Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

The Day Before.

Book By: Alex Sharpe

The Day Before. (A Short-Story Experimental Poetry)
© 2014 by Alex Sharpe

This is a book I have finished writing, and will be my first published writing. Please enjoy!

Submitted:Oct 28, 2013    Reads: 51    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

Text © Alex Sharpe 2014

The right of Alex Sharpe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him is in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1998

This book is a work of fiction, and the names, dates, characters and events, places and incidents, described within are entirely fictional and any resemblance to actual events, actual persons, living or dead, even living dead or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor parts thereof, may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any for or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher or publishers agent, assigns, or authorized representative.

Day One.

Here we are. Speak the truth, never lie. Last night happened a grizzly fight. Upon the face of the Earth, scarred bodies lie on the ground tonight. Tell us, for me, what happened that gruesome night, to you.

The tree... It burnt with a stiff fright. No one else obtruded my sight before the tree and a bird, not in flight.

The tree fell and collapsed into the ground. Peppered with ash that I see on my eyelash. The bird, not in flight, continued to fly... to nowhere at all. The tree that was there... in that direction it is... its leaves will never again fall.

A cloud arises before me, in my eye. Fills it with water so salty it's dry. I hear the rain fall all around me. I scream and I scream, see myself die. In front of me, myself stands, I am alive.

A second cloud speaks to me with colorful hue. Meant not what is meant, but known by the few.

A vision blurs my only sight. A vision of fright? Maybe it is of that night. But this vision... it is so clear that it is almost unclear, past the point. What may have saved that memory of that night, goes away at the end of tonight. I fear that I may not remember that night, for long I have tried, marked by fright, in shortness of breath, at the end of the night, what price is pried so much forth that it has died, and maybe, just maybe, it will make it through tonight?

Red and white, a snowy kite. Black and yellow, teathered to a feather. Unlike a fellow who knows how to cower, and be so mellow. Completed and defeated, it tore and dropped. Like the world, in its hand, it felt the spot. Ages of these mysteries followed. Memories behind them, not of my own, but possibly known to me, vanished and drowned. As if renown to the end of the darkness, the sun starts to set, I close my eyes, and I fall asleep, my eyes wide open, dreaming of nothing, and the something that is there.

Day Two.

I lie in the ocean, all of the sudden. Awoken from a nap, to be unspoken. Tasteful of the fishy waters, but yet... not filled with any fish. A calm water I lay, a storm blowing far out. The swells, they are large, but I know not, in doubt.

The coastline swims toward me and I grab on. The waters that were calm, now hell-spawn. I dot the coasts with my drips, like ships, in the sand, and I walk away, on my trip.

A bird flew in my eye. He told me goodbye. I needed this, I needed it bad. Away the bird flew, mouse dead in its hand.

Who is this that might speak the truth? Is it the bird who now be on his way, to a place I am not too sure of, but it's on his way?

Who be this bird of truth? Is it that he tells it? Maybe for you? The truth is a lie, it is not alive, the truth is a lie. Like a map of hell, all layers are burnt. If this grave, I cannot breathe, speaks of the truth, then I rest my soul here, and become weak - but it is not the truth. So to speak I abandon my youth and what lie beneath.

The rain hits my eye and wakes me again. I continue on my journey, searching for the truth of the tree and the bird, still on his way, not in flight, forevermore.

On the edge of warm, cold. On the top, bottom of the world. I see an eye in my eyes that's seeing me watching myself see what I am. There is blood on this pen, and love in my mind. The truth has, clearly, been left behind. I will go back to look for it, it is far behind.

This madness I am descending into is growing nightly, not daily, but daily as well. My thoughts, they run rampant. Breathe. I think of this word. Breathe... Breathe... Breathe. The word becomes alien to me, I have lost the meaning of this word in my mind. If I have forgotten what breathe means, will I forget to breathe? Wait... is that what breathe means? Breathe could mean anything... it is just a word. So breathe... breathe... breathe... what is breathe? Now another lost memory dies. Growing large, they will one day arise. They will take me, take my mind, get lost in my eyes. My memories, are now somewhere, somewhere disguised.

Day Three.

I stood before the pillars, standing tall. Are they above me, or below? From the darkness far behind them arises a light, showing many memories, they have come to fight.

