The joys and wonders of 1st person one-shots
Finals are coming up and I'm a little anxious, to tell you the truth. And, not to mention, I feel like everything is about to change. The whole week is going to be weird, I just know it.
At the moment, I should be working on what I have to get done by the time the semester's over and on studying too, but, I feel like jotting down a few words to loosen the mind. I really don't want to do anything, it's a three day weekend! But, I have to or else ._.
So here's something for/from the pseudo universe of The Wingless.
Word of caution: Some existentialist-type stuff ahead. o_o Or just psycho-stuff idk.
"Do you believe yourself to be real?"
"Do you think for other people?"
"Do you do things for the sake of yourself?"
The questions they asked me were mere buzzes in the back of my head. I haven't been able to hear ever since I woke up. Even that, I'm not sure of. Maybe, I've been awake the whole time but just haven't realized.
"Am I real? Or am I a fake?"
"It's cold. It's thick. I can't move my hands."
"I see red."
Did I do something wrong? Even though... I'm not sure what wrong is. But I know, that on their faces are the faces of anger and dislike. I don't want to look at them. They make me think of bad things. Negative things... Of the times, the time, when I figured out -
That everybody hates me.
"What is worth? What is a name?"
"My name means nothing. But somehow they found me."
"There's a hundred other people with this name."
But within closed eye, I am able to see, my fabrications of their faces, just like I do with everybody else. People, as you know, wear masks. So I see masks, nothing but masks, and they float around like phantoms. The masks frown at my unwillingness to speak.
"Do you remember the feeling? The smell of smoke..."
"The feeling of deciding another's fate..."
"How it slaked your desire to feel important?"
This voice was empowering. It gave me direction.
"But once isn't enough."
"You cannot be satisfied with one."
"You must take another and another, until your hands overflow with the fates of others -"
It gave me confidence, gave me meaning and truth - that's what I told myself - but inside, I knew, that what I was doing was wrong in the society we live in today. Yet, even then, I asked myself, why should I listen? Why should I follow their rules?
I am nervous. My hands are shaking uncontrollably.
"-and till then will you feel better."
I shake my head. I can hear them shout and scream hateful things at me.
"That is... Until you get the feeling again."
I open my eyes. A heavy hand slammed the desk before me. Upon impact, my eyes were drawn to theirs, thick folds accenting the bridge of the nose, narrowing the eyes. They looked upon me with the eyes of judgment.
"How could you deny what you've already testified?" he asked me, impatient, "And what countless witnesses have already said? Just tell us why. Why did you do it?"
I covered my face to hide those eyes. I knew this would happen, that others would look at me like I didn't belong. Like I truly did something wrong when it was just something I wanted to do. What I felt I had to do. My feelings had to be put into place somehow. I just didn't think that it would end up like this.
Earlier... I said that people had masks. I am not an exception. This particular mask moved according to the tone of the voice and what they said. To me, the mask smiled:
"You can't escape it."
"It's a need, your personal drug. And it cannot go unsatisfied."
"You want to kill. You -"
"-must kill. For the sake of myself I must."
The child before me was not in the right state of mind. Their hands shook, their eyes wild and wide... I pitied this child and what they went through to end up in such a state.
"I...wanted to kill...in order...to feel...real."
"I felt real. I want to be real. I want to exist."
"I wanted to do something that mattered."
I looked at my companion and saw my reaction mirrored in their eyes. Shock and awe. I turned back to the child, shivering in their seat. It was all too fluid to be fake, too smooth to be a ruse.
They looked especially troubled.
"I don't want this," they said quietly, "I don't. I don't want to kill...anymore."
...The pseudo-universe, in my eyes, is crazy. A lot of weird things happen, a lot of deaths, a lot of events having to do with morals and etc. etc. And I'll say that they derive from my experiences and my thoughts...and apparently my art too, as it's being affected by this delightfully f-ed up thinking of mine (as somebody commented personally a few days ago). So I'm going along with it, as you could probably tell.
