We sit in silence for a little while before Christian starts using words in front of me.
‘It’s actually really bad and it’s split in two,’ I think he says.
My words and my memories and my thoughts are not in order, they are being shuffled like a deck of cards and thrown into a blender.
‘I don’t it, I don’t want it,’ falls out of my mouth onto the floor and leaks like a lake of curves and lines through each miniature crevice of the carpet.
Time passes and clocks melt along the way and I with them, and only for a few sparing seconds do I get a few moments and windows of clarity but I can’t look through them and I think I am going to die.
I am lying on my back and breathing isn’t coming naturally, there are some rusty and malfunctioning cogs grinding in my chest and I almost want to tear them out and oil them up.
I try to sit up but I am completely numb and nearing unconsciousness.
The music isn’t quite music, I can almost see it in front of me. Millions of little bytes vibrating on different planes and I wanted to reach out and touch them but I realize I am just staring at a white ceiling and I cannot move my arm.
Life sets in for a few seconds and falls over me like a blanket, my skin absorbing it and the deeper it falls the more intense it gets until it implodes with confusion and a weird kind of deep seated pain.
‘Do you know why I count lamp posts?’ Christian says to me, in my voice.
‘I’m not,’ I say, I am trying so hard to think but everything is so disjointed. I think I am sobbing, or shivering cold. A ray of light is beaming through the window and covers me in ice.
But what are you trying to escape?
I don’t even know, I don’t even know about the questions I am being asked.
I am not sure if I am conscious or if I have been out, or asleep but I can suddenly walk again but everything is still crumbling and falling into an abyss of dead cells.
I want to have a shower, I am hot and sticky and I want it to be cold and I don’t want to die and I want to tell Christian why I count lampposts.
I turn but he isn’t in the room, he is gone and I am trying to figure out if he was here earlier or not but the window fogs as cold water splashes on my face and each and every individual droplet on my body reminds me I have skin and on the inside I am more complicated that I could ever know. We all are.
I wipe the shower water or rain away from my face and I get a brief realization that my hands are like windscreen wipers and I am not sure if I am laughing at this like a maniac in my shower or rocking back and forth in the corner of it.
I slip on the floor as it’s soaking wet for some reason and I think I am bleeding but the blood is ice and cracks and someone melts it and puts it in a little plastic pill that is force fed to me so everything can go into reverse and the pool of blood surrounding me is sucked like a vacuum back into my head and I’m standing up and Christian is on my bed with his hands behind his head watching my television.
‘Fuck, we need to do that again.’ He says, smiling at me.
I comprehend what he says and I feel like I have ran a marathon with my head to come to this point and I sink to the floor.
My legs are a little woozy and I can’t remember my name but now my mind has allowed me to stroll down a lane looking for it instead of interrupting me with terrible earthquakes and sending me shattering through windows.
© Copyright 2016 CFRichardson. All rights reserved.
Book / Thrillers
Paste the link to picture in the entry below:
Paste the link to Youtube video in the following entry:
Cannot annotate a non-flat selection. Make sure your selection starts and ends within the same node.
An annotation cannot contain another annotation.
There was an error uploading your file.