Project - 04/05/15

Who to be
Don't even know who it is
that I even want to see
Oh, where to start
How the hell do I tell if
I'm a project worth the thought

Reddit Writing Prompt - 2/20/15

(Prompt: Everything is naturally monochrome. Color is obtained through finding and harvesting rainbows.)

I remember the first time my parents described color to me.

I was fascinated. In the days following I spent a lot of time testing the limits of my imagination, trying to see things in red and blue and green and yellow. I couldn't. Instead I culled images of fantastic beasts who shone bright lights and donned the darkest armor.

Ours was a small community, numbering maybe half a hundred. I was told we were somewhere on the edge of North America. I had never seen a map, and had no awareness of my location relative to anything else. I was born and raised in Seventeen. I was the only one though.

Everyone who lived there came from somewhere else, but they rarely spoke of it. Not near me anyway.  There were some who lived on the wall who would not talk to us. They dressed differently, with heavy boots and immaculate pants and jackets. Sometimes they would point their long-barreled guns at one of the community, but I can't remember them ever firing. My parents told me that as long as everyone did their work, the Others wouldn't bother us. I remember the constant feeling of being kept in the dark of my elders' past lives. I couldn't fathom the depths of their secrecy.

I was nine when everything changed. 

Deep into the night, there was a loud explosion, and then another, and three or four more. My parents were in the cots on either side of me and they both came to me. They led me to the back of the building, with the rest of Seventeen. No one spoke above a whisper. I was a little scared, but mostly I was confused and curious. I had never heard a sound as such. I remember wondering if perhaps I was about to experience color. 

Through a foggy window, I saw dozens of men come storming through giant holes in giant gray walls I had scarce imagined not being there. Then I heard what I knew to be gunfire. Some of the people who had poured through the fence were falling to the ground, and the rest were ducking, diving, firing. Through the commotion I remember the sickening thud of Others falling from their towers to dirt below.

We huddled together for what felt like days.

Everything was silent. The night was bitter cool and dark. The door to our sleeping quarters opened and a handful of men burst through, their guns raised as they swept toward us.

Several of the community began to rise. Most of them were crying. Some of them were saying thank you. My parents held me tight. I could feel the warm tears from my mother's eyes as they trailed down my own face. 

One of the men threw his gun to a cot and came to me. He knelt to me, and I could see he was holding back tears.

"We've come to rescue you," he said. "I am so, so sorry."

Reddit Writing Prompt - 2/10/15

(Prompt: Whenever you wake up from a dream, it destroys an entire alternate universe within your head. Describe the brief life of a person living in a dream.)

It's strange.

We have voices, I know that. I've heard the others calling out to Him. We speak the same language - at least most of us. I can always understand them. Even I have caught myself beckoning Him before. I don't know why, but somehow it seems the thing to do. Like asking why you breathe or think or swallow your spit or scratch your neck. You just do. So why, then, have we never talked to each other?

I've never seen them. I don't know where they are and I don't know where they go. Where I am, where I go. It's so easy to count myself apart, but I seem to operate by the same faculties as them.

There are gaps. There seems to be an almost predictable cycle to our existence, whatever that may consist of. I find myself here, waiting next to this door every cycle. Something in me urges me to wail to what I'm sure is our master: The Decider, the Chooser, the Brain. He is the one who delivers us. I try to resist, but often I blow out my lungs vying to be called. This goes on for what feels a short amount of time, but then I blink. And when I open my eyes again, I know the process has started over. Every time the same.

Shout, eyes close, eyes open, shout, eyes close, eyes open, shout, eyes close, eyes open shout, eyes close, eyes open shout, eyes close,

Eyes open: I hear a low din on the other side of the door - something I know to be music. I've never heard this before. I make to approach the door but find myself unable to move. I've never felt this before. I wait. Beg my eyes to see something I haven't seen before, but it's the same door, same dim light, same dirty window, same unending black casting itself over everything, or nothing, else. I wait.

The music stops. The unmistakable sound of breaking glass. Tables legs scratch at the floor. A monstrous roar.

I don't understand, but the roar undoubtedly came from my own self. I attempt to move again and stumble forward when I find I'm able. I hit the door and it swings forward. A sea of eyes and noses and mouths all focus on me. They are multi-colored and stuck together with little care. Some of them are humanoid and horribly distorted; their skin drips and stretches, eyes bulging and melting at the same time. Others have forty legs and seventy eyes with pincers and sharp teeth; some with tentacles and horns and mouths too big for what serves as a face; and more yet with patches of fur, massive arms, and so many wings. And there are more besides.

They are all laughing.

Towards the center of the room I see a man. He is hardly five feet small and seems to shrink as I approach him. With the light now behind me, my shadow begins to cast over him. I had never considered my own form, but faced with the evidence, I am forced to conclude I am vile. I am huge - so much larger than I had ever imagined - and there are many pronged antlers protruding from a very blockish head. I seem to have some sort of snout, though it's hard for me to be sure. I have at least three arms on either side of my scaled body, and the bulkiest legs I've ever set eyes on. My, do I have a lot of eyes.

I'm compelled to continue my approach. The shaking, desperate man seems to sense me, or perhaps has noticed that my shade has overtaken him. He swivels and faces me. His face turns to horror and his jaw nearly unhinges as he makes to howl his fear. No sound escapes his maw.

I advance on the still shrinking man. My arms are rising and there is steam - real, hot steam - pouring from my nostrils. I am filling with rage and fury. He is filling with dread and panic. He turns about again to run from me as I close the gap between us. He plants one foot in front of the other, his body shakes and sweats as he delivers everything he has to rid himself of me.