I've also discovered the wonderful world of 1st person, and how easier it flows on the keyboard. it just so happens that when I write in 3rd person, my head hurts after a while because, with the way it is, my mind has been unable to "sit still" as of late (which is troubling). o_o Some last thoughts...
I think writing a happy ending will be the toughest thing I will ever do (it will happen, just expect the world to end by that time). :)
At the moment, I should be working on what I have to get done by the time the semester's over and on studying too, but, I feel like jotting down a few words to loosen the mind. I really don't want to do anything, it's a three day weekend! But, I have to or else ._.
So here's something for/from the pseudo universe of The Wingless.
Word of caution: Some existentialist-type stuff ahead. o_o Or just psycho-stuff idk.
- - -
"Do you believe yourself to be real?"
"Do you think for other people?"
"Do you do things for the sake of yourself?"
The questions they asked me were mere buzzes in the back of my head. I haven't been able to hear ever since I woke up. Even that, I'm not sure of. Maybe, I've been awake the whole time but just haven't realized.
"Am I real? Or am I a fake?"
"It's cold. It's thick. I can't move my hands."
"I see red."
Did I do something wrong? Even though... I'm not sure what wrong is. But I know, that on their faces are the faces of anger and dislike. I don't want to look at them. They make me think of bad things. Negative things... Of the times, the time, when I figured out -
That everybody hates me.
"What is worth? What is a name?"
"My name means nothing. But somehow they found me."
"There's a hundred other people with this name."
But within closed eye, I am able to see, my fabrications of their faces, just like I do with everybody else. People, as you know, wear masks. So I see masks, nothing but masks, and they float around like phantoms. The masks frown at my unwillingness to speak.
"Do you remember the feeling? The smell of smoke..."
"The feeling of deciding another's fate..."
"How it slaked your desire to feel important?"
This voice was empowering. It gave me direction.
"But once isn't enough."
"You cannot be satisfied with one."
"You must take another and another, until your hands overflow with the fates of others -"
It gave me confidence, gave me meaning and truth - that's what I told myself - but inside, I knew, that what I was doing was wrong in the society we live in today. Yet, even then, I asked myself, why should I listen? Why should I follow their rules?
I am nervous. My hands are shaking uncontrollably.
"-and till then will you feel better."
I shake my head. I can hear them shout and scream hateful things at me.
"That is... Until you get the feeling again."
I open my eyes. A heavy hand slammed the desk before me. Upon impact, my eyes were drawn to theirs, thick folds accenting the bridge of the nose, narrowing the eyes. They looked upon me with the eyes of judgment.
"How could you deny what you've already testified?" he asked me, impatient, "And what countless witnesses have already said? Just tell us why. Why did you do it?"
I covered my face to hide those eyes. I knew this would happen, that others would look at me like I didn't belong. Like I truly did something wrong when it was just something I wanted to do. What I felt I had to do. My feelings had to be put into place somehow. I just didn't think that it would end up like this.
Earlier... I said that people had masks. I am not an exception. This particular mask moved according to the tone of the voice and what they said. To me, the mask smiled:
"You can't escape it."
"It's a need, your personal drug. And it cannot go unsatisfied."
"You want to kill. You -"
- - -
"-must kill. For the sake of myself I must."
The child before me was not in the right state of mind. Their hands shook, their eyes wild and wide... I pitied this child and what they went through to end up in such a state.
"I...wanted to kill...in order...to feel...real."
"I felt real. I want to be real. I want to exist."
"I wanted to do something that mattered."
I looked at my companion and saw my reaction mirrored in their eyes. Shock and awe. I turned back to the child, shivering in their seat. It was all too fluid to be fake, too smooth to be a ruse.
They looked especially troubled.
"I don't want this," they said quietly, "I don't. I don't want to kill...anymore."
- - -
...The pseudo-universe, in my eyes, is crazy. A lot of weird things happen, a lot of deaths, a lot of events having to do with morals and etc. etc. And I'll say that they derive from my experiences and my thoughts...and apparently my art too, as it's being affected by this delightfully f-ed up thinking of mine (as somebody commented personally a few days ago). So I'm going along with it, as you could probably tell.
