“Well? Aren’t you going to see the new you?”
I stared at him blankly.
Then I slowly came to the realization that he was talking to me.
I blinked.
Reluctantly I lowered my eyes trying to see exactly what this man was talking about. Shock. Horror. What was this? Flesh, pale flesh, swollen, red, infected. Stitches, black strings against the alabaster skin. Deformed. Grotesque. I got the urge to scream, but only the urge came, my panic was silent. Everything was twisted, and to my back, sewn almost poorly as in a parody of my life – I could barely thing. My consciousness was slipping then everything was black.
- - -
Dunno what to say about this one, except I don't think I like it, *shrug*
-P&U
The sound of footsteps echoing.
Closer.
Closer.
Then nothing.
“What is this?” the sound startled me, the voice grated against my hearing, unaccustomed to hear talking. It has been so long since I heard a voice.
“It’s still alive!”
“Of course it is, why would it be dead? What use could it be dead?”
I could almost identify the emotion behind the voice, I remembered it from somewhere. The first speaker. A hoarse voice like a person… that has been... what? What would make a voice sound so breathless and scratchy? Smoking, he had been smoking for a long time now. The first speaker had the voice of someone who’d been smoking for at least a few years, that was it and he sounded surprised, his latter statement was that of shock and something else mixed in there… something I couldn’t identify. Something I couldn’t remember.
“Alive it can be, see? It squirms and whimpers like a child,” the other man explained, this one was different, he sounded almost too objective, little emotion leaking into his words, blunt, to the point that even though if I couldn’t quite understand what they were saying it still stung.
I felt something nudging my side and forced myself to take a sharp intake of air. It wasn’t like it hurt, but the contact felt foreign, strange, like no one should be touching me. There was a moment where I felt indignation sweep through me, why was he touching me? I hadn’t touched him. He had no right to much me.
These were the thoughts that kept swirling in my mind, until I forced them to stop, I had to think. Somehow when he nudged me with the tip of his shoe it had made this ugly feeling surface, I didn’t know what it was but it certainly caught my curiosity, with a detached feeling of things I tried to think about the why’s and the how’s without trying to return to the sensation of his foot touching my body.
Then it touched me again.
It really annoyed me.
I felt black rage pour into my body.
I cracked one single eye open. It felt sticky. Like I had been sleeping for a long time.
I tried speaking, I wanted to tell him not to touch me, but the words choked up in my throat and all that came were coughs and spit.
“This one just started stirring, so we took it here and see? It’s awake now.”
I couldn’t see very well, everything was blurry. I blinked and it just made it worse, I couldn’t concentrate on anything. It wasn’t that the room was spinning or everything was swallowed up in black, it was just the opposite of that, it was too bright, even the walls were too bright, the floor, everything.
Breath wheezed through my lungs.
The men’s voices blurred.
My breath slowed.
My vision cleared.
I let out something between a huff and a wheeze of excitement when I could finally indentify what was cold against my cheek, it was a tile. Polished white. I blinked and felt a goofy, crooked smile press against the corner of my lips.
“Ah, see, what did I tell you?”
“What’s wrong with its-”
“Shhh, you’ll startle it.”
I grunted when I realized I couldn’t move right, my hands seemed to be tied at my sides, something metallic rattled and it took me a while to identify them as chains. I really panicked then. I kicked, I grunted, I wheezed, I trashed, I flailed, I pushed, I shoved. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. I. Just. Had. To. Get. Out. Now. My eyes widened in panic. My breathing accreted. A guttural sound escaped my clenched teeth. I wanted to scream. Only wheezes and grunts could come out. My panic overflowed my senses, I couldn’t think of anything but that I needed to have my hands free. The muscles in my back bunched, my arms grew stuff, jaw clenched.
“What’s wrong with it?!”
“It’s chained up-”
My eyes rolled towards the speaker.
“won’t do anything, it won’t be able to get out.”
I let the air out of my lungs through my clenched teeth.
He was short, black hair, beady little eyes, wearing a lab coat. His features were round and childish but there was something cold in his eyes, something in the set of his lips that made him look much older. Skin appeared to have some color, light but still there and his arms were wrapped around his chest, overall he looked relax, albeit a tad impatient.
I stared.
“Well? Aren’t you going to see the new you?”
I stared at him blankly.
Then I slowly came to the realization that he was talking to me.
I blinked.
Reluctantly I lowered my eyes trying to see exactly what this man was talking about. Shock. Horror. What was this? Flesh, pale flesh, swollen, red, infected. Stitches, black strings against the alabaster skin. Deformed. Grotesque. I got the urge to scream, but only the urge came, my panic was silent. Everything was twisted, and to my back, sewn almost poorly as in a parody of my life – I could barely thing. My consciousness was slipping then everything was black.