I find not the truth lie on the ground, but somewhere much more than anything profound. Written in dust, nothing near sound.

Have they come to fight me now? All the years gone by they have passed. But now, they have come at last.

The trees are just tombs, dust in the wind. These memories, just wombs for something hell-sent and hell-bent on finding my truth. The truth that I seek, forever weak. The same truth of which I cannot speak.

Wishfully wondering, sundering, dundering. Everything eventually evolves into everything. Is this rhyme in which I speak? Harrowing, narrowing, making me weak?

I fall to the ground, the ground comes closer to listen. Drear-fully sinning of the truth that I cannot find, as I speak. The ground backs away, having heard enough.

My memories... they come closer. They disappear, never having existed at all I guess. They leave me, and I fear... and I continue on.

The sun and the moon, they do not exist. Just light and darkness is all it is. The stars... just light; and the Earth, the darkness, where the lost and the doomed roam, and hunt for the truth, as I, and carry on.

Hollow, shallow paths of weeping willows. Birds, sunken eyes, wishing of reap. In life, there may be darkness, but the light that vanishes it, arises, revealing the greatest marvels - they speak.

You ask me to tell you what happened that gruesome night. You are just inside my head. Only I can tell of what happened that night. That tree, the fright, that horrible sight. Go away, I will tell you a different day.

The ice melted in my mouth. Like that cloud, it washed away the dry water from the ocean, with its salty ways and waves. It melted, and washed away this question that is questioning that night... the truth, it's not here to stay.

Day Four.

I walk through the desert - so hot it's cold. It is so cold of this hot that it is warm... like a stove left on all night that is off. But I am not in the desert, I am on the coast. Near the ocean where no fish roam and a place that I know the most.

A green tree grows where no one knows. I lie upon a rock. A near-by cactus sees snow. I come upon this place where I am to show. Weary of everything, tired of know. Miles of wood - placed in rows. All in one place - glued and sowed.

I walk up to this place and my mind runs. The pillars are here, upward and near. A grave upon this pillar -it sways, it sways. But my mind is not there - it is here today. I am coming upon this place that I know the most.

I have not been here yet, but here I am. I reach for the entrance - almost there. But a door made of my memories knocks me back. I fall to the ground. Braisins of truth, they finally show. There will be no end to this wretched woe - I tear.

Evil of sorrows, killing in strife. Upon the Earth, a grizzly fight happens tonight. Scarred bodies, visions of blight - lie on the cold ground tonight. Evil of sorrows, killing in strife. Mindlessly roaming, taken of life.

The air I... I... the air I... take in is thinning. WHERE AM I I scream. Something is not right. After all this time, something is here, with me, in the air, that I am not sure of the word I am looking for, and neither am I. Something is here. The night is here. The night is here. It is over there, and next to me, and way beyond. The entire sky lights up with darkness, full of eyes, in which I can't see with my bare eyes, but what if they weren't bare? Could my eyes breathe. There is that word again, the word I lost. What does it mean? Could breathe mean to kiss. If kiss is breathe, is breathe kiss? So now... the air is a person? If i kiss a person am I kissing air? But that means I would be breathing a person that is kissing the air in the same air that I am also kissing... My mind blanks. I fall asleep.

Day Five.

The Room.

Black shadows fill this empty room. A voice, I can hear, but cannot assume. Something is moving, a something not there - to a tune that is playing from something nowhere.

I wake up barely sharp at all. Unclothed I am, cold and raw. I am bound by a simple string, so complex. I stand up - the string falls off of me, and falls to the ground. I stand up and I look around. Something smells good, like gun powder, holes in the walls. But nothing of like it should, bread and rolls.

In front of me sits a nail and a wire, and nothing else. What but a simple thought might these come for? I pick up the nail, and fondle the wire. I drop them back down. They tap the ground, and I leave them alone. No, I turn back and pick up the nail, and leave the wire. Cold on the ground.

I slide up against the wall, wet and cold. I hear a rat squeak, low and behold... coming from a vent off at my side. Where am I at in this place I reside? I try to live and I try to abide? I will try to find where it is where this rat might hide.

I can't remember much at all. Last I remember I was on my way to the place I know. But then something happened, something that I do not know.

What marks are on my face are scarred and torn. My nose bleeds red, a rose's thorn. My hands begin to etch something onto the wall in dust I once adorned. T and R and U... I erase, I cannot remember.

