What's to come...

Golden streams of light blanket the world outside of my shadowed hideaway as a cool breeze carries the sweet lullabies of bird song and life along its playful edge. It attempts to trickle past me, sneaking into the small opening of my darkened corner, but fails to capture my attention as a pair of small ear buds sit snugly within the cupping flesh of my ears, allowing the haunting melodies of my favorite music to distract me from the world itself. The soul igniting title music of Requiem for a Dream. I close my eyes and take a deep breath slowly, allowing the air to fill my lungs, enjoying the way they expand within their large cage of flesh and bone, hold it for a moment, lingering on that odd tightness…then like a shattered levee, I unleash it and feel myself begin to wither as though the emptiness I feel is all that remains. That it’s not merely an expression of emotion but a tangible thing. 

The words flicker and sway through the unseen winds of my memory warehouse as they slip from fingertips to the keys beneath them. Graceful in their movement along the screen, to be understood. To be seen. Wanting nothing more than to rid the self of the heaviness bearing down from within. A spirit weary, a soul crying out for a resolution to the coiling leviathan of pain twisting through the delicate pathways of a wounded heart.

I speak in poetic riddles, my secret language of honesty drenched in melodic prose. Desperate to escape this shell I have unknowingly cocooned myself in. The chrysalis of self-preservation no longer needed. To be like the coming of new life, to be free of what I once was. To emerge like the butterfly; beautiful in its new form and free. But I am no butterfly. I have become more like the Moth; a creature of beauty hidden under a darkened sky. Where the Moon is my goddess and I am a slave to the light despite how it burns me. To want so desperately to be near that warmth, that haunting glow… Only to realize it will be my very downfall.

Try as I may to be like so many that I admire, I find myself falling behind. My footsteps have gone still as I’ve unknowingly traveled along a path that has narrowed. One that no one has walked in what seems like ages. A forgotten path only the bravest or most foolish would venture. One there is no preparing for.

I feel a quiver of cold fear slither through me as I view my future footfalls along this new path; covered in thick, skin tearing thorns. There is no escaping them, no avoiding their razor edges. If I’m to keep going, it will not be easy. It will not be painless. Those thorns will rip pieces of me away as I force my way through them. I will not make it out the other side as I initially began. I know, within every fiber of my being, I will not recognize myself if I make it out alive. You’d think that perhaps for a moment, I would pause and weigh the options and consider the possibility of turning back and finding another way, an easier way. Perhaps it is Pride that refuses to fathom another way, or pure stupidity. I don’t have the luxury nor energy to go back… Besides, every forward movement of my weary form is only than swallowed by the keepers of time.

Sadly, there is no choice. There is nothing behind me but shadows and dust.

Muscles strain for a moment in hesitation before I finally put one trembling foot forward and already a thorn has sliced deeply into my calf; red bubbling to the surface and trickling down the pale flesh in stark contrast. The sting is sharp and immediate, but I don’t falter. I keep going. More cuts begin to cover my legs, more red welling to the surface, the pain a constant thing as I will myself onward. The thorns seem to close in, thicker, higher, and sharper; assaulting my entire form as I take one agonizing step after the next. It feels as though I feel nothing but this excruciating agony as I am now covered in that warm red water. I feel as though I will collapse, my body no longer strong enough to experience this self-induced torture… The echo of red footsteps in my wake…

Eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the agony, the constant reminder of where I am and what I’m doing…what it’s doing to me…

Suddenly, it stops.

Cool air presses gently along the open cuts littering my form and my eyes, slowly, carefully, flutter open.

The monstrous thorn bushes have receded and have faded into the nothingness behind me. Trembling, I suck in shallow breaths as the sting has morphed into a horrific throb along every inch of my bleeding body as I attempt to bring my arms close to my chest; gritted teeth holding back the hiss of mind-numbing discomfort as my flesh screams in protest at the simple action.

I force my tired eyes to focus on what lies before me and realize with an ache of confusion that I’m standing before a wall of thick, unearthly fog. It almost appears to be waiting for me as it swirls within itself like a clouded mirror.

Exhausted, weak and having nothing left to go back to, I take a few tentative steps toward the living mass of vapor. I know I should be afraid but perhaps I’ve experienced too much in such a short period of time for my mind to scream at me to stop, to be cautious. Or I’ve simply become too numb.

The thought of reaching out to investigate this wall of heavy mist dances behind my eyes, but I decide against it. I know what I have to do and trying to delay the inevitable is futile at this point.

There’s no use in trying to make sense of a thing when the world itself is bred of chaos. It is better to simply immerse myself and see what happens.

Besides, I have nothing left to lose.

-To Be Continued-