- - -
Dunno what to say about this one, except I don't think I like it, *shrug*
-P&U
Monday, January 4, 2010
Ticking Clocks
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Angela sat in a dirty old maroon colored chair, her legs tucked under her chin and arms wrapped tightly around herself. She stood looking dead ahead, almost unblinking. Surrounding her were stark white walls dotted with glass windows that provided a descent view of the flowers, trees, plants and pots that decorated the surroundings of the hospital. Under the chair the bare tiles that made up the floor of the building could be found, other chairs, similar to the one Angela found herself seated on lay against every corner, in the middle of the back wall there was a dark wooden coffee table with sofas of the same fabric as the chair surrounding the table. There was that hospital desk on the opposite wall and next to it a hallway with the sign “emergency” hanging ominously. In the room there could be found two or three people, deep in a pointless and monotonous conversation as if to get their mind of things, in addition to a single nurse which attended the desk, however she seemed more concerned with her computer screen than whatever could be happening in the hospital
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
She had been waiting for hours, hours seated down waiting for news to come and yet none had. The fact that she seemed to have been endlessly waiting was only made worse by the fact that she had no choice; she had to stay and wait. And she did so nervously, her eyes flitting at the sign of any movement; any chance that it might be the doctor she was looking for, anything, anything at all that would let her know if they were still there. If they were, for any reason dead or alive. But it seemed time moved slowly when you wanted it to move quicker and she felt the hours drag and all she did was wait and wait. She would not dare move a muscle until news of their condition arrived.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
But she was getting desperate. Her head rotated almost mechanically to look at the clock, only to realize that exactly three hours and twenty-three minutes had passed since she had first sat down and waited.
She bit her lip, ran her pale hand through her wavy her and came to the decision to ask the nurse yet again what was happening. Three hours was long enough for anyone to wait, she figured there must be news of their condition by now. With this in mind she stood up, and walked towards the desk. Angela was annoyed to see that the nurse didn’t even lift attention from the computer screen to look at whoever was approaching, merely just ignored her completely.
“Um, excuse me.”
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
“Yes?” inquired the plump nurse, her tone expressing how displeased she was at being interrupted.
“Are they out yet?” Angela asked hopefully, keeping her tone low and polite, mentally crossing her fingers that they were out of the ER and completely safe. However, she was merely responded with a glare and a polished red fingernail pointing at the seat “Well let you know when they are out, O.K.?” Not waiting for any response the nurse merely turned back to her computer.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
The girl stood there; almost unwilling to go back to her seat, but in the end she had no choice. What else could she have done? There was no point in standing there when all she would receive was either silence of a glare commanding her to sit down.
She dragged her feet heavily on the floor, practically throwing herself at the chair, hoping and hoping they would be out of the operating room soon. But time only seemed to drag by.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
“It was your fault, you do know that,” said a rasping male voice, the kind you get only from years after years of smoking.
The voice was enough to snap her out of her trance and she looked blankly at the aged man that stood before her, arms tucked behind his back. He wore an untidy, worn suit with dirty old sneakers. His face was wrinkled by the rays of the sun, his eyes small and gray, hair thinning and dark, a beard stubble upon his chin. However, what bothered her most was the sarcastic smirk he wore, almost like if he were sneering at her or finding her current predicament amusing, in the same way you found a fish gasping for water amusing.
“Wha-”
“I said, it is your fault,” he cut in, “If they die it’ll be your fault, you were the one that suggested that little race, you were the one that got them in that accident. Which means you are the one that had them all killed,” he explained, patiently, like if he was explaining this to a child, and never once did he take those pale eyes off her.
“No it’s not, they won’t blame me, I didn’t know that would happen, if I did I wo-”
“But it did,” he persisted “it did happen which means it would be your fault, they might not tell you that it is but they will always loathe you and hate you for what you did. You know that.”
“No…”
“Yes.”
“But I know Mark and Ali-”
“So?”
“They wouldn’t.”
“They would.”
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Angela blinked, for once completely confused, she didn’t know this man and yet he obviously seemed to know her. But she was sure the accident wasn’t her fault, or rather this is what she kept telling herself. It had been a game, a playful race between the two cars; they were only five minutes from her house. She thought it would be fun, with her boyfriend pitting himself against her friend’s boyfriend who was in the other car. She dared them to do it, at first Christina seemed to have doubts, it would be dangerous, she had said, we’re nearly home anyway. But Angela had insisted and so they convinced their respective boyfriends, of course they would mind it; in fact they found the idea of a little friendly competition just what they needed. But just when they were nearing home, when they could taste victory it was there.