He hardly moves. I might think that I am somehow moving infinitely faster than him, but all the creatures like me who surround him move in time with me. He is slow. It's like watching a man wade through invisible custard.

I raise many of my hands to the air and swoop upon him. Even I am unclear of my intention. Eyes shut tight as my fist connects.

Eyes open. I am standing outside the door with the light and the dirty window. I shout to Him. I hope He selects me.

This Morning - 8/30/14

You wake up.
You're already tired.
It's not a groggy, hazy tired - you can feel this in your bones.
In your marrow.
You convince yourself to rise, to hump through the motions of the early morning grind.
You leave for work.
You're ten miles gone before you realize you haven't eaten, haven't drank a thing.
You convince yourself you have the time to stop at the coffee shop.
When you enter you already feel the familiar anxiety.
People are staring, talking, watching, waiting, listening, chewing, sipping, typing.
You order.
This is all too much.
You receive a drink and a smile.
You turn a corner to privately make it Irish.
Before you pour, flask in hand, you catch a glimpse of faces in a window's reflection.
The sense of shame and self-loathing wash over you.
In this, your darkest moment, you find that time has stopped.
All motion halted.
You cannot move.
They cannot move.
Your eyes can hardly focus between the flask and reflection of yourself.
You live your despair for hours.
You are weak.

Shine - 6/18/14

Trace the outline of myself

Beg you to see what I believe

There is so much more to me

Than I can ever prove

All I can do:

Sit back, hold fast

Head high, lips tight

These lungs fill

This mind wanders

I am tumbling through this sky

I can’t see anything

I don’t see anything at all

But I can feel you

Eyes shut tight – feel everything that is

Nothing here is new and nothing here is ours

Everything bogged with life

Resplendent with now and afters

There was something here before

Try to remember – try to see

I’m as good as blind

I am tumbling through this sky

I can’t see anything

I don’t see anything at all

But I can feel you

Eyes shut tight – feel everything that is

Weary souls stained and tired and cold

Ever hopeful and glancing at the sky

Magnificent all

They shine and stumble

Living terrors as dreams

I know they will find better

These fingers dig into the earth

Lips meet the soil

Embrace the solid ground

Eyes bleary but finally seeing grey

Retrace the outline of myself

Awe - 6/4/13

Those words, simple and precise, have rattled in my head for a lifetime.

It’s hard to recall what really started this process you might call it. I think it’s been coming on for a long time, I just couldn’t thumb it. I could feel it – really feel it – in my bones. I still can. It’s so deep it feels like a part of me. It is a part of me. Maybe it just is me.

I remember when I was young, when we got that trampoline. I said I was going to jump to the moon. I asked mom if she wanted me to grab her some cloud to hold onto. She smiled and said yes please. She looked at dad but he was busy with something else. I asked mom if she thought I could get to the moon and she said absolutely. She said I could do anything.

I bounced until my legs throbbed. I had worked out how to jump the highest. I got the timing down just wrong and flew backwards to the ground, headfirst.

I never reached the moon.

I remember when I was young, when I started smoking cigarettes. I had myself convinced I was doing it for me. I was doing it because I loved the pull of the smoke. I loved the smell. I loved the way people looked at me. Mom asked me why I smelled like cigarettes and I patted my pockets and pulled out a mostly empty pack. I bet it’s these. She said I could do anything.

The shame tugged at her face, weighed it down. I felt my heart pull.

I smoked a bowl in my room.

I remember when I was young, when I bought a Honda. I spent half my time in the garage. I deconstructed the piece of shit at least three times to put it back together. I spent half my time in the car, driving away from town. Driving to other towns. Driving to parks and lakes and outlooks. It was raining and I got in a wreck with oncoming traffic.

I awoke to blinding white enveloping me. I heard sobs of why him and cries of please help. I was in a lot of pain. She said I could do anything.

I drifted.

            A few months ago I realized something was inside me. I told you I could feel it, but it’s more than that. I can hear it, it’s calling to me. Signaling me to shore but I ignored it. No, I didn’t ignore it. I fought it. I couldn’t ignore it. A nagging at myself, my being, my whole. I tried to make excuses.

            Like a lost child stumbling into his mother in the store, I discovered. I acknowledged. The things in my life – the events, the happenings, all of the occurrences, the thumbtacks the strings loop around – are not random. They are not chosen either. I am neither destined nor arbitrary. I am. I serve a purpose and yet there isn’t. I make a choice and yet there isn’t. I could do anything. I could leap for the earth. I could poison myself. I could jerk the wheel to the left. I could do anything.

            “Death is the road to awe”

  

            It's time to walk it.

The Thing You Were to Me - 6/1/12

We don’t know it but one day we will look back on all the stars and clouds that we watched so closely.
We will remember the time we had and it won’t mean a thing.
We’ve been lost for years but can’t admit it.
We’re treading water and we can’t resolve it.
You brought this world upon me, love, and I don’t know how to face it.
I remember when I first looked up and you were shining there: a husk of silver in this maze of shit.
You showed me the way and told me
“Don’t you ever look behind you – there is nothing there for you.”
I grabbed your hand and clung so tight.
We were almost out before I lost you.
I must have sneezed, I must have dawdled.
I could see that god-damned light but you were gone and where could you be?
I didn’t search for you.
I fled in silence.
One day we will remember the time we had and it won’t mean a thing.