I've also discovered the wonderful world of 1st person, and how easier it flows on the keyboard. it just so happens that when I write in 3rd person, my head hurts after a while because, with the way it is, my mind has been unable to "sit still" as of late (which is troubling). o_o Some last thoughts...
I think writing a happy ending will be the toughest thing I will ever do (it will happen, just expect the world to end by that time). :)
Sunday Scribblings #170 - She
For the sake of something not as long-winded as the last post - It was unexpected but I suddenly wanted to explore some Victorian era stuff. Try and figure out who the narrator is. :)
She was all many hoped to be.
A beauty of fair skin and fair hair, tender caresses and a voice comparable to the lutes of the angels. She too had eyes of the ocean, dark and mysterious and wise and intelligent. She had a strong countenance, poise, and the inbred honor many coveted and desired.
There was a slip in her armor, a little hole - a pinhole if you will - right in the middle of the chest. This hole led to her heart, but even then, there were a series of locks in order to fully access it all. But her heart was a puzzle, designed for only a certain somebody of her choosing. I figured that out because I solved it. But I wasn't the one who was supposed to solve it. It wasn't my right.
In the shade of night, she was sorrowful.
Despite her light appearance in public, she seemed a different person come nighttime and I would follow the fair lady because I was worried - fair ladies shouldn't go out at night. Of course, I wasn't the one she wanted to solve the puzzle so I let her alone to her business, watching wherever she went a good distance away before silently escorting her back to her house. I watched till she drifted to sleep.
Of course I would never gossip about the fair lady, I was too busy being worried. And every night she would go somewhere and return in the wee hours of day. And every time she returned, she had a tremendous look of sorrow and longing. But when the sun rose and the lady was prim and proper, resigned and studious, the looks weren't the least bit visible. Still, as much as that reassured me, it was only temporary. The look come one sunrise, remained, and she would constantly wake sorrowful and teary-eyed. So now I had to bring it to myself to never leave her her out of my sight.
She was a puzzle.
Of the days that followed my horrendous revelation, the pinhole remained but her heart became more confused - the puzzle much more complicated then before. There were new little twists and turns, areas or doorknobs that lead to nowhere in particular, and certain sections of complete darkness where you had to tread further till light was restored. But, even after all that, I was not the one the lady wanted to be the one who solved the puzzle so I resumed as before, keeping my distance, watching and worrying.
It was important for a lady of her status to maintain appearances, and she suddenly began neglecting that. Her social obligations sooner were no more worth to her like a coin to millionaire. I was fearful. The puzzle too grew even more complex, springing little traps meant to keep out anyone else but the person she wanted to solve the puzzle. She kept a blind eye to me. It simply wasn't my right.
In the luminous sun, she was sickly.
There was grand talk about her and she fainted and was carried home. I followed and watched her rest as motionless as a corpse. But the fair lady was alive and well, only weak and needing of much rest. I was surprised as to how the news of her fainting spread like wildfire. Of course, I was angry but I daren't hurt the lady in her current state. Sometimes acts of reckless abandon never helped. Right then the puzzle gained another curious layer that, just like her armor, had that pinhole point of vulnerability.
In the nighttime, the lady stirred, looked at the clock and dressed for the nightly venture. As much as I wanted for her to stay and rest, I daren't interfere. She was pale as a ghost. Storms ravaged her once peaceful oceanic eyes, and her stature was similar to that of an old woman in need of a cane. The shawl she usually wore was askew, and her fair hair too was unkept and wild. There was anger or resignation on her face, but I knew she wanted to burst into tears and hide away. And again, I was not the one to solve the puzzle. It appears as though she had forsaken me all together but I kept on, trailing her in the shade, awaiting her return. It did not happen.
She was dead.
She who many wanted to be,
She who stood straight and tall,
She who looked upon others with fairness,
She who was birthed honorably,
She who was raised nobly,
She was dead.