But…
She couldn’t hold the train of thought and slowly she surrendered to sleep.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Her sight was blurry, the early rays of sunshine filtered through the window. Angela blinked, once, twice, trying to clear her vision, but if anything it just seemed to make it worse. A weary groan escaped her lips. Her pale hand brushed against her face only to feel moisture there, realizing that it was tears that blurred her vision she rubbed them furiously yet again, blinking out the salty tears from her line of vision.
“She’s awake!” she heard a voice announce loudly, almost excitedly. There was a small commission, she felt someone yanking lightly at her close, people shifting nearby to look a hand pressing against her forehead. She blinked again, annoyed because she could not find a way to clear the tears out of her eyes.
“Who-”
“Its O.K. now honey, everything will be alright.”
Slowly realization flooded through her and she realized she recognized this voice, she recognized it quite well. “Mom…” Angela began, her voice ending in a yawn, she felt a thin finger press against her lips and someone murmuring in her ear that everything would be alright that she should get some sleep, that she looked tired. Oddly enough Angela felt tired, and not only that but she still couldn’t manage to either blink the weariness or the tears from her eyes. She nodded dumbly against the hand, closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Noises. Sounds. Smells. All seemed to smash against her sense and the shock was so much and the contrast from nothing to everything so severe that a scream ripped from her throat. Then came the pain, she was suddenly very aware of severe pain shooting from somewhere in her legs, she couldn’t move her arm and her chest was pinned against two objects. Her breath came in sharp gasps, the objects that pinned her to the spot making it impossible to breathe without difficulty.
The noises was that of blaring sirens, ambulance and police, she could identify those two above the rest. The sounds were groans of pain, rasping breaths, screams and the crunching of feet on earth. The smells that stood out the most were gasoline and blood.
Angela didn’t understand what was going on, why couldn’t she move? Where was she?
She shifted her head around to look next to her, only to gaze at the dead empty eyes of Brandon. A trickle of blood had slipped from his mouth and stained his shirt, his chest and stomach was pierced with metal, rods, tubes in her panic and horror Angela couldn’t tell. But she could clearly see that he was dead, blood flowed freely from wounds and then she was conscious of her own blood dripping from gashes and wounds on her body, but she seemed to be beyond noticing.
There was only horror.
And the echoes of her own screaming.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Angela gasped, her eyes suddenly snapped open and she heaved in her bed.
The nurse paused in her job; she had just been checking this patient’s vitals and she definitely wasn’t expecting the woman to be suddenly wake up on her. But the shock quickly passed and the nurse hurried to get the doctor.
“Where am I?” Angela rasped, to no one in particular since the nurse was long gone.
Her eyes inspected the room seeing white walls, half-dead flowers lying in a stand next to her hospital bed. IV tubes sticking from her hand and pumping fluids into her body, a flimsy hospital gown her only clothing.
- - -
Story of a girl in a coma, well during. It's all bleeeh. Anyway the 'tick, tock, tick tock' represents how much time she's been out.
- P&U
Angela sat in a dirty old maroon colored chair, her legs tucked under her chin and arms wrapped tightly around herself. She stood looking dead ahead, almost unblinking. Surrounding her were stark white walls dotted with glass windows that provided a descent view of the flowers, trees, plants and pots that decorated the surroundings of the hospital. Under the chair the bare tiles that made up the floor of the building could be found, other chairs, similar to the one Angela found herself seated on lay against every corner, in the middle of the back wall there was a dark wooden coffee table with sofas of the same fabric as the chair surrounding the table. There was that hospital desk on the opposite wall and next to it a hallway with the sign “emergency” hanging ominously. In the room there could be found two or three people, deep in a pointless and monotonous conversation as if to get their mind of things, in addition to a single nurse which attended the desk, however she seemed more concerned with her computer screen than whatever could be happening in the hospital
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
She had been waiting for hours, hours seated down waiting for news to come and yet none had. The fact that she seemed to have been endlessly waiting was only made worse by the fact that she had no choice; she had to stay and wait. And she did so nervously, her eyes flitting at the sign of any movement; any chance that it might be the doctor she was looking for, anything, anything at all that would let her know if they were still there. If they were, for any reason dead or alive. But it seemed time moved slowly when you wanted it to move quicker and she felt the hours drag and all she did was wait and wait. She would not dare move a muscle until news of their condition arrived.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
But she was getting desperate. Her head rotated almost mechanically to look at the clock, only to realize that exactly three hours and twenty-three minutes had passed since she had first sat down and waited.
