On the verge of Paradise - Chapter 1 and Chapter 8

It’s a dark morning. Like every morning, a dark one. The clouds are low and grey. Like every morning, low and grey. And bitter. It’s bitterly cold. Cold and rainy. Like every time I wake. Every morning. It is cold, rainy, dark and grey. Always.

 

It’s 8.16 but the sun’s yet to establish an ascend. The sun never ascends. Never. The only light is silver. The same silver as always. The same diffused silver. Through the window the full moon glows dimly. Like it does every day. Just like it does every day. Every day. Just the same. Like this. Every day.

 

To my mind, November the 12^th has always been dark. Dark and grey. Dark, grey and miserable. Every day has been. Every day is. It’s the only day I can remember. The only day I have seen. Each day has been this way since the day of my birth. Without fail. Dark and grey. But today! Woe. Today’s November 12^th has been one the worst, and it’s only just begun. 8.16 the time. 8.16. I would even go so far as to say that today’s November 12^th is the worst it has been for the past 12 months. I do concede that in an average world, not a great number of November 12^th’s take place. But this isn’t an average world. This really isn’t. But it’s real. Too real. It still 8.16. 8.16 on the 12^th November 1986.

 

I am sweating. Profusely. Sweating. My sheets surround me. Engulf me. Suffocate. I am yet to take a breath. The morning air is heavy. Cold, grey and heavy. Heavy as always. Just the way I remember. Just the way I know it. They way it always is. The way it always has been. Heavy. Lying low. My heart is palpitating. Beating viciously in the back of my throat. Throbbing. Swelling. I am yet to take a breath. 8.16. My mind hears a ticking clock. Turning so slowly. Ticking. Slowly. In my mind. Ticking. 8.16 still. Still 8.16. But not for long. Not now. Not long.

 

I grip my sheets. Firmly. Tightly. Wrenching. Pulling and twisting. Turning. Gripping. Clutching with my quivering limbs. Clutching. For my life. Holding for my life. Twisting. Turning. Writhing. The sheets are wet. Seeping in fluid. Bodily fluid. Sweat. Tears. Sick. Urine. Seeping in fluid. The smell. So grotesque. But normal. It’s the same smell as every morning. It’s the only smell I know. It’s like this every morning. Exactly like this.

 

Not long now. I clasp. I hold. I pull. I turn. Not long. Not long now. I let out a scream. A manic, a wild Scream. Blackness. Blackness. Blackness engulfs. Sheer black. I feel safe here. In the blackness. The blackness. The void. There’s nothing. Nothing but black. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing but black. Blackness and a ticking clock. 8.16.

 

 

I do not wake, but am woken. As always. As always I am woken. By her. By the same her. The woman. That woman. The same woman as I see every day. She is always here. That woman. She is always here. Every day. I haven’t seen her yet. My eyes are shut. But it’s her. I know. It’s always her. I can feel her. Her hands are made of silk. Her touch. So smooth. So delicate. So silky. They are made of silk. Her hands. And her breath. Her breath is carved from liquid mint. It flows.  Gracefully. It flows like velvet. Bathing my ears in audible perfection. Paradise. So silky, so velvety. And her heart. So sincere. So gentle. So loving. So tender. Beating perfection. So silky, so velvety, so sincere.

 

It’s her. I know it’s her. Like I said, I can feel it. Even before I know it’s her, I know it’s her, or at least I know it will be her. I can feel it. It’s always that way. How could it be otherwise? It couldn’t. It was her and we knew it. I knew it. She knew it. We knew it. It was her. It was always her. I am beginning to understand now.

 

I am beginning to understand now.

 

I do understand. Really, I knew it all along. I’ve always understood. But now I understand. At last. I always understood. But now. Now. Now I understand. At last. I understand. Like always. I know. I can grasp. I can fathom. I understand. I understand.

