UntitledA Story by S CopelandThis is a very personal piece. A piece from my past which I still live with and experience every day... This is also the first piece of work I've ever let anybody read who didn't need to.I don’t expect you to
understand what you’re about to read, how could anybody ever understand? There
are times in life when you feel more alone than beyond what you thought
imaginable... This isn’t the case for me.
On these vibrant pages lies
a bleak past. A miniscule fraction of my life which changed everything; changed
the way I view the world. A time which taught me to see the beauty in
everything, to live every day like my last and most of all; to remember to
live.
This bright yet desolate
confinement is awful. I’ve never minded my own company but I can’t handle this.
It isn’t what I’m used to. I’m not free. You’d think after years of hiding and
ignoring these voices and the imagery I’d be a little used to it. It never
fades; never eases for a moment’s respite. Sometimes, these delusions are
caused merely by the headaches or sometimes... It feels like it’s something
else.
I can’t shake the feeling
that I’m constantly in the company of others, that I’m forever being watched.
Even in the ashen, bleak walls of my solitude they linger still. After what
feels like an eternity of migraines and pain, the hallucinations are getting
worse.
It’s been seven years now.
Seven years of never truly knowing reality from fantasy. It’s as confusing as
ever trying to comprehend whether what I’m seeing is or isn’t fiction. I’m
working on it. Sometimes it just seems to be a lone voice gnawing the surface
of my mind and other times; other times it’s much worse. I’m alone now, or at
least what people perceive to be alone.
The pain is searing through
my soul, splitting like an atom in an irreversible cataclysm. Incoherent cries
consume my thoughts in an epic requiem. All negative. All filled with anguish
and rage. There isn’t much point trying to distinguish their echoes, I know
what they want, it seems to be the same message every time. They want me to
fear, to feel isolated and vulnerable amongst them. My only option is to try
and drown them out. To create harmony from chaos. I’ll try what I usually do
again; close the curtains, light some coffee scented candles, play some calming
music and draw. It doesn’t stop the pain or the delusions but it’s a welcome reprise
and works as a distraction at least.
Something’s different. These
aren’t subsiding. They’re becoming stronger, more vicious, more determined than
normal. What was that? Did I really see what I think I saw or is it yet another
mind game? There can’t surely be someone breaking in now, the house is full.
Nothing. Not a whisper from
downstairs. Why is that though? Is it because they’re in shock at this
intrusion or was it just a vision again? I guess there’s only one way to find
out...
I have an annoying habit of
over-thinking every situation to the extent that I expect the worst and this is
no exception. My brain is in overdrive, my heart mimicking the rhythmic beating
of a hummingbird’s wing.
The first few steps towards
my bedroom door are over in seconds. I’m still trying to listen out for any
noise, any signal of motion from the rooms below. The voices are louder now,
drowning out the world, ever urging me onwards. They know what awaits me just
beyond the safety of my room.
Then I see him.
Recently we converted the
loft into an office space and work area for when I’m feeling creative. It’s a
space purely for my tranquillity, to escape from the world and immerse myself
in the colours of the palette. It’s a haven. It was a haven...
The midnight black hair
concealing the ragged flesh beneath, though not entirely. Through the greasy
wisps flickering across his face I see those eyes. Those eyes, burning with
rage, ablaze with blood crimson and wild yellows.
Panic. That’s all I feel
right now. I have to run, I need to run but I’m frozen. My body longs to react
where my mind is lacking. I manage to stumble into my room, wedging myself
there so it can’t be opened. Now he can’t get to me, now I’m at least partially
safe. Then I realise, now I’m trapped! Caged in this room whilst my family are
vulnerable beneath us but what can I do?
I have no way to them but through him. The ability to shout has long
since forsaken me. He has to be a part of my imagination, how else would he
have broke into the house, passed my family and climbed into my haven without
detection?
I have to face him. Either
way it is the only option I have left.
As I stand and try to
conjure up courage, the ice attacks my spine. He’s saying something, something
I can’t make out but what? If the criticism in my mind would subside for just a
moment I would hear so clearly. They obey.
“I can wait here all day.
There’s no way out and you know it.” His voice is as ferocious as his
appearance. “I know what you’re thinking; you’re an open book to me.”
His arrogance is
overbearing, “are you trying to mock me?” I demand. “If you really think I’m
that predictable then you’re in for a shock!” My hand reaches for the handle
before realisation of my motives sets in. The landing seems bitter, basking in
the moon’s ambience as I see the full threat before me.
“If you’re going to kill me
just do it, I’m not afraid of you or death!” I bellow. The silence of the lower
floor shatters as the stairs dance under the footsteps of my mother. Yet still
he remains unhindered in his purpose.
“Such a brave act of you...” So softly and pitifully spoken, yet only for a second. “Now embrace it!”
As the crimson waterfall cascades from the wound, the world fades away... Once again, I’m enclosed in darkness, trapped within my own mind. Alone but safe; safe for how long? Remember to live...
Memento
Vivere... © 2012 S CopelandFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
720 Views
7 Reviews Added on October 25, 2012 Last Updated on October 25, 2012 AuthorS CopelandNewcastle Upon Tyne, United KingdomAboutA little bit about me... I'm a father, a friend, an artist and a perfectionist. I'm very misunderstood and complicated; never giving too much away about myself. I guess that would make me, in a sen.. more.. |