She bit her lip, ran her pale hand through her wavy her and came to the decision to ask the nurse yet again what was happening. Three hours was long enough for anyone to wait, she figured there must be news of their condition by now. With this in mind she stood up, and walked towards the desk. Angela was annoyed to see that the nurse didn’t even lift attention from the computer screen to look at whoever was approaching, merely just ignored her completely.
“Um, excuse me.”
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
“Yes?” inquired the plump nurse, her tone expressing how displeased she was at being interrupted.
“Are they out yet?” Angela asked hopefully, keeping her tone low and polite, mentally crossing her fingers that they were out of the ER and completely safe. However, she was merely responded with a glare and a polished red fingernail pointing at the seat “Well let you know when they are out, O.K.?” Not waiting for any response the nurse merely turned back to her computer.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
The girl stood there; almost unwilling to go back to her seat, but in the end she had no choice. What else could she have done? There was no point in standing there when all she would receive was either silence of a glare commanding her to sit down.
She dragged her feet heavily on the floor, practically throwing herself at the chair, hoping and hoping they would be out of the operating room soon. But time only seemed to drag by.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
“It was your fault, you do know that,” said a rasping male voice, the kind you get only from years after years of smoking.
The voice was enough to snap her out of her trance and she looked blankly at the aged man that stood before her, arms tucked behind his back. He wore an untidy, worn suit with dirty old sneakers. His face was wrinkled by the rays of the sun, his eyes small and gray, hair thinning and dark, a beard stubble upon his chin. However, what bothered her most was the sarcastic smirk he wore, almost like if he were sneering at her or finding her current predicament amusing, in the same way you found a fish gasping for water amusing.
“Wha-”
“I said, it is your fault,” he cut in, “If they die it’ll be your fault, you were the one that suggested that little race, you were the one that got them in that accident. Which means you are the one that had them all killed,” he explained, patiently, like if he was explaining this to a child, and never once did he take those pale eyes off her.
“No it’s not, they won’t blame me, I didn’t know that would happen, if I did I wo-”
“But it did,” he persisted “it did happen which means it would be your fault, they might not tell you that it is but they will always loathe you and hate you for what you did. You know that.”
“No…”
“Yes.”
“But I know Mark and Ali-”
“So?”
“They wouldn’t.”
“They would.”
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Angela blinked, for once completely confused, she didn’t know this man and yet he obviously seemed to know her. But she was sure the accident wasn’t her fault, or rather this is what she kept telling herself. It had been a game, a playful race between the two cars; they were only five minutes from her house. She thought it would be fun, with her boyfriend pitting himself against her friend’s boyfriend who was in the other car. She dared them to do it, at first Christina seemed to have doubts, it would be dangerous, she had said, we’re nearly home anyway. But Angela had insisted and so they convinced their respective boyfriends, of course they would mind it; in fact they found the idea of a little friendly competition just what they needed. But just when they were nearing home, when they could taste victory it was there.
But…
She couldn’t hold the train of thought and slowly she surrendered to sleep.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Her sight was blurry, the early rays of sunshine filtered through the window. Angela blinked, once, twice, trying to clear her vision, but if anything it just seemed to make it worse. A weary groan escaped her lips. Her pale hand brushed against her face only to feel moisture there, realizing that it was tears that blurred her vision she rubbed them furiously yet again, blinking out the salty tears from her line of vision.
“She’s awake!” she heard a voice announce loudly, almost excitedly. There was a small commission, she felt someone yanking lightly at her close, people shifting nearby to look a hand pressing against her forehead. She blinked again, annoyed because she could not find a way to clear the tears out of her eyes.
“Who-”
“Its O.K. now honey, everything will be alright.”
Slowly realization flooded through her and she realized she recognized this voice, she recognized it quite well. “Mom…” Angela began, her voice ending in a yawn, she felt a thin finger press against her lips and someone murmuring in her ear that everything would be alright that she should get some sleep, that she looked tired. Oddly enough Angela felt tired, and not only that but she still couldn’t manage to either blink the weariness or the tears from her eyes. She nodded dumbly against the hand, closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Noises. Sounds. Smells. All seemed to smash against her sense and the shock was so much and the contrast from nothing to everything so severe that a scream ripped from her throat. Then came the pain, she was suddenly very aware of severe pain shooting from somewhere in her legs, she couldn’t move her arm and her chest was pinned against two objects. Her breath came in sharp gasps, the objects that pinned her to the spot making it impossible to breathe without difficulty.
The noises was that of blaring sirens, ambulance and police, she could identify those two above the rest. The sounds were groans of pain, rasping breaths, screams and the crunching of feet on earth. The smells that stood out the most were gasoline and blood.