 

All I can see is darkness. Darkness. Blackness. But not even that. Not even that. No. I see nothing. Consciousness comes faster than sight. Always. Every day. I am blind. I cannot see. Blind. But I can feel. I feel safe. Safe in her hands. Always. Safe in those hands. Her hands. I cannot see. Still. I cannot see. But I am here. Here in all but sight. In completion. Complete. Except vision. I cannot see. But I am here. And alive. I am alive again. I feel alive. I am alive. As always. But for the very first time. Alive. Like when you step out into the rain. I feel alive again. I feel real. Once again I feel real. A feeling I have never felt. Never. Yet once again it is with me. It has never left. Never. Not truly. I can smell. I can hear. I can touch. I cannot see. I cannot see. I don’t need to. I know. I know it all. I know. The time. 8.16. Not long now. Not long.

 

8.16. Still. Always. 8.16. 8.16 on the 12^th November 1986.

 

I hear her coming again. Coming forwards. I sense it. I can see it. But my eyes are closed. I cannot see. Still. I cannot see. I hear her stride towards me. Commanding. Military. Commanding. Each step rings. Rings on and on. Ringing with assurance. Control. Precision.

 

She is by me now. As always. Beside. I feel safest this way. It’s all I know. Safety. Protection. She is stroking my hair. Tenderly. Affectionately. Lovingly. Stroking my hair. Smoothly. The way I remember it. The way it is. The way it always is. The way it always has been. As long as I recall. As long as forever. And now the damp cloth. Warm. Damp. Lay daintily across my brow. So soothing. So warm. So moist. She loves me. Loves me. She really does. She has said it before. She loves me. It’s love. She has said it. Many times. But only now do I know it. Only now do I know her love. Truly. It’s real. She loves me. She always has. But now is the first time. I can feel it. Her love. My sight is absent yet I still can see it. See it. Feel it. Embrace it. I can see it. Unsighted but with vision. Without sight. I can see. Clearly. Her love. I can see her love.

 

Really love doesn’t exist. Not really. Not true love. It isn’t real. Not like the rain. It isn’t real. It’s an abstract concept. Not reality. It doesn’t exist. And yet, she loves me. Love. She loves me. I love the way she loves me. Her love. I love it. But I don’t love. Nobody loves. Nobody. No one knows love. No one. But she loves me. And that’s love. Her love. My love. Love.

I hear her shoes leave the room. Just her shoes. Her body and shoes. I hear them. Leaving. I can hear it. I hear her form descend. Her being. Exiting. Leaving. But I still feel safe. Because she is here. I still feel complete. Because she is here. She is still here. She is here. She is always here. Never absent. Always present. Here. Beside me. Comforting. As true as I am here. She is here. I can feel her. Her persistent presence. It lingers. Her presence. She is here with me. Still. Still here with me. She is always with me. Always. I can taste her scent. I can see her. Without sight. I can see her. Feel her. Feel her.

 

My eyes are gaining sight. Once again. Gaining sight. I could always see. Without my eyes. Without sight. I can see. Lids try to rise. Slowly. They struggle. Limp. Heavy. Like the air. Heavy. Like every day. Heavy. So long since they’ve opened. So long since my last sight. But I could always see. Always. They won’t open. They don’t remember how. They can’t. Lifeless. Limp. Weak. They can’t open. They won’t open. I have been out for days. Weeks. Months. Is it years? Its years. I don’t know anything. Nothing. Nothing but her. Her and her scent. Her scent. A constant fixture. Always here. Beside me. Her scent. Her scent. Nothing else. My mind is adrift. Cast ashore. Unstable. Unaware. Lost. How old am I now? How old? How long have I been away? How long? Years. It’s been years. I am lost. I am old. Nearing death. Old. But she is still young. Youthful. Young. She hasn’t changed. I like it that way. It’s safe. Secure. Safe.

 

My eyes begin to open. Steadily. Slowly. Precisely. They begin. There is no doubt of this. Opening. It’s been hours. Hours. Days since I first came around. She has come and gone. Repeatedly. Come and gone. Come and gone. Bet she has always been here. Always. She has been here. She always will be. Until forever ceases. So, forever. She will be here. With me. Together.

 

My vision is tainted. Obscured by a haze. A blur. A lingering fog. But the wall is fading. Slowly seeping away. Returning to the atmosphere. Back to where it should be. Back to where it always has been. Beside her scent. Roaming. Seeping away. But always present. Lingering. My eyes look. All around. In the same motion as always. First to the door. To the chair. To the window. To the table. To the corridor. Scoping the room. My surroundings. To the door. To the clock. 8.16. Always. My eyes have become accustom. They always have been. Never unsure. Uncertainty is dangerous. Knowledge is safety. Protection. My head will not move. My neck. Stiff. Swollen. But my eyes continue. Scanning. Again. The clock. 8.16. November 12^th 1986. Still. It has been this way for as long as I remember. It has been this way for ever. It has always been this way. Never different. Always this way. I feel safe. Again. I feel safe. I find comfort here. Comfort finds me. Embraces. Loves.