I open the grate that is off to my side, feeling cold. I lie down bare on the floor, feeling old, and I crawl into the vent, toe by toe.

I crawl and I crawl, trying not to fall into the vast amounts of holes and walls.

I come up upon a rocky terrain. Just about to go insane, I tame, and I fall to the ground, and I fall asleep. No, I wake up again, I cannot sleep now, I have somewhere to be. But where is this place that I need to be?

I wake to see a small ocean of people resting in front of me, no... a city. A dark city filled with no one at all. It is the city that I dreamed.

Day Six.

The City.

The city which I dream is dark at day. There, the children run, but not in play. The ground is cracked and darkish grey. Eyes in the dark, beasts at pray. A mind full of darkness, nothing to say.

These children are not humans, they are wolves, wild and untamed. I walk toward the city, the city I dream, and come upon a small wooden bridge and a stream, blocking my way.

This stream, I did not dream, it is below the bridge that is blocking my way of getting to the city that I dream. The stream is made of my memories, they teem.

I take my first step, I must not fall into my memories. My memories of which I cannot remember. Heightening and frightening - I cross the bridge, toe by toe, barely clothed, hoping I do not fall. I lie down flat on to the bridge, pulling my way across it slowly, carefully, as if not moving at all.

My memories echo below me. I hold on dear with all of my might. I am almost across. Then, all of the sudden, the bridge becomes longer and bigger. A huge metal bridge I am now crossing, an ocean of my memories below. I am scared, so scared I almost cannot contain. I slowly move, miles and miles I crawl and fear. I touch dirt. I cross and I turn, filled with fright. Behind me, not in front of me, is a small wooden bridge, and a dry field of grass below it. Behind me, above me... awaits the city I dream. I have crossed the bridge, and my memories will have to come back a different way.

It is black and grey, just as it seems. I run and I run as the sun starts to set. The streets are quiet, pretty at rest. Clouds of steam lie all around. I come up to this massive building. A skyscraper. It is so tall it doesn't seem to end as it reaches into the sky. I walk through a door and voices rattle. A crowd of people, awake and around, wander all around me. I run through, I see, I hear the sound. I am terrified. I run back. Back through the doors. I turn around. They disappear behind me, never having existed at all I guess.

The building that was there, the tall one, now just metal wires, a burned out hole. Ashes begin to fall from the sky. The moon appears, it is on fire, the moon is on fire. Now, the sun and the moon exist as one, in this city that I dreamed.

Play sharp, listen fair. Do not fall down, do not despair. Silver screens of water, listen to me. You will not get anywhere near far with wish and reap. I pound the ground hard with my fists, wishing of this reap to the beat of my broken heart, I hissed.

I trip, I fall into a puddle, I sink, I sink. I am drowning. I try to swim up, but something has cought my pants. Then, all of the sudden, I remembered I am wearing no such pants, and I swim up and come to the surface. MY MEMORIES. The water turns dark and blood red. My memories call up to me from below. I try to swim, as fast as I can. The water that surrounds me grabs me, my whole body, and takes me in, pulling me to the bottom, where I am found. Then I wake up.

Day Seven.

Could I bring the branch up to my face? To see, not heareth my wicked stance? An oblong creature, none a feature, stands - not sits - in front of me... not a chance.

He sits there in front of me, out of reach. A lizard upon me sits in a tree. Where else am I or what not to be? A wretched creature, nothing to me. For what art thou but something I cannot see?

Am I free? For years and four wars have torn my glee, piece by piece my vision was blurred, and slowly crept away from me, assured I was never going to recover from these endless nights without another. Yet be my vision blurred the very next day. No, here I am, still -- no -- forever a slave.

Nye myself cannot rely. What clocks tick, tick with time. I wish, I wish I would not die to this sound of a clock - ticking time. When the future comes to me tonight, the past, the present will join in the fight.

With the future comes my memories. Stuck with stance and wicked fright. Myself and I, I am myself... I am my own oddity. What, oh what happened to me last night? Am I dreaming or is this real? Is this reality that I could possibly be dreaming real and are my dreams real? Is my life a dream? My memories... they are no dream. Are my memories reality? Nye, I redeem.