Angela didn’t understand what was going on, why couldn’t she move? Where was she?
She shifted her head around to look next to her, only to gaze at the dead empty eyes of Brandon. A trickle of blood had slipped from his mouth and stained his shirt, his chest and stomach was pierced with metal, rods, tubes in her panic and horror Angela couldn’t tell. But she could clearly see that he was dead, blood flowed freely from wounds and then she was conscious of her own blood dripping from gashes and wounds on her body, but she seemed to be beyond noticing.
There was only horror.
And the echoes of her own screaming.
Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Angela gasped, her eyes suddenly snapped open and she heaved in her bed.
The nurse paused in her job; she had just been checking this patient’s vitals and she definitely wasn’t expecting the woman to be suddenly wake up on her. But the shock quickly passed and the nurse hurried to get the doctor.
“Where am I?” Angela rasped, to no one in particular since the nurse was long gone.
Her eyes inspected the room seeing white walls, half-dead flowers lying in a stand next to her hospital bed. IV tubes sticking from her hand and pumping fluids into her body, a flimsy hospital gown her only clothing.
- - -
Story of a girl in a coma, well during. It's all bleeeh. Anyway the 'tick, tock, tick tock' represents how much time she's been out.
- P&U
Friday, January 1, 2010
Only you
Thinking of only you…
You, with those eyes, blue, blue and deep as the ocean and just as mysterious as that deep sea. I want to gaze into those eyes of yours forever, your beautiful eyes. They look at me now, as we speak, but you don’t know me. Not yet anyway, but I know we’ll meet soon. Remember when I first saw you a few years back? You dropped your books and I helped you with them, I accompanied to your house. You were always smiling and laughing, I remember every lovely word that came out of that beautiful mouth, upper lip a bit fuller than the lower lip, the curve of your lips as you smiled polished white teeth as you laughed.
That laugh…
Like bells ringing in the most amazing of songs, breath-taking. But you never asked my name, you never did. You only talked about yourself and even if I love hearing about yourself it all feels so wrong. I want you to know my name, I want us to talk and laugh with each other. But you haven’t seen me again; I don’t get it, why can’t I stop thinking about you? All I can think about is those gold locks of hair, blue eyes framed by blond lashes and atop them thin gold eyebrows. A small well-shaped nose, light gold freckles decorating those cheeks, smooth alabaster skin. Rosy lips, a thin elegant neck, slender shoulders and arms, smooth hands, like feathers.
That touch…
So soft, so right, you touched my hand and I just knew we were destined to be together. Even if you don’t know my name, even if you only talk about yourself I want you close. So very close to me, but you don’t see me.
You never do.
I follow you around sometimes; watch you from the shade of the trees, watch you talk to the others. Every time I see you with him my stomach curls, I want to dump my stomach’s contents, I hate him. How can he be with you? He who does not deserve you. You’re far too beautiful for him. Don’t you see what I see? He’s a liar, he’s horrible, every smile every laugh every story every kiss is a lie. You’re not supposed to be with him, you’re supposed to be with me. Me and only me, why can’t you see the obvious? We’re destined for each other, meant to be together.
That’s why I want us to be together, that’s why that same day after seeing him telling you even more lies I went to my house. I cried, but I don’t cry anymore. That’s when I thought of it. I would pick up a knife, the one in my kitchen, I picked it up, watched the light glint of its edge and I knew what to do. That night I walked to your house, I opened a window, like I had done many times before. The one on the back, next to the door so the neighbors can see me, the glass is broken and you’re always talking about fixing it but you never do. Guess you’re a bad procrastinator.
I climb the stairs, slip into your room, I watch you sleep. Your slow relaxed breathing and I want to curl down on your side. Sleep with you. But I have a mission, I have to protect you from that liar, we’ll both be together now. We will and nothing will be able to separate us. So I near your bed watch those lids covering those beautiful eyes and it all feels so wrong. Why would you cover those beautiful eyes? I feel this is wrong so I take the knife and rip off those lids, now I can see your eyes. Those beautiful eyes, why do you scream so? Your bell-like voice morphs into screams of horror, and you try to bash at me with those hands, those lovely hands. I cut those off too, but you keep screaming. Now I watch that mouth, gaping so horribly so I cut off your tongue, there no more screaming but now you struggle against me, why? I just want to be together with you.
I laugh at the funny expressions you pull, you’re so funny. With your blood and your pain. But those eyes still look at me; I want those eyes in my hands. So I take the knife and scoop them out, your body goes limp while I still hold you and I laugh some more. But when you don’t laugh back I know something’s wrong so I reach for the gun you keep on your night table, take it to my head and fire.