 

November 12^th. It’s always the same. Always grey. Always grey and miserable. Always grey and miserable and cold. Always. It’s my worst day. My only day. But my worst. It’s my worst day. And it always will be. I know nothing else. There is nothing else. Nothing. Not an abyss. Not a void. Just a nothing. Nothing. It’s my worst day. Rainy and cold. Yet. It’s my favourite day. I never feel alone. I am never alone. I always feel safe. I am always safe. I always feel loved. I am always loved. There is no such thing. Not as love. No such thing. But I am. I am loved. She loves me. I think it’s my favourite day. November 12^th is my favourite day. It always has been this way. Safe. Secure. It’s my favourite day. My eyes look again. 8.16. Thank God!

 

8.16. November 12^th. 1986. 8.16. Still. I like it. I know it. I am beginning to understand. Finally. Knowledge. It’s too dangerous. She must never know. But I know. I understand. It won’t be long now. Not now. It won’t be long. It can’t be. It won’t. He knows. He is here now. He is always here. Never away. Never. She tells him. She says he can never go away. That he can never go away. He cannot. He can never go away. He will not go away. He will never go away. He is staying. For ever. He is staying. She is right. Of course. She always is. Always. He will always stay. He could never go. Never. She says he is too ill. She is right. He is too ill. He is always too ill. He has always been that way. Too ill. He will always be that way. Too ill. She has to care for him. He is too ill. He needs her to. She has to. He knows that she is his own life. She is. She always has been. He knows it. She knows it. Comforting. Safe. Secure. But above all, safe. He can’t make mistakes. He isn’t he. She is in control. She can’t make mistakes. She is in control. Completely. In control. He has no control. Tranquillity in the thought. Freedom. Entrapped freedom. Safe freedom. Safety. He is not he. She is he. Both he and she know that she is he. That she is he. Without her he wouldn’t be. Not as he. Not as her. But as nothing. He couldn’t survive without her. Without him. She is his heart. She is his soul. She is his life. She is him. I am he. 8.16. Still. I am beginning to understand now. 8.16. I am he. She is he. She is me.

 

I am he. She is he. She is me. I understand. I knew all along but now I understand. I understand.

 

Ticking. Ticking. Always ticking. Ticking. 8.16. Time waits for no man. The ticks won’t cease. Ticking. Ticking. 8.16. It won’t wait. It won’t. Ticking. Ticking. Panic strikes. Panic stricken. I am growing old. I am ageing. Rapidly ageing. Getting old. I am old. Old and withered. Old and withered and nearing death. The clock ticks. Ticks, as clocks do. Rapidly. Every second. No pause. Constant ticking. Ticking. I remember. I remember again. I remember again what I once forgot. I remember that I have always known. I remember that I understand. But more, I actually understand. I don’t just remember understanding. I understand. At last. I understand.

 

I begin to calm. Breathing slower. The clock still ticks. But slower. Like my heart. It beats slower. But it still ticks. Like always. It still ticks. But I am calm now. Once again. I feel safe. She is still here. She is away. But she is still here. Always. She has never been away. She is in the atmosphere. In the air. Surrounding me. I breathe her in. but she stays inside as I breathe out. She is in me. She is me. She is me. I inhale here with each breath. It calms me. It calms her. She is me. I like that. I like it. It’s safe.

 

Time waits for no man. Tick. Tick. Ticking. Time waits for no man. 8.16. November 12^th 1986.

 

Time has stopped for me. 8.16.

 

I am safe. Finally. Safe.

 

Safe.

Reviews

[Kate]

honestly, that is really incredible. it's not disjointed or long to read at all, it flows, proper like the thoughts of the guy. and it makes sense in a weird way, and it's really nicely written and i want to steal loads of aspects of it and claim them as my own :)
well good!
love you millions xxxx