awakening - things lost - a chapter

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
trying out writing, testing different ways, here a first, short chapter of something more elaborate than my previously very simplistic and scaled down post.

Submitted: June 21, 2016

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Submitted: June 21, 2016

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A purple, origami inspired wallpaper with its pattern accented by white was the first coming into focus. Johan felt like his mind had literally perished. Went completely black and blank. But here he was again, his mind vivid, strong, fresh, full of color and a smell; it all felt like a pungent mix of cinnamon, saffron and honey, lined with strong intense colours of red, orange and a sliver of silver snaking its way along the edge of his vision. Last thing Johan could remember was the sounds and images of a party; he was in the middle of telling a story, had several persons listening in around him, and then suddenly he disappeared. Or, not him, but rather his mind; went somewhere else, an else like a complete emptiness, a total eradication of sensation and existence. But, at the same time, he felt some kind of a humming in the back of his mind, a humming with a rhythm, a feeling, a touch, live, yet dead and unfeeling. Weird, he thought, probably must’ve taken something strange at that party. Or mixed the drinks with something. He had had a pretty rough time lately, being left by his partner, loosing one of his parents and work had felt a bit dull and repetive. All in all, he felt a bit down, had tried replacing the gaps in his life with drinks, parties, trying to network a bit more and so on, but most of the time things had felt a bit shallow and not very meaningful; he still felt a strong sadness for the things he had lost and had not found a way to continue forward.

 

Johan slowly sat himself up, trying to recognise where he was, which was hard, since he actually had no clue whatsoever. He checked his phone which he luckily still had; it showed sunday, 9.37, no missed calls, which was a relief. Johan was afraid he’d gone out a weekday and overslept and missed work; not that he felt he wanted to go, but still, he knew he had to. Missing work was something that was impossible since he worked as a tv host for a child show, and when he was the one to host, live recording started at 7.00 sharp. The room he was in was softly furnished in a discreet way; the bed he was on was a low, japanese interior kind of inspired height, warm gray color with sheets of sand coloured tone. There was a low rectangular soft cushioned sofa, a coffee table in teak, and two seatings across the sofa and table, resembling a hybrid of cushion and a stool with a touch of nature/modernism cross over. Walls where white, with exception of the tapestry on the wall left of the bed, and a calming, white, softened and oval shaped lamp hanged in the ceiling. Before Johan had managed to get up, a friendly knock on the door was heard.

 

The door was opened just slightly, then left there, an invitation of escape. No one showed up, no one talked, no steps were heard. The room Johan was in started to slowly fade, a bit like putting a vignette on a photo and slowly, very slowly, increasing it. The difference here was it affected sound, light, air - and in some strange way, temperature, at the same time, it was not possible to actually see or notice this clearly; it was more like a slow creeping feeling. A freight started to creep into Johan who was not ordinary very easily intimidated, but it felt like if he stayed, the invitation of the door would disappear, the room would vanish, and him with it, trapped in some kind of in-between without escape, purpose, meaning or maybe not even the ability to think more than feeling an awareness of one’s self. This feeling was not entirely frightening, it did offer a way out, a way to not having to feel sadness, strife, pain, and he did feel all those things; strongly. Still, after having considered staying, he knew he could not just give up, even with the pain he felt, he had to try finding his way. While slowly starting to walk towards the door the feeling of danger got more overwhelming. threatening, almost increasing as a way to insist that he stay, that he offered himself up. He felt a tremor behind him, how the air was pulling him back towards nothing. He grabbed the handle, threw the door opened, ran out, into a long, thin corridor, also starting to fade, paintings appearing and disappearing at its walls, showing scenes, pictures, happenings, feelings, emotions from lives lost, lives being lived and lives of the future. Johan did not really register their contents at first, or what they were showing, since he felt a growing panic and strong need to reach the stairs at the end of the hallway to find a way out. But there, briefly, he saw a glimpse of a face lost, his father, who left him a couple of months ago. He felt as if this was more than just a picture, as if it was a node across space, time, existence - as if these pictures showed what was, is and would become. More than this was impossible for him to consider, since he at the same time was flinging himself down the stairs, hearing an empty sound, a howling of despair behind him. He ran towards the opening to the street, threw himself through it, ending up stumbling right into the shopping crowd of downtown. People looked up briefly, him disturbing the downtown natural order of things, then quickly went on with their business. Johan turned around, looked at the door he just left, and saw a completely ordinary entrance to a tobacco store.


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