Now we’ll always be together.
- - -
Written a some time ago, don't ask, I have no idea what was going through my head except boredom. I decided to spell check it then post it *shrug*
Happy New Years Eve! Hopefully those holidays were alright!
- P&U
You, with those eyes, blue, blue and deep as the ocean and just as mysterious as that deep sea. I want to gaze into those eyes of yours forever, your beautiful eyes. They look at me now, as we speak, but you don’t know me. Not yet anyway, but I know we’ll meet soon. Remember when I first saw you a few years back? You dropped your books and I helped you with them, I accompanied to your house. You were always smiling and laughing, I remember every lovely word that came out of that beautiful mouth, upper lip a bit fuller than the lower lip, the curve of your lips as you smiled polished white teeth as you laughed.
That laugh…
Like bells ringing in the most amazing of songs, breath-taking. But you never asked my name, you never did. You only talked about yourself and even if I love hearing about yourself it all feels so wrong. I want you to know my name, I want us to talk and laugh with each other. But you haven’t seen me again; I don’t get it, why can’t I stop thinking about you? All I can think about is those gold locks of hair, blue eyes framed by blond lashes and atop them thin gold eyebrows. A small well-shaped nose, light gold freckles decorating those cheeks, smooth alabaster skin. Rosy lips, a thin elegant neck, slender shoulders and arms, smooth hands, like feathers.
That touch…
So soft, so right, you touched my hand and I just knew we were destined to be together. Even if you don’t know my name, even if you only talk about yourself I want you close. So very close to me, but you don’t see me.
You never do.
I follow you around sometimes; watch you from the shade of the trees, watch you talk to the others. Every time I see you with him my stomach curls, I want to dump my stomach’s contents, I hate him. How can he be with you? He who does not deserve you. You’re far too beautiful for him. Don’t you see what I see? He’s a liar, he’s horrible, every smile every laugh every story every kiss is a lie. You’re not supposed to be with him, you’re supposed to be with me. Me and only me, why can’t you see the obvious? We’re destined for each other, meant to be together.
That’s why I want us to be together, that’s why that same day after seeing him telling you even more lies I went to my house. I cried, but I don’t cry anymore. That’s when I thought of it. I would pick up a knife, the one in my kitchen, I picked it up, watched the light glint of its edge and I knew what to do. That night I walked to your house, I opened a window, like I had done many times before. The one on the back, next to the door so the neighbors can see me, the glass is broken and you’re always talking about fixing it but you never do. Guess you’re a bad procrastinator.
I climb the stairs, slip into your room, I watch you sleep. Your slow relaxed breathing and I want to curl down on your side. Sleep with you. But I have a mission, I have to protect you from that liar, we’ll both be together now. We will and nothing will be able to separate us. So I near your bed watch those lids covering those beautiful eyes and it all feels so wrong. Why would you cover those beautiful eyes? I feel this is wrong so I take the knife and rip off those lids, now I can see your eyes. Those beautiful eyes, why do you scream so? Your bell-like voice morphs into screams of horror, and you try to bash at me with those hands, those lovely hands. I cut those off too, but you keep screaming. Now I watch that mouth, gaping so horribly so I cut off your tongue, there no more screaming but now you struggle against me, why? I just want to be together with you.
I laugh at the funny expressions you pull, you’re so funny. With your blood and your pain. But those eyes still look at me; I want those eyes in my hands. So I take the knife and scoop them out, your body goes limp while I still hold you and I laugh some more. But when you don’t laugh back I know something’s wrong so I reach for the gun you keep on your night table, take it to my head and fire.
Now we’ll always be together.
- - -
Written a some time ago, don't ask, I have no idea what was going through my head except boredom. I decided to spell check it then post it *shrug*
Happy New Years Eve! Hopefully those holidays were alright!
- P&U
Friday, December 25, 2009
Dust and Ashes
All I remember that it was uphill, almost like if the street had been clawed up into the side of the mountain. The road in itself didn’t posses anything admirable, it was dust and earth that twisted and curved taking me higher and higher. Houses lined each side of the road, old wooden houses, like those you would expect the poor in third world countries to live in. The roofs were occasionally build of zinc boards, but more often than not they were either shriveled palm leaves or long pieces of metal and wood. The windows were cracked, the doors flapped like flags in the bellowing dry wind and they stood almost leaning to the neighboring house. Occasionally one or two of the houses would have a fence around them, protecting their space, this fence would be flimsy, mostly pieces of rotten metal rods held together by other pieces of metal.
