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| >> Book >> Writing >> ID #1592971 |   |
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The price we pay for scraps of consciousness.   "The hands of every clock are shears, trimming us away scrap by scrap, and every time piece with a digital readout blinks us towards implosion." -Dean Koontz- {b}Word Count:{/b} {image:1558952} |
| 1. Experience | ID #689080 |
| Posted: 3-2-2010 @ 5:41 am EST Edited: 3-6-2010 @ 5:27 pm EST | |
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"Experience is a brutal teacher." - C.S. Lewis There is a dark lingering that comes with death for those who are left behind. A black cloud that follows overhead. The more we to try to shake off the savages of those malingering thoughts, the more the skies darken and enclose you within its grasp. It had finally come to the point where she could take it no longer. Her skin felt too tight for her body. The blood in her veins sluggishly moved moment by moment, and she felt every centimeter it took to reach her heart. Sleep was a fantasy. Sorrow was her reality. And a deep-seeded anger that festered within her chest until it consumed all her thoughts. The park was bleak and empty, the city's attempts at renovations had long been forgotten. She took a seat on a scarred park bench, the autumn wind blowing against her face as it swirled the fallen leaves on the ground in a silent dance. She embraced the cold, clasping the collar of her jacket tight against her throat. It meant she could feel something - something other than the darkness. The images bombarded her almost immediately. Minutes rolled by as she began to shake, rocking herself softly back and forth. Scenes of blood and death and hate. She relived them every time she closed her eyes. When would it be enough? When would life stop punishing her for being alive? The sound of footsteps coming up the pathway caught her attention, but she keep her eyes on the pavement in front of her. There was no question who had arrived. The energy of his being was too ominous to ignore. She had always despised him for what he was. Now, she knew, what he was would be her only salvation. Scuffed black boots come into her line of sight. Silence followed. It ate at her state of mind. The shaking increased from her hands to her entire body. Still, she didn't glance up. She couldn't face what was right in front of her. "I can't take it anymore," she whispered, more to herself than to the man standing a touch away. "I see them all the time now. When I try to work. When I try to sleep. This is the first time that I've stepped out of that damn apartment in two months." "What is it you want from me?" "King told me once that you fix things. I want you to fix this." She ran her fingers over the rough bandage on her wrists. "To fix me." His voice was ice. "I don't see why I would. There's nothing to gain from helping you. You wouldn't survive the process anyway." Her head shot then, the anger inside overriding her sense of fear. "Survive?" She laughed. "You think I want to survive?" She stood up abruptly, forcing her wrists and their blood-soaked wrappings into his face. "Does this look like a sign of survival to you? I don't want to feel this anymore. I don't want to see their faces like they're burned into my brain!" "Then why-" "Because the only one who can get the job done is you," she said through grit teeth. "I've tired. Others have, too. Nothing has ever worked." She watched his face for a sign of life. Any remnants of an expression were trapped in the stiff planes and angles of his face like a statue made of marble. Hard and unmoving. She wanted to break it. "If I commit to this, there is no backing down. The moment I agree, everything I do to you will be of your own will. I will not falter. Even if it means your end." She breathed in deeply, a glimpse of hope on the horizon. "That's exactly what I wish." The dark arch of his brow lifted, a touch of amusement lighting his eyes. "Very well. You have one hour to settle your affairs." Without another word he turned and walked away, the hem of his duster swaying in the breeze. A calm settled over her. The shakes disappeared. The chill of the air no longer drifted across her skin. The weight on her shoulders had finally been lifted. She was going to be free. "And Liberty..." She turned to find him a few yards up the path, his face a mask of final judgment. "Don't make come and look for you." In a blink of an eye he was gone. |
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