And she died a woman in the dark, resigned to her fate. A supposed "fallen woman" because of her high birth. And even then, in those last moments, she kept her eyes averted from me - I, the only one who had the key to her suffocating heart. She passed away an ignorant woman.
Still, though she scorned me before death, I watch over the fair lady's grave and tend to it when the need arrives. And as her heart was a mystery to others, the news about her spread and was extinguished as quickly as one's cold breath in winter. Day and night, I tended to her grave. Day and night, I realized how her heart kept it's hold on me. Day and night, I reminded myself that I vowed never to leave her side.
A beauty of fair skin and fair hair, tender caresses and a voice comparable to the lutes of the angels. She too had eyes of the ocean, dark and mysterious and wise and intelligent. She had a strong countenance, poise, and the inbred honor many coveted and desired.
There was a slip in her armor, a little hole - a pinhole if you will - right in the middle of the chest. This hole led to her heart, but even then, there were a series of locks in order to fully access it all. But her heart was a puzzle, designed for only a certain somebody of her choosing. I figured that out because I solved it. But I wasn't the one who was supposed to solve it. It wasn't my right.
In the shade of night, she was sorrowful.
Despite her light appearance in public, she seemed a different person come nighttime and I would follow the fair lady because I was worried - fair ladies shouldn't go out at night. Of course, I wasn't the one she wanted to solve the puzzle so I let her alone to her business, watching wherever she went a good distance away before silently escorting her back to her house. I watched till she drifted to sleep.
Of course I would never gossip about the fair lady, I was too busy being worried. And every night she would go somewhere and return in the wee hours of day. And every time she returned, she had a tremendous look of sorrow and longing. But when the sun rose and the lady was prim and proper, resigned and studious, the looks weren't the least bit visible. Still, as much as that reassured me, it was only temporary. The look come one sunrise, remained, and she would constantly wake sorrowful and teary-eyed. So now I had to bring it to myself to never leave her her out of my sight.
She was a puzzle.
Of the days that followed my horrendous revelation, the pinhole remained but her heart became more confused - the puzzle much more complicated then before. There were new little twists and turns, areas or doorknobs that lead to nowhere in particular, and certain sections of complete darkness where you had to tread further till light was restored. But, even after all that, I was not the one the lady wanted to be the one who solved the puzzle so I resumed as before, keeping my distance, watching and worrying.
It was important for a lady of her status to maintain appearances, and she suddenly began neglecting that. Her social obligations sooner were no more worth to her like a coin to millionaire. I was fearful. The puzzle too grew even more complex, springing little traps meant to keep out anyone else but the person she wanted to solve the puzzle. She kept a blind eye to me. It simply wasn't my right.
In the luminous sun, she was sickly.
There was grand talk about her and she fainted and was carried home. I followed and watched her rest as motionless as a corpse. But the fair lady was alive and well, only weak and needing of much rest. I was surprised as to how the news of her fainting spread like wildfire. Of course, I was angry but I daren't hurt the lady in her current state. Sometimes acts of reckless abandon never helped. Right then the puzzle gained another curious layer that, just like her armor, had that pinhole point of vulnerability.
In the nighttime, the lady stirred, looked at the clock and dressed for the nightly venture. As much as I wanted for her to stay and rest, I daren't interfere. She was pale as a ghost. Storms ravaged her once peaceful oceanic eyes, and her stature was similar to that of an old woman in need of a cane. The shawl she usually wore was askew, and her fair hair too was unkept and wild. There was anger or resignation on her face, but I knew she wanted to burst into tears and hide away. And again, I was not the one to solve the puzzle. It appears as though she had forsaken me all together but I kept on, trailing her in the shade, awaiting her return. It did not happen.
She was dead.
She who many wanted to be,
She who stood straight and tall,
She who looked upon others with fairness,
She who was birthed honorably,
She who was raised nobly,
She was dead.
And she died a woman in the dark, resigned to her fate. A supposed "fallen woman" because of her high birth. And even then, in those last moments, she kept her eyes averted from me - I, the only one who had the key to her suffocating heart. She passed away an ignorant woman.