I walked barefooted upon this road, looking from side to side in a kind of horror at the different houses. Never once did I consider the reason of why I could be here, never once did I think that I was out of place. I just thought of walking forward and that for some unknown reason I had to get to the very top of this “mountain.”
Despite the dryness of the road it felt muddy and clingy underneath my feet, still none of this felt odd. It was just the persistent feeling that I had to get up there.
The wind suddenly picked up blowing dust upward; instinctively I raised my arm to protect myself from the dust. However, even after I covered my eyes it still felt as if the dust blew on my face making my eyes watery. Blinking rapidly I slowly lowered my arm and looked around, finding to my right a house, it didn’t stand up from the other ones in any special way, but if you looked closely at the cracked window you would see blood, dripping from the sharp corner of the glass and behind the shattered window I saw what looked like a human being, staring straight ahead. I squinted but the features of the face were obliterated by the distance. Curious, I drew a step towards the house, followed by another, but then I caught the number of the mailbox.
15021 appeared to be written starkly for all to see. For some reason that number frightened me and I drew back as if I just had been struck.
I gingerly drew away from the house, my steps fast. Now I was concentrating on just moving forward, not looking to my sides or even trying to catch any details of the different houses. After a few minutes of this frantic walking my breath began to deepen and grow ragged, the sun seemed to beat down on me -the wind seemed to be trying to make me give up. But I was determined to make my way to the top, I stubbornly refused to turn around and leave.
Soon I caught the smell of what could only be fire and sure enough when I turned my gaze towards what lay just a few meters away from me there was black smoke rising towards the sky. The wind blew and what reached my face wasn’t dust alone, but ashes as well.
Panic shot through me and I started frantically running towards the fire, my feet slapping against the suddenly dry earth. Then I spotted something moving in front of the flames, and I slowed down my pace. Without warning the person turned around, revealing skin darkened by the ashes, hair matted with dirt, I could barely recognize who it was, though something told me I knew this person from somewhere. His eyes met mine and a grin appeared on his face.
“Wake up,” he said.
- - -
Yet another odd dream I had.
-P&U
I walked barefooted upon this road, looking from side to side in a kind of horror at the different houses. Never once did I consider the reason of why I could be here, never once did I think that I was out of place. I just thought of walking forward and that for some unknown reason I had to get to the very top of this “mountain.”
Despite the dryness of the road it felt muddy and clingy underneath my feet, still none of this felt odd. It was just the persistent feeling that I had to get up there.
The wind suddenly picked up blowing dust upward; instinctively I raised my arm to protect myself from the dust. However, even after I covered my eyes it still felt as if the dust blew on my face making my eyes watery. Blinking rapidly I slowly lowered my arm and looked around, finding to my right a house, it didn’t stand up from the other ones in any special way, but if you looked closely at the cracked window you would see blood, dripping from the sharp corner of the glass and behind the shattered window I saw what looked like a human being, staring straight ahead. I squinted but the features of the face were obliterated by the distance. Curious, I drew a step towards the house, followed by another, but then I caught the number of the mailbox.
15021 appeared to be written starkly for all to see. For some reason that number frightened me and I drew back as if I just had been struck.
I gingerly drew away from the house, my steps fast. Now I was concentrating on just moving forward, not looking to my sides or even trying to catch any details of the different houses. After a few minutes of this frantic walking my breath began to deepen and grow ragged, the sun seemed to beat down on me -the wind seemed to be trying to make me give up. But I was determined to make my way to the top, I stubbornly refused to turn around and leave.
Soon I caught the smell of what could only be fire and sure enough when I turned my gaze towards what lay just a few meters away from me there was black smoke rising towards the sky. The wind blew and what reached my face wasn’t dust alone, but ashes as well.
Panic shot through me and I started frantically running towards the fire, my feet slapping against the suddenly dry earth. Then I spotted something moving in front of the flames, and I slowed down my pace. Without warning the person turned around, revealing skin darkened by the ashes, hair matted with dirt, I could barely recognize who it was, though something told me I knew this person from somewhere. His eyes met mine and a grin appeared on his face.
“Wake up,” he said.
- - -
Yet another odd dream I had.
-P&U
Monday, December 21, 2009
Soundly Dreaming
Everything was dark, disoriented, nothing.
Then the feeling of wind blowing on your face, then the feeling of earth under your naked feet, then the chirping and croaking of different animals in the forest, yet still completely disoriented.
Then, finally, sight.
I open my eyes, my vision foggy, not being able to focus on anything, but yet I know that from the sounds and the smells I am somewhere both moist and grassy. Then, slowly, gradually it returns and I am able to see where I am for the first time.