Sentence this old hingey bag. Troubled by life my eye-bags hang. Wishing for another time, of softer more lazy reside. I wish myself upon this rhyme. No, I deny.

The rain turns purple and hell arises. The sunlight stops shining and falls from the sky. My memories are here, terrorized. Thunder strikes and my eyes ignite. Thumbs up for my memories. This battle will surely make history.

I fall to my knees and rub the dirt, feel the rain drops hit my back, without a shirt. I flash back to that time. That time when I was in the same rain, screaming... I was alive.

I stand up. "I am here!" "I am here!" I yell out and scream to my memories. A dark cloud pours out of the sky. Reaching far and spreading wide. They reach for me. I close my eyes.

I close my mouth so I could not kiss. Overwhelmed by sadness and stricken with grief. A memory, one not evil, comes to me now. A beautiful lady, her lips close on mine, and we breathe for a few moments. Anger flows through me like electricity. I snap out of my memory. It surges out of me and right back into me. I open my still-closed eyes and kiss through my painful mouth. Nothing is there.

I sigh and with nothing to fear - I run. I run for my life - out of sight. I was engulfed and seeming clear at last, I run into the open, where a small house rests.

I suddenly remembered what I wanted to know. But forgot the question that I asked the most. I know now that I hunt for the truth. Again? For what? But I now know not why I do hunt for this truth. When will this long journey end?

I reach the house and I reach for the doorknob, but before I could open it, I wake up again.

Day Eight.

What kind of evil trickery is this? Is my life a joke? Where there is no end, forgive me please for all I've sinned. You memories don't care, my soul is open in which they're dammed to bend and roam forever, simply pinned.

This place is so strange. It is unlike anything I've ever seen or anywhere I have ever been. So far I have been... so far. Tangling, dangling... from a string? This nail I have carried all of this way? What is this mad limb that dangles before me? My memories are murders, I swear to it. I would swear my name, but I'm not sure what my name is.

I walk toward and forward, and I expect... this limb hangs from a string... the very same string I left behind long ago. Now it is bloody and knotted although.

This limb that hangs before me is bloody and wrecked. No! I try to refrain, but I can't help but think. What have I done, in my madness, have I possibly murdered someone? Or have my memories all but escaped? Impossible, they are trying to retake.

I spill my blood as I spill my mind and all of its tears. I open myself up to my darkest secrets, but they do not come. Tallied and marked, I am sorry that I am the one. Laced by torture under the rotting sun.

Eyes of heaven, face of hell. Stories untold with nothing to tell. Careful to sin and nothing to hide. Nicely falling to the ground, a sound of a chime. On all four knees, my troubles wrote, but on the wall - my mind just won't. My thoughts have spoken, shambled and open, life has been taken, and my soul is broken.

Etched in blood, cold as steel. I know, I know it can't be real. I touch, I touch - I feel, I feel. But all I can think of is something here. It's with me. It's in me now, and as the sky turns darker still, I know I know I am not alone, I am here for real.

A field of bodies, is what I am seeing surreal? Am I a art, lost by a spill? But nothing makes since, why are they here? Maybe they are here because of them, a well and a quill. I am them, and they are me. Now I am forever free, the chains are broken, and I little see, that my memories might rest right next to me.

Items lay useless in a populated town. This town is the ground that sits before that I sit... no am standing on. I add this nail that I had carried all along, down with the rest of the items on the ground. But simply, looking down... I frown.

Day Nine.

Miseries, oh miseries. Mysteries oh histories. I open my eyes one last time. I find my way and I continue on, not wasting time. My hands follow an invisible line that I cannot see, but I follow along, reaching out to a doorknob of a house. This house I remember, but I think - I deny.

A line in a path? A path to a sign? What sign may be this?... a coast-line's wine? Does it take me back to this hole in time? Writing so inspiring it makes me feel high? But I learned it is a lie - simply lost in my mind, left behind.

I open the door to this house. It is completely dark, except for the line. It stretches, invisibly, ahead and in front of me and disappears in time. I start forward and toward, closer and closer... I reach for the line that has all but disappeared. I am going to stop now, I'm wasting your time. Forever that night, that grizzly sight, now lost in time, like this line, invisible forever, might you never know what happened that night, that tree, that bird, sadly - now forever gone.


Text © Alex Sharpe 2014


| Email this story Email this Book | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.