Still, though she scorned me before death, I watch over the fair lady's grave and tend to it when the need arrives. And as her heart was a mystery to others, the news about her spread and was extinguished as quickly as one's cold breath in winter. Day and night, I tended to her grave. Day and night, I realized how her heart kept it's hold on me. Day and night, I reminded myself that I vowed never to leave her side.
poolside
++After this I'm getting back to writing YZ0 >_>'' I'm also a Castlevania music nerd...
Wandering the crystal blue, you wonder sometimes if what belongs there is true. It could be a beautiful hapless dream - of delusions in the light of boredom. Momentary visions of what cannot exist - at least of what we can't take into our own hands and control. So it doesn't exist.
As for the reason why this boat rocks so much is because of the effect water has on solid objects. You can't fully grasp water - unless it's frozen - so we gave it this dreamy mysterious quality. It is nothing but an ethereal form - ephemeral. It can't exist. Nothing real exists there.
So what is it then? This face I see staring back... Is the sea just a mirror? A dark, dark, petrifying mirror that shows us the past? the present? future? I look deeper and deeper, catching my sleep-deprived face in the water, holding it for awhile in my brain - a snatch in time in the ever flowing water. It eventually fades with the tiny waves and ripples. Do I exist?
In this merciless body of water. I certainly can't stand in it else I want to drown. So I'll exist, only temporarily, only long enough till exhaustion racks my frenzied limbs when trying to swim to shore - when there isn't one in sight - and I have enough oxygen in my lungs to scream in the empty blue up ahead. Instead of sending some form of help - some form of solid ground for my feet to stand on - it echoes the sound. Mocking, mocking, mocking...my cry of helplessness in this human-dominated world...
I don't exist.
I don't exist.
I don't exist.
I don't exist.
I don't...
...
...
..
..
.
.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
I immediately opened my eyes, the blinding rays of sunlight scorching my periphery.
"Get on out of here! Out! Out! OUT!"
Oh crap. I fell asleep again didn't I? It must've been or else I wouldn't have been caught.
"Quit lookin' at me like that kid. Don't make me sic the dogs on you." He was literally red as a tomato. If I wasn't in danger - like, actual danger 'cause those dogs are vicious - I'd laugh. "GET OUT!"
I scrambled out the pool, the swimming tube under my arm. Right when I was at the gate the sound of barking was right behind me so I ran the hell away from there. "Sorry Mr. Wazowski! I'll never do it again! Promise!"
That wasn't his name. I just called him that for the heck of it.
"Never do the same thing twice," that's what someone smart said to me. And it's right, in a way. I shouldn't do the same thing twice...
I'll bring friends. Next time.
"Isn't that a little stupid?" they'll probably say.
No. So I'll say, "Dude. He has a freakin' pool."
So next time it is.
Wandering the crystal blue, you wonder sometimes if what belongs there is true. It could be a beautiful hapless dream - of delusions in the light of boredom. Momentary visions of what cannot exist - at least of what we can't take into our own hands and control. So it doesn't exist.
As for the reason why this boat rocks so much is because of the effect water has on solid objects. You can't fully grasp water - unless it's frozen - so we gave it this dreamy mysterious quality. It is nothing but an ethereal form - ephemeral. It can't exist. Nothing real exists there.
So what is it then? This face I see staring back... Is the sea just a mirror? A dark, dark, petrifying mirror that shows us the past? the present? future? I look deeper and deeper, catching my sleep-deprived face in the water, holding it for awhile in my brain - a snatch in time in the ever flowing water. It eventually fades with the tiny waves and ripples. Do I exist?
In this merciless body of water. I certainly can't stand in it else I want to drown. So I'll exist, only temporarily, only long enough till exhaustion racks my frenzied limbs when trying to swim to shore - when there isn't one in sight - and I have enough oxygen in my lungs to scream in the empty blue up ahead. Instead of sending some form of help - some form of solid ground for my feet to stand on - it echoes the sound. Mocking, mocking, mocking...my cry of helplessness in this human-dominated world...