I gasp in what could be horror, awe or shock, but is more likely a mixture of all three. My eyes land on a great tree that stands before me, its trunk nearly as thick as a small house, giving the impression of great age. The branches stretch high, high, higher than I could ever hope to see, not even tilting my head back to an uncomfortable angle helps to see the branches. Everything is covered in soft green moss, red buds, orchids and other flowers barely identifiable bloom from the trunk, vines twist and twine from branch to branch. The leaves shine with a healthy green color. Its twisting roots thick enough to have someone snugly sleep in them.
After taking in the great sight, my eyes travel to the ground and around to identify where I am. Grass pokes from the earth and leaves occasionally cover patches of the ground. Other trees begin around thirty feet from that great tree, some of them being large and impressive but overshadowed by the great tree that stands before me. They too seem to be covered in vines and flowers and I even spot a bird or two quietly perched on their branches. I’m in a forest that has been made completely clear in my mind, everything carrying that greenish hue that only forests posses.
My eyes travel back to this enormous tree. I am eager, excited for some odd reason, but confusion and caution seems to overtake my other emotions so I remain still, looking over the tree.
Birds continue chirping, animals dart here and there, the leaves and branches rustle in a gentle breeze that seems out of place in such a thick forest and the occasionally loud, startling squawk from a bird I fail to identify.
There seems to be movement and I turn my head to try to see the topmost branches, there they are rustling wildly, leaves are falling. I spot something moving, no sliding like a snake down the trunk of the great tree. Yet I can’t seem to locate it, only see the tell tale signs of movement here and there. Nearly touching the earth a reptile-like head emerges. It’s pale in color and all I can catch of it is a long, bony snout and golden seemingly sightless eyes. Its body is thick but shows no apparent sign of extremities, covered in vines, moss and fungus. I am too scared to move, so I just watch as it blinks slowly and tilts its head to the side.
“It’s dying,” it says, in a hoarse voice.
The great tree starts to pale, flowers wilt and die, branches crack and fall, leaves darken and die, it all happens so suddenly I barely have time to blink.
Then it’s all darkness once more.
- - -
Weird dream I had, very odd, odd dream.
- P&U
Then the feeling of wind blowing on your face, then the feeling of earth under your naked feet, then the chirping and croaking of different animals in the forest, yet still completely disoriented.
Then, finally, sight.
I open my eyes, my vision foggy, not being able to focus on anything, but yet I know that from the sounds and the smells I am somewhere both moist and grassy. Then, slowly, gradually it returns and I am able to see where I am for the first time.
I gasp in what could be horror, awe or shock, but is more likely a mixture of all three. My eyes land on a great tree that stands before me, its trunk nearly as thick as a small house, giving the impression of great age. The branches stretch high, high, higher than I could ever hope to see, not even tilting my head back to an uncomfortable angle helps to see the branches. Everything is covered in soft green moss, red buds, orchids and other flowers barely identifiable bloom from the trunk, vines twist and twine from branch to branch. The leaves shine with a healthy green color. Its twisting roots thick enough to have someone snugly sleep in them.
After taking in the great sight, my eyes travel to the ground and around to identify where I am. Grass pokes from the earth and leaves occasionally cover patches of the ground. Other trees begin around thirty feet from that great tree, some of them being large and impressive but overshadowed by the great tree that stands before me. They too seem to be covered in vines and flowers and I even spot a bird or two quietly perched on their branches. I’m in a forest that has been made completely clear in my mind, everything carrying that greenish hue that only forests posses.
My eyes travel back to this enormous tree. I am eager, excited for some odd reason, but confusion and caution seems to overtake my other emotions so I remain still, looking over the tree.
Birds continue chirping, animals dart here and there, the leaves and branches rustle in a gentle breeze that seems out of place in such a thick forest and the occasionally loud, startling squawk from a bird I fail to identify.
There seems to be movement and I turn my head to try to see the topmost branches, there they are rustling wildly, leaves are falling. I spot something moving, no sliding like a snake down the trunk of the great tree. Yet I can’t seem to locate it, only see the tell tale signs of movement here and there. Nearly touching the earth a reptile-like head emerges. It’s pale in color and all I can catch of it is a long, bony snout and golden seemingly sightless eyes. Its body is thick but shows no apparent sign of extremities, covered in vines, moss and fungus. I am too scared to move, so I just watch as it blinks slowly and tilts its head to the side.
“It’s dying,” it says, in a hoarse voice.
The great tree starts to pale, flowers wilt and die, branches crack and fall, leaves darken and die, it all happens so suddenly I barely have time to blink.
Then it’s all darkness once more.
- - -
Weird dream I had, very odd, odd dream.
- P&U
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