Something i wrote a long time ago.
Night time.
I awake gasping, shuddering.
This is not the first time, and i am used to the flickering fear.
I don’t close my eyes, i know what is behind them.
This time it is blood and tears, screams that won’t sound in my throat.
"Write truth." a voice in my head whispers, "don’t hold back."
Delicate finger lacing through my mind, like traces of smoke from the last cigarette i smoked, months ago.
I hear his voice like the memory is not so distant.
"Tell me your secrets..."
I almost close my eyes to clarify the sound, sharpen it even more, but remember the soundless void of the unheard screams in my nightmare and stop.
I stumble from my bed, flip open my phone, but no one has called.
No one calls at this hour, and i have no one to call to comfort me back to sleep.
I would call him...but fear the ache when the phone simply rings and no one answers and i am alone in the dark with my dreams.
My floor is hazardous, my room an outward projection of my mind, i trip over a pile of clothes, step on something sharp and bang my elbow on the wall on my way into the hallway.
The light is off, but i know my way, down the stairs, my father doesn’t notice my passing, immersed as he is in his video game world of guns and grenades.
I walk into the kitchen, cold tile a welcome distraction against my feet.
I peer into the refrigerator, for nothing, as a distraction.
I climb the stairs again, eyes blearing, i forgot to put on my glasses, or perhaps it was a conscious choice, i don’t remember, try not to remember anything but his voice. "Of course..."
I leave the light off in the bathroom; catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror from the corner of my eye.
It’s a shock, the person i see.
Wild tangle of dark curls about a pretty face, a face i don’t know. And thin. When was i ever so thin? one of my sweater’s shoulders has slipped off mine, leaving it bare. I look so different at this hour, in the darkness, in my reflection, without my glasses, and with that odd half smile, half frown on my face.
When was i ever pretty? Who is this person in the mirror i see, as though for the first time?
I file away the feeling, the emotion, the image of the girl i see now, flesh hand touching glass hand, flesh eyes peering into glass eyes, i file it away for a day i look in the mirror and see only the bad things, the hideousness that is always around me.
I file it away for tomorrow, when i’ll need to remember seeing myself like this.
Half awake, half alive, half forgotten, half loved, half cherished, half desired.
I stumble back to my bed, sit with my back against the wall, remember not to close my eyes.
There is a box on my floor, under my desk, across the room. It is metal and it is cold, and it is locked. It has a combination, and i know it without even thinking the exact numbers. If i cross the room and open the box i will smell the sharp spices within it. The salt, the cinnamon, the pepper, the clove. There are cigarettes in the box. There are candles in the box. And matches, and needles and thread. And there are razor blades in the box, locked away and hidden at the bottom.
I haven’t opened the box in months. I haven’t wanted to in months. Now i close my eyes and shudder, silently screaming.
It is dark in my room, but not silent.
I hear the sound of cats purring, snoring. There is the sound of the cars down the road. The sound of cars never stops here.
I hear the sound of the wind.
I hear the moonlight, too. A symphony of it surrounds me, where i huddle, in the corner of my bed, with my back against the wall, trying desperately not to cry, knowing this will pass with the light of the sun on my face and my skin.
I take comfort in this borrowed sunlight, this gift of the sun’s paramour, the moon. My sister, my shelter, my strength.
I had forgotten.
I close my eyes and let the moonlight wash, blue and cool, across my bare parts, my covered parts.
Across the wild tangle of dark curls that frame a suddenly pretty face.
I won’t open the box, i won’t dial the number.
I won’t cry.
Soon it will be morning.
And i will be me again.
No comments:
Post a Comment