Chilling, your body breaks out in a sweat, completely without your consent as your musk now broadcasts your presence to any nearby. Your nostrils fill with the putrid scent of the heightened state of awareness as your most rudimentary behaviors are forced to the surface, sacrificing self and logic for an extreme of the most animalistic, mere survival.
That which distinguishes you from the feral creatures is brutally subdued, replaced by the emerging, almost infantile instincts now the only somber reminder you are still amongst the feeling, the knowing.
Quickly, you turn your head, attempting in vain to catch a meager glimpse of the shadow. Certain you feel, the movement, the blur capturing your eye’s attention, was not an apparition, but solid, real, like yourself. Perhaps vanity is but a common trait you often ignore. You, the now infamous thief, abolisher of the truth, as any great actor must be, attempt in a pathetically simplistic gesture to understand that which has moved beyond the limited and primal senses you possess.
How avant garde you feel as the struggle to breathe overtakes the rhetoric of logic now shouting in your head. So convincing of a twisted puppet you are, within the moment’s certainty, enveloping you like a warm and reassuring blanket, safe and secure in the knowledge nothing was there. Nearby, only a void, only you and your lies occupy this realm where nothing can exist if you do not will it.
“Nothing”, screams a voice from an unseen but nearby source.
You heed the sensibility of reason, quite reassuring it sounds, there echoing in your mind. There was nothing there, like you were told. Of course, being the mindless automaton you are, the amazingly forgettable pile of flesh, you believe anything you are told, as long as it does not shatter the safe, yet simplistic and shallow world in which you allow yourself to dwell.
A cool breeze can be felt on your face, caressing ever so delicately, almost sensually the soft sensitive skin of your cheek and lips. If there was nothing there, why do you feel the air moving around you?
“Nothing, indeed”, the shout comes.
Your futile attempt to stave off any further inroads into this train of thought dominates your mind, forcing all others into the background. But how, how can it be thought? Thought requires rational reasoning and you have long since abandoned thought to allow your muscles to ripple with the tensions your mind insists are necessary.
“Relax”, the warmth offers.
Yes, you say to yourself, there is nothing there, so why must I remain at alert. Desperate and callow you do not allow reason or the truth of logic to enter into the equation that would almost certainly end in your destruction. No, better to delude yourself, as all others you have come in contact with during your excuse for an existence, than allow the reality, regardless of the evidence, to intrude yet again.
“It is what made me.”
The voice has a maker, whether it be God or another, the voice must be mortal somewhere in the darkness, just out of sight.
The fog and darkness, only just beyond your grasp, taunting your attempts to disrupt the quasi-barrier erected around you. Laudable are your tries, feebly moving, the strength slowly ebbing away as a small wound would bleed. All that is must exist in the darkness as nothing is here, not even clothing for your nakedness, but the cold harsh reality of what it means to just be. No purpose, perhaps. No objectives beyond just survival, such a basic need, survival. All creatures demand the most from their bodies and minds attempting just to survive, to transform the world around them from the chaos to order which can be controlled and that which can be controlled cannot be a hindrance to your further survival.
You cannot command the voice, the voice which shouts from the darkness, laughing and mocking you and your feeble attempts at comprehension and control. The lack of observation does not denote the lack of existence; the voice must come from somewhere.
Begrudgingly, move towards where you think the voice is, where the shrill sound emanates making your every task that much more difficult. Chilling, again the air moves around you, a new, sickly sweet almost musty smell assaults your nostrils forcing a facial reaction as your natural defenses again are on edge. The nape of your neck stands tense, sweat beading up as dew all over, listening, feeling the slightest movement of air around your body, now in an ultra-sensitive state of readiness.
“Trust me.”
It is the voice of survival in these times where you feel as the prey, peril not withstanding the only absolute is breath and trust of the instincts, given form somewhere in your psyche where only the most primal of reactions take place. Survival at all, remain thinking, you must remain alert and aware, as the loss of awareness would surely result in the loss of all else, at this junction there is not much to part ways with other than the voice and breath you still draw, for the moment at least.
The sound, a low deep sound, like a snuffling, resonates through your skull belying the impending arrival of the hunter, that which you know stalks us all. Turn your head in vain; you will never even so much as catch a glimpse of your peril until the last. Feverishly you look around, your eyes straining against the black to decipher even a single meaningful image.
“You will not find it. You search only in vain”, the mantra comes.
Unwilling, perhaps failing to believe the inevitability of your fate, your head moves from side to side in spastic motions beseeching the void to give just a mere hint of what is contained.
There!
Movement, in the darkness, a place darker than most appears to be moving across your field of vision, slowly, almost in a circular pattern around you, gliding just out of true sight but you are sure you can see the shape. Large, blacker than the void of nothingness surrounding it, completely silent in its motion, never moving closer but always in sight, the void continues to stalk you.
“Run” the voice screams out of the darkness.
