Motus

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
help i cannot see the cables

Submitted: July 25, 2017

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Submitted: July 25, 2017

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Nathaniel woke up one morning to find that he could not see.

Confused, Nathaniel stumbled out of bed, his feet sliding across the hard, cold stone floor of his quarters. His feet hurt against the ground. Every shuffle was a thudding cry that reduced his pale feet to a tomatoey hue of discomfort. Akin, this was, to the kind of feeling that one doesn’t notice, yet notices at all times. And, when specific attention is brought to it, makes one light in the ears and the nose and the mouth and the hands. This is what Nathaniel was doing, focusing on his dragging feet against the gray platform that did extend the full area of his bedroom.

So much did Nathaniel feel that he no longer did.

Not a smart man, but smart, Nathaniel pushed his hands against the wall of his sleeping chamber. Nathaniel’s hands filled the walls, coasting down the sides at a pace unnatural. The walls were smooth and friction generated from the tips of Nathaniel's fingers to the ends of his palms. Every part of Nathaniel’s hands warmed against the cold wall. Soon enough, numerous bumps touched Nathaniel’s hands. Bumps which kissed him from a smooth, smooth wall. For a moment, great worry filled Nathaniel as he believed his hands had disappeared. Even worse, that they had fallen into the wall! Such an occurrence would render Nathaniel unable to eject from his circumstance. Cursed to slide along his home as a phantom.

Overwhelmed, Nathaniel fell backward and with him his hands. Nathaniel’s body hit the floor. Nathaniel writhed in pain, then he did not. Pausing, he rolled onto his stomach and took a moment to allow the stuffiness of the situation be the restraints that stopped him from flying away or melting away. There clung Nathaniel’s awfully tired body.

One aspect of his solitary place that Nathaniel thoroughly enjoyed was the silence. Thick walls kept the sounds of man and nature at bay. They would creep in ever so slightly and quietly when the Door would open. That is why Nathaniel dreaded opening the Door. As soon as he would, the noises would come. Starting small, yes always starting small, then ferociously turning loud and naked. Nathaniel’s ears would bleed. Out came blood from his hands as well, and his mouth and nose, too. The agony tore open a hole in Nathaniel and he would run or smash his head into his pillow or curl up in defeat as if his manhood was plucked from his groin.

 

Nathaniel could not sell himself to recollection at this time and carried on.

 

There Nathaniel lay. Nathaniel, the poor victim of Nathaniel. Nathaniel took some time to stare at his ceiling, it was a gray ceiling. Nathaniel gazed at his walls, they were gray walls. Nathaniel turned his cheek to the ground, the gray ground. And with a sigh, Nathaniel looked to the yellow Door.

Nose to the Door.

Hands to the Door.

Mouth to the Door.

Ears to the Door.

The Door was no longer the Door. How dark were its edges! How high it stretched! Always there, but never there.

In the midst of the metamorphosis, Nathaniel heard.

Frightened, Nathaniel scrambled onto his rear. He clutched the gray sheets behind him as he heard and he heard. Why must he hear!

The smacking of boots and shoes, going back and forth and back and forth. Passing words! Hollow in delivery and reception. Blazing engines, explosive horns! They all aimed to something else. Green is not simply green, purple is not simply purple.

Nathaniel sprung to his feet and frantically paced the room. He was nourished from the floor’s ripe vegetation, he welcomed none and he welcomed all.

Nathaniel wanted his sweet silence back, he would get it.

He would get it.

Who dared to enter Nathaniel’s private chamber? Who dared to tell a man how his chamber must look? Was it not Nathaniel who laid his down in that very chamber at night? Then rose from the same chamber come morning? He would be smitten dead if he’d give up the purpose of what is Nathaniel! For purpose is what permitted a man to make it by in a world that spins containing so much. Purpose moved the school teacher and the statesman and the circus performer alike. Purpose was the Earth’s calling for all men and women.

Pat, pat. Went Nathaniel’s feet.

Pat, pat. Went Nathaniel’s feet.

 

Nathaniel now sat on his bed, Nathaniel did not sit. There was no mirror in Nathaniel’s room, he did not care for mirrors. There was no mirror in Nathaniel’s room, but he knew where his ears were. But he knew where his nose was. But he knew where his mouth was. But he knew where his hands were.

Sounds are not the ears.

Why, then, should Nathaniel feel threatened? The Door took up but a few feet compared to the rest of the room. Only a perfectly normal Rectangle of space, the most natural Rectangle Nathaniel had ever seen.

On his feet again! Nathaniel ran up to his Door as if it were a ruffian that fed off the fear of innocents. Oh, Nathaniel glared at the Door. Villain! Crook! Charlatan! Pompously parading itself from two different sides. Thinking itself important for doing what is expected. Nathaniel loathed the Door with every flutter of his eyelashes!

