chapter one

Chapter One
Violent convulsions force me awake from a night of sleep, that is apparently not going well at all, naturally I move to turn on the desk lamp to my right. The sudden rush of light fills the room like a wave that at hits my eyes hard and I hasten to rub the corrosive fluid out. Stumbling to my feet I search for a shirt and slip it on. Moving my attention now to my bare feet I find my shoes as I struggle to pull my shirt in to a position were it won’t be adhesively stuck to my flesh.
Thinking only of getting away I move down the hall for the door, keeping heed of my mind saying “shhhh… don’t wake any one.” Walking down now I allow my breath, visible because of the cold, to lead the way. Like second nature I continue on my path and I hear that all too comforting, “ping and scratch… click.” a cold steal lighter brings life to an all but lifeless cigarette. Inhaling, heat rushes to every corner of my body and in one fluid motion I am calmed, my body now moves more gracefully than before. This is my routine on the nights that I am tormented by my dreams. Arise, leave and run just run, release the only thing that can comfort the lonely, form its chamber, and bring it to life… inhale and just focus on that which is at, or in hand.

Now there are places in this big city where one can find solace from the recklessness of outer humanity though they may take some searching for. Oh, but when it is found it is like salvation, it can sometimes be the only place were you can find peace and be whole… well to be more exact, a tattered whole. This is what I am, a tattered whole. I’ve been scared …callus this is how I have learned to survive. The ironic thing is that, in the ways that I defend myself from emotional attach, I have pushed another person away.
Being lonely is a strange thing. There are those who are alone and in so being are lonely, which is normal. Then there are many that live in a big city and still are lonely. Sometimes I wonder what that says about humanity when an individual can be surrounded by people and still be alone. In the end loneliness is a terrifying thing. The never ending longing of being held and loved…. Scolded even… if it’s by someone that loves you. This longing is the worst of it. Constantly tarring … scaring. How can it not, isn’t it human nature to try and protect ourselves. Even if it’s from our own emotions, fickle as they are.

Unfocused and blurred, I realize the knees of my pants are wet. With a little effort I can smell the dew and grass. I have become exhausted drained of all emotion… filled with all those questions that have exhausted me oh so many times before. Now I do all that is possible to keep my sanity: think… cry…pray…be still and find tranquility in the sea of madness that is my mind…
Stepping out of myself I see a man weeping tormented some how. The sun is not far off now… What is he doing here? Why does he weep? I find great sympathy for a man that can weep who is not afraid to do so. He is alone… is that why he weeps? I am alone also, even when I am not. I find a peace in the knowledge that others are like me. Others also suffer.
Back in my own mind I find my self exhausted and wondering and the instant that I wonder knowing. “Why do I suffer God… why me?” Only to know “Suffering builds character.” And then only to long for a better answer knowing a part of me truly doesn’t want to believe. And so I weep, and long… and suffering the hope and fear that burden me. Frustrated with youth I long to have true independence, a soft breeze plays with my hair, “Wait… trust, your day will come” and still I only long for a better answer. I tire of weeping. I tire of longing, being strong. I long to be held, I have become melancholy.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have out walked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
O luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
(Frost R.)


Weep I tell myself… let go I say, scream! Cry! die? And to all these I fail. Oh emptiness inside of me how I long fore you to be ride of me. This is why I am, that which I am. And why I am tormented. My demons are more complex than most. Yet I know why. It is because I am cursed with the longing to know… to ask that question that will give me the answer I seek. Oh but to find that question and to know. This is what I long for. This is my eternity. This is my torment. And so here I am. With this… what is that question that I long for? And where do I begin?
So many questions that I know not… So many things that doubt, philosophically speaking. How do I begin? What is there that is, and yet is with out question. Where is there to begin? …Where else can I begin? All that is for certain is that “I am,” everything else can and must have the possibility to be wrong. And so… I am… what else but that. Moving any where past that to say what I am? Why? Who? How? Is drawn form something other than I am. …
Today I am grieved with sorrow. I am… sad… lonely. Filled only with questions endless and tiresome; wanting and not seeking, needing and not having. How I have searched for those answers. It seems that there is this eternal absence in me, always a longing for a resting place, a home… what is that? I was asked today
“If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?” to answer this took some time and thought.
“I would go home.” There was a silence, “though that brings up a question…where is home…”
This is what took my sanity, my peace of sleep… the sun is rising and I hear the words “Get back. Wash up. You have school today.” It seems that today is already turning out to be an interesting day. But what of tomorrow…

Author's Note

be gentle its a work in progress

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

I am always gentle. But I can provide spelling and grammar feedback, if desired. No first draft is perfectly clear of tiny technical mistakes. But i only do that if specifically asked for.

So for general remarks, the lighting of the cigarette is vivid and immediate. Having been a smoker, that really popped out for me. The tangle of thoughts and feelings and questions, I can really relate. But I found myself wanting a little more to anchor me in the world the character is experiencing. Maybe that's the point, though? He is distanced from every thing? I do want more physical sensations. But that is just me. You capture the pain of loneliness well. I empathize deeply as I have been alone too. I also think you picked an excellent poem. Very apt and moving.

Thank you for posting this.