2. Artificial Nocturne

After over a year, here's chapter two. Be sure to read chapter one first.

Darkness.  Silence.  Nothing.

I was somewhere else.  Somewhere that felt like nowhere.

I sensed myself, but there was nothing at all beyond me.  No stimulus beyond the swirling thoughts from within.  No sight, no smell, nothing to hear.  Even my body was gone, abandoned somewhere that I was attempting to recall.  I could sense where my hand should be, but when I made the thoughts that should have raised it, there was nothing to raise.  A phantom limb in this phantom reality--where reality and existence had ceased to exist.  I had become nothing more than a cluster of thoughts moving through the infinite.

Is this death?  I asked the vast expanse with words I could not utter.  Then, a familiar sloshing returned.

My mind became more focussed as the burden of beer and bourbon returned.  My disembodied brain started to pulse, and I felt this strange detached world tilt on its axis.  S**t.  I really hope I’m not dead here.  I feared the prospects of my afterlife as one eternal hangover, and felt all too much self pity.

With that, the world lightened for a moment.  Blurred figures appeared with a muted cacophony of sound.  Far-off shouts, a distant siren, the tinkling of glass and heaving of metal; someone cried out.  And there was pain, all encompassing agony in limbs that had started to reform.  I forced out the thoughts required to raise my hand, but before it lifted an inch, pure fire--flames from within me--exploded from my fingertips to my very being.  My body felt as though it would combust, and perhaps it had, for I found myself in the void once more.

But the void had changed, not the all-consuming darkness from moments previous.  There was now some sort of light in the distance, thankfully not at the end of a tunnel.

It was far off and growing brighter as I sensed my disembodied mind moving briskly toward it.  Perhaps, briskly was giving my consciousness too much credit as the alcohol forced my forward momentum into quick lurches that paused and tilted my field of senseless vision.  Nonetheless, the inky black parted in lieu of the approaching glow.  I was close enough to sense forms in the light.  Colors began to coalesce into shapes, and those shapes became images.  As the scene came into clarity--still wavy and wobbling in my hazy mind--I recognized a familiar scene.

And a scene it was.  I was suspended above like a phantom of the theatre overlooking a stage where my own memory played out jerkily before me.  The actors--played by characters from my past--moved as faulty robots as time stopped and started before me.  The dialogue was nearly inaudible, but I remembered the words.  An argument, raised voices, thrown belongings, anger, passion; everything had burned so bright.

Before I could think of it any further, I had passed through the scene.  I was a wraith as I seeped through the wall of the memory, entering another set directly behind.

A car idling in a clearing--a moonlit break in the woods.  Inside it was hot, and the black Honda’s windows were fogged.  Hands explored.  She cried out in ecstasy so great that it echoed throughout the trees.

With that, my consciousness moved on, faster now.  The memories played out in an accelerated, more jaunty fashion--the sets tilting and blurring as though my missing veins were flowing with mind numbing toxins anew.

I could no longer make out entire scenes, only moments and images.  An innocent holding of hands.  A vacation we had taken.  A pen in my hand.  A machine humming as it birthed a sheet of steel.  A baby crying for the first time.  Her breath on my neck.  A somber priest speaking to a bride in her white gown.  Each one was a memory.

They did not play out consecutively, but still the order made some sense that I was yet unable to fully comprehend.  They all culminated into a flash of images from what had occurred seemingly moments before.  The fist, her face, a piece of paper quickly scrawled on and placed in my pocket, the car, the phone call, the crash.

I passed through into darkness again with another fast approaching light in the distance.  The sounds of screams arose from the light.  And music--a familiar song.

As I rushed ethereally toward the melody, I saw a familiar scene, yet not a memory.  A stage formed in the expanse, and on it a band played that song in dissonant chords and strained voices.  Before the stage, the screams rose in a brilliant chorus worshipping at the feet of those that stood before them.

My consciousness lowered above the stage, toward the long-haired mane of the one who sang the enchanting words.  I sensed myself entering his moving body, my hands becoming his hands, his brain becoming my own.  I continued to belt out those familiar lyrics to those screaming his name below.  And his name was my name.  We were one.

It was then that I saw her in the crowd just before me.  Our eyes locked.  She and I were one.

The crowd screamed on, and I felt the power of their cries welling up inside me.  With the charge gained from her gaze, I felt excitement and peace--as I had never experienced before--reaching an unimaginable climax.

And then it stopped.

The stage, the crowd, the music, and even her eyes were gone.

Instantaneously, there was only stark white and a numbing pain that wove its way lazily through my body.

That body and the pain that came with it implied only one thing--that I had indeed returned to reality.  The white ceiling and the harsh, buzzing fluorescent bulbs cemented the unfortunate truth of it.  The memories and visions that were already vanishing from my recollection had been nothing more than delusions brought on by trauma, shock, and from the feel of it, near fatal injury.

I once again, made the thoughts that should have lifted my arm.  Again, there was no visible response, but fire followed by shards of ice surged down my nerves from finger tip to shoulder as my body protested the action.  I desired only to roll over to my side, but pain, and an array of casts made that impossible.

A door opened softly.  I agonizingly attempted to move my hand to the sound.  Slowly, she stepped into my field of vision with incredible grace.  My wife’s face shown there with a hundred different emotions battling inside her heart and her head.  I wanted to reach to that face and try to brush the strain away, but the movement sent pain coursing through my muscles once more.

“They said you were waking up soon,” she said blankly.  She made her way to a chair at the edge of the bed.  My eyes followed her every move.  She sat, extending a hand toward me, her fingers brushing the tips of my own, but then moving quickly away.  Sadness had won out on the features of her face.

I tried speaking, but my unused vocal cords strained with the effort.

“How long?” I croaked out.

“You’ve been under for several days.  For a while, they didn’t know if you’d come back.”  Her eyes flitted away from mine, and began to stare at a far-off place beyond the walls of the room.

I tried to speak again, but the cocktail of morphine and other drugs they had pumping into my veins were winning over my will.  My eyelids began to droop till her face began to fade away.

She was still so empty.

Author's Note

Just a few things:
1. There is no title as of yet. Thus, working title is the name of it at the moment. Although, that kind of fits the story in a way, so we'll see.
2. Also, this is a work in progress. I will post each chapter as I write it, but I may revise parts of old chapters as well. It's possible that you may have read of an event in one chapter that I have gone back and changed and it may affect the later outcome of the story as a whole.
3. This is probably one of the most ambitious bits of writing I have tried, and I am putting a lot of myself into it. It is kind of part of my fear of what I would end up as if I did in fact end up working one day in the 9-5 suburbia. With that, I would really love any critiquing and criticism (positive and negative). I want this to be as good as possible, and that cannot happen if mistakes are not fixed. If I don't see them, maybe you can, and it'll be all the better for it.

Thank you for reading and hopefully reviewing and please keep checking back for future chapters. They will take a while to write, so be patient.
THANKS!!!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very wild chapter. I like the situation and the events in the chapter. I like how he awoke and found out he been knock out for a few days. No weakness in the excellent chapter.
Coyote

[Margarette]

This is a very vivid and creative writing. I especially like the mystery clouding the protagonist. The introduction is very strong and I certainly love reading this kind of story. I am not much of a story writer but you captured my attention with this. Looking forward for more chapters!