I don't exist.
I don't exist.
I don't exist.
I don't exist.
I don't...
...
...
..
..
.
.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
I immediately opened my eyes, the blinding rays of sunlight scorching my periphery.
"Get on out of here! Out! Out! OUT!"
Oh crap. I fell asleep again didn't I? It must've been or else I wouldn't have been caught.
"Quit lookin' at me like that kid. Don't make me sic the dogs on you." He was literally red as a tomato. If I wasn't in danger - like, actual danger 'cause those dogs are vicious - I'd laugh. "GET OUT!"
I scrambled out the pool, the swimming tube under my arm. Right when I was at the gate the sound of barking was right behind me so I ran the hell away from there. "Sorry Mr. Wazowski! I'll never do it again! Promise!"
That wasn't his name. I just called him that for the heck of it.
"Never do the same thing twice," that's what someone smart said to me. And it's right, in a way. I shouldn't do the same thing twice...
I'll bring friends. Next time.
"Isn't that a little stupid?" they'll probably say.
No. So I'll say, "Dude. He has a freakin' pool."
So next time it is.
i dreamt of a town...
I know that there was something - some kind of purpose - to these dreams I'd had for the past few weeks. A town, somewhere along the shore that called to me like a ghost of a memory I once had.
It was of course of a friend whom I knew and played with as a child. It was of course of a friend, whom I knew, had died. It was the night that showed me his face for multiple times and it is the night that I blame for my unwillingness to sleep. And the thought of it all is absurd.
I asked a friend to drive me there, that little town, for the weekend.
It hadn't changed much, not from what I remember of it. There was also that same smell, probably the smell of the smokestacks of the factories or the fish market - at best a mixture of both. But that wasn't the destination I had in mind.
What I thought of was the lighthouse. Burned by the accidental fire that later killed my friend. It was rebuilt - of course it would - built all shiny and new. It was insulting in a way and I wished for this contraption to collapse.
"What are you looking for?" she said to me. For the past minute or so, I'd done nothing but stare at this damned lighthouse - seeing...remembering the charred remains that took him from me. "Fae. Fae!"
I closed my eyes for only a moment, feeling a wave of dizziness rack my brain. Then there was his face and then a scream - and in my groggy state, I couldn't tell whether that scream was real. All that I know was that it echoed in the blackness and I was out like a light.
I woke in a cold sweat. My clothes damp and restricting. But amidst this I knew what he wanted me to do - what I repressed because of the fire.
I wasn't in a hospital of any sort, just the first aid room in the lighthouse. I rose to my feet feeling the previous drowsiness and heaviness melt away due to the adrenaline rush of realization.
I failed once. Failed to be there for him lost in my grief that later resulted in my moving away. And what I left behind was the only light he left in that tragedy.
Bursting past the doors and ignoring the concerned cries of my friend hurrying behind me, I jumped down to the shore, the sand softening the impact. It was all too familiar because we'd walked here many times, too many times that we gave every sea-creature and stand-alone rock a name. But I had forgotten those now and they too had moved on with the deliberate passage of time.
And there it was - the hollow in the rock as I remembered it which I struck with another sharper rock in order to loosen it. Once done, I took the cover of the hollow and brushed the sand off the cool surface of the lunch-box I predicted was there. My friend had appeared at my side by the time I had this rusted box in my hands.
My heart beat frantically, the face of the boy and his voice clear in my mind, as I opened the box to find a few keepsakes and a scrap of stationary. Among the keepsakes were old toys and baubles, items I remembered that we found or salvaged, giving each and every one of them a significant meaning that only a child can grant. I'd forgot about that too and I despised that fact that he - having haunted my dreams for who knows how long - wouldn't just remind me instead of me having to dig deep through my memories of the days I didn't want to remember.