Eyelashes…

No, Nathaniel…

Nathaniel turned from the Door, placing his fingernails adjacent to those eyelashes…

Slowly, Nathaniel lowered his pale fingernails and realized a Line across the floor. This Line, this yellow Line, appeared out of the ground and stared at Nathaniel.

It was a short Line, the beginning as clearly seen as the end. Incredibly finite, Nathaniel had to get another look. He ran his finger along the Line, gripped by a sensation which made his finger similar to a hollow glass being filled to the brim by a jet of scalding water. Now curious, Nathaniel pulled his finger from the Line.

Hollow again.

Nathaniel moved his finger back to the glimmering Line.

Tic.

Tic.

Tic.

It was Nathaniel’s bed.

Tic.

Tic.

Tic.

Nathaniel stared straight at the same old bed. He felt a great hunger for the familiar feeling of the blank sheets and their faithful constriction.

Nathaniel laid on the bed.

In a great flash, Nathaniel’s mind was seared by an image of the Line. Nathaniel writhed in pain and recoiled to the side of his bed! Fists balled, Nathaniel slammed them against the sheets.

The Line! The Line!

A golden emission engulfed Nathaniel and he saw the stars. Mercury and Venus! Neptune and Jupiter! They thrashed Nathaniel and he saw double what was and nothing. Shaking, Nathaniel let go of his gray sheets, unsure of what would happen but sure it would happen.

And he was on the ground.

As frazzled as he was, Nathaniel was certain that the Line had made like a snake and coiled around his belly. Very frightened, but brave, Nathaniel shifted his neck in the direction of his stomach. And there it was! The dead snake. Broken, broken, pushed beyond its boundary. Gone and away. No more was the snake.

Nathaniel thought of many things there in his bedroom. A banquet filled with the most delectable of delicacies. The empty banquet table, surrounded by fat and happy patrons. A garden of bright sunflowers, with long stems from the ground and to the petals. The gray sunflowers, drowned by what gave them life. A newborn. A grave.

The sounds.

 

Nathaniel now found himself at the far end of his bedroom. Had he clambered back there in fright? Security? Insecurity? Defiance? Compliance? Courage?

To Nathaniel, it did not matter how he arrived at the far end of his room. He was there. And wouldn’t one know, the Door stood directly opposite of Nathaniel. No object had more space between one another than Nathaniel and the Door. He saw that.

Certain, Nathaniel pulled one foot before the other. His feet slid across the hard, cold, and gray floor of familiarity. His feet were elevated against the ground, the heights of Nathaniel! His feet were clouds and he was Hermes. The stance that many seek to be but never, never are. Nathaniel felt ascension in the head and the ears and the nose and the hands.

Aspectu.

This is what Nathaniel focused on, he was Nathaniel! Fly, Nathaniel!

Aspectu.

Now Nathaniel did strain himself, it was time. He had looked up in perfect silence of the stars. He had faced Eden and held the fruit of temptation in his quivering hand. And the ring had split. The pieces scattered, the Blacksmith had been busy.

Aspectu.

White to gray and white to gray. Watch the light switch. Pay attention to the cables. They begin where they are placed and they end where light begins. And light begins where the cables end and light ends when the cables snap. Listen to the hum of electricity, one does not confront this but the coveted mechanics do not work without it. Wake and heal, rendezvous with medicine.

Aspectu! Aspectu! Aspectu!

Nathaniel pressed himself, searched the cables that spelt “N-A-T-H-A-N-A-E-L”. He grabbed them! He shook them! He followed them! Fly, Nathaniel! Fly to fall, Nathaniel!

 

Nathaniel woke up and found that he could see. What did Nathaniel see, one might ask? The obvious, Nathaniel saw the obvious.

Nathaniel approached the Door. Breathing heavily, to echo the pounding of his heart, to compliment the dripping of his sweat. Nathaniel stood before the Door.

No room, no stars, no Lines, just Nathaniel and the Door. Now Nathaniel would do it, he could feel the calling in his hands, mouth, ears, nose, and, eyes. Free to redefine Nathaniel as Nathaniel! Free to emerge from the chrysalis and dive into the expanse! Free to set sail into the sea of what was and what will be! This would be the moment that called back to when thinkers of old birthed society! When the mightiest civilization stood proudly for the first time! When man touched empyrean itself! The revealing of what is there but is not there! The filling in of canyons, crevices, and chasms! He would be the light that erupted across the walls of the very first cave! Nathaniel would be covered! Nathaniel would be free! Nathaniel would be the true Nathaniel!

Nathaniel opened the Door and died.

 


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