My Requiem

My Requiem

Floating in the Waters of Farthought has always been a pastime of mine. I've made it a point to trek out to a certain cove once a month, eat a light meal, then begin the long swim out past the horizon (temperature permitting).

Once I  no longer saw land in any direction, I'd rest atop the ocean and slowly rise then fall over each saltwater hill.

I've always loved how the occasional wave would glide over me, bringing cold to my chest and face.

This was my favorite place to be, bobbing in the Waters of Farthought, as it was where I got my best pondering done.

On one certain grey afternoon swim, though, some far off storm had sent rain clouds to tell of its approach, and I saw it fitting that I dedicate such a dreary day towards reflecting on my life's sorrows.

or a "Day of Mourning" perhaps,

But floating out there, with gentle rain speckling my face, and in the midst of perusing the annals of my misfortune,

I was greeted by a harrowing realization.

I felt no pain accompanying my tragic recollections.

I found this alarming, for it's no good omen when a man can gather up his worst moments and hold them all without any sensation of weight.

This wouldn't do. I sought evidence showing my numbness was only imaginary.

And, it was as if the waters had heard my thoughts, 

a photograph of my sister's enraged face came floating in on a ripple, 

finally resting on my stomach.

"Ah, now here's something."

I picked up the picture and held it over me.

She was urging me to kill myself at the time, with a red face twisted in a furious scowl.

I expected tears to come at any second.

I hoped for my chest to be dragged down to the seafloor by a boulder.

Nothing.

So I dropped the photo back atop the water.

It stayed a while,

then soon dipped beneath the surface.

Slowly, it fluttered down into darkness.

Another picture came gliding in beside me, this one of my naked stepfather beating me. 

Then a photo album.

Then entire novels full of grief and loss floated around me as well.

Without hurry I searched them all for emotion,

but with each turned page I felt only empty.

Why was I numb?

Why could I not feel love?

Or hurt?

What began as a slow search for my missing pain grew into a frenzied panic.

I ripped pages out of the photo albums and held their edges against my skull.

One by one I sliced into my mind with bitter memories.

"Feel something, d****t!"

But after everything I was left with only a vacant clearness.

My heart never beat so silently.

Frustrated that my logic could produce no tears,

I fell back down into the waters;

they rocked and pushed my body onto shore.

It was then, on a quiet beach called Passion's End,

the early  of rain turned into a pour.

Wet sand molded into me as I laid on my back, defeated by my conditioned apathy.

Each wave slid over my body, and then pulled back some sand out from under me.

I laid on my back as the shore was swallowing me, and I saw grey clouds forming an image in the sky.

In my last moments above ground, I saw that smiling face and began to cry.

Author's Note

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