I then took the paper, unfolding it to reveal his handwriting and a poem that struck a chord in my strained heart-
i dreamt of a town
and a face with a frown
and -would you guess-
his face wasn't all too pleasant
i couldn't see
what was to become of me
of the hellfire-like emotions
slowly consuming me
if this is to be
what i shall leave
as the last proof
to prove my sanity
then - so be it
and so my friend in the dark
i bid you good night
and weep for your loneliness
because it's all too clear why you appear to me and me only
we are the same
too much alike
too hauntingly alike
that i'd rather never see you again...
I lowered the letter to my lap, letting whatever tear fall where they may. The boy was laughing at me now. Laughing a terrible laugh that echoed like a never-ending spiral over and over and over...
Closing my ears against this broken-record of laughter, the paper blew into the wind, landing and eventually submerging into the watery deep lost for eternity.
It was of course of a friend whom I knew and played with as a child. It was of course of a friend, whom I knew, had died. It was the night that showed me his face for multiple times and it is the night that I blame for my unwillingness to sleep. And the thought of it all is absurd.
I asked a friend to drive me there, that little town, for the weekend.
It hadn't changed much, not from what I remember of it. There was also that same smell, probably the smell of the smokestacks of the factories or the fish market - at best a mixture of both. But that wasn't the destination I had in mind.
What I thought of was the lighthouse. Burned by the accidental fire that later killed my friend. It was rebuilt - of course it would - built all shiny and new. It was insulting in a way and I wished for this contraption to collapse.
"What are you looking for?" she said to me. For the past minute or so, I'd done nothing but stare at this damned lighthouse - seeing...remembering the charred remains that took him from me. "Fae. Fae!"
I closed my eyes for only a moment, feeling a wave of dizziness rack my brain. Then there was his face and then a scream - and in my groggy state, I couldn't tell whether that scream was real. All that I know was that it echoed in the blackness and I was out like a light.
+ + +
I woke in a cold sweat. My clothes damp and restricting. But amidst this I knew what he wanted me to do - what I repressed because of the fire.
I wasn't in a hospital of any sort, just the first aid room in the lighthouse. I rose to my feet feeling the previous drowsiness and heaviness melt away due to the adrenaline rush of realization.
I failed once. Failed to be there for him lost in my grief that later resulted in my moving away. And what I left behind was the only light he left in that tragedy.
Bursting past the doors and ignoring the concerned cries of my friend hurrying behind me, I jumped down to the shore, the sand softening the impact. It was all too familiar because we'd walked here many times, too many times that we gave every sea-creature and stand-alone rock a name. But I had forgotten those now and they too had moved on with the deliberate passage of time.
And there it was - the hollow in the rock as I remembered it which I struck with another sharper rock in order to loosen it. Once done, I took the cover of the hollow and brushed the sand off the cool surface of the lunch-box I predicted was there. My friend had appeared at my side by the time I had this rusted box in my hands.
My heart beat frantically, the face of the boy and his voice clear in my mind, as I opened the box to find a few keepsakes and a scrap of stationary. Among the keepsakes were old toys and baubles, items I remembered that we found or salvaged, giving each and every one of them a significant meaning that only a child can grant. I'd forgot about that too and I despised that fact that he - having haunted my dreams for who knows how long - wouldn't just remind me instead of me having to dig deep through my memories of the days I didn't want to remember.
I then took the paper, unfolding it to reveal his handwriting and a poem that struck a chord in my strained heart-
i dreamt of a town
and a face with a frown
and -would you guess-
his face wasn't all too pleasant
i couldn't see
what was to become of me
of the hellfire-like emotions
slowly consuming me
if this is to be
what i shall leave
as the last proof
to prove my sanity
then - so be it
and so my friend in the dark
i bid you good night
and weep for your loneliness
because it's all too clear why you appear to me and me only
we are the same
too much alike
too hauntingly alike
that i'd rather never see you again...
I lowered the letter to my lap, letting whatever tear fall where they may. The boy was laughing at me now. Laughing a terrible laugh that echoed like a never-ending spiral over and over and over...
Closing my ears against this broken-record of laughter, the paper blew into the wind, landing and eventually submerging into the watery deep lost for eternity.