No! If you move it will surely see you. Perhaps if you remain still the void will continue on its course without investigating this fragile and weak person, clearly an intruder in its domain.
Using all that you are, strength having been since written off as lost, you must remain still and silent. You must not breathe the void will surely notice the soft exhale of air from your lungs.
It has now slipped out of your view, not daring to turn your head you must remain still, faith in your ability to remain unnoticed must be unwavering, anything less will result in the void finding and consuming you. The void must be somewhere behind you, perhaps if you…
A clicking sound, completely unlike anything you have ever heard, so foreign, comes from the darkness behind. Then another comes. You can no longer hear yourself breathing, as your mind closes off all unnecessary actions in perpetration. Survival, at any cost is the only thing occupying your mind, allowing for nothing else.
“Run” the voice screams.
Unwilling to question, your legs pump, faster than you have ever run, fleeing your unknown assailant, your now desperate gasps of air filling your hearing, nothing but the stomping of your feet as you propel yourself headlong into the darkness. So deafening is the rushing of your ragged breaths, you almost do not notice the clicking has gotten louder and its tempo has increased to an almost continuous shrill tone. You attempt to steal a glance behind you, seeing nothing, only darkness, not even the void. Screaming, you continue to run, convinced of your demise, yet unwilling to accept it.
“Not much farther”, the voice pleads.
Soon, you promise yourself. All rational thought having left long ago, even the confusing chorus of your mind is now silent, all bent and focused on the task of survival at any cost.
It would be so much easier to just stop and allow yourself to end, to be nothing and join the darkness, in descript and forgettable. Yes, easy, no more running, no more fear, nothing. Blissful perhaps, the nothing that would ensue from your destruction, so blissful it becomes attractive. Could you learn to survive as nothing?
“Focus, you must focus. I will protect you.”
You know your legs cannot go much longer, the acid burns in your muscles from the exertion, salt pouring from your skin, no longer capable of screaming, you are feeling rather euphoric from the effort. No longer able to keep a steady pace, you spill yourself to the ground, tripping on some unseen obstacle.
Metallic, your mouth fills with a new taste, almost delectable yet faintly nauseating. A solitary drop of sweat runs down the bridge of your nose only momentarily distracting you from the not so faint tingling engulfing your tongue.
Your fingers tremble almost uncontrollably, as you slowly move your hand to your lips, quite sure of what you will find but unwilling to accept the consequences. Your eyes squeeze tightly shut, again allowing the void of darkness to overtake your sight, as your fingers gingerly penetrate your lips, and into your mouth.
Pain fills your abdomen as you retch, your entrails crying out in protest in violent spasms, your mind already spewing the sounds of the truth. Slowly opening your eyes in the faint light now permeating your immediate vicinity, gazing upon your fingers knowing without seeing the crimson liquid completely covering the tips of your digits, unable to clean it off, yet unwilling to try, you slowly look down.
Your face contorts in terror seeing the blood for the first time, your mind so willing to believe what it is told, even if it is merely you talking to you. Blinking but once and there is nothing covering your fingers but the soft skin, now dry to the touch, with no trace of the barbarism present mere moments ago.
Yet again, your lies resound in your head, intimately caressing your spirit, allowing only acceptance of your apparent good fortune. Unwilling, weakly unwilling to face the truth, you allow yourself to be swept away, a wash with the current of your own placating clichés.
“Safe.”
Looking around for the void, the unseen but so real pursuit you fled from, you find nothing. Desperately gasping, the thundering of your own heart pounding in your ears, you look around, in a futile effort to see anything, anything other than darkness.
“Not the first time…” quietly offers the voice.
True, not the first time you have seen blood on your hands. Mere hours ago, your hands were awash in the life giving substance of those you professed to love. Your soul mate as the claim was made there dressed in your finest in front of all those that pretended to care.
Now, the lies exposed, the truth known, you, the abolisher of all that is precious, such the sickly toy you must be to violate the trust given. But when have you ever cherished? All that is must be exploited.
“And you are no different.”
You must exploit this darkness. What you cannot see must surely not be able to see you in return. The futility of continuing to search the darkness dawns on your subconscious first, then slowly intrudes on what little remains of your rational thought. You must exploit to survive. Of course, that has the been the rational behind that which drove you to this place, the reason you have fled the world you so careful lusted after but were so willing to destroy with your own hands, covered in crimson watching the life of your “I do” drip out of their eyes until they were nothing but empty orbs staring into infinity.
If only it were that easy, they were not staring at nothing, but at you. Staring, accusing, questioning all that motivates, all that is feral and failing to understand any answers sublimely offered by the raving expression on your face.
“You will not treat me like that,” came the voice; now dripping in a threateningly malicious tone.
The darkness becomes even more oppressive, bearing down on you from all sides, the floor looking as if it is rising to engulf you completely. Your breath comes in ragged short gasps. Sitting down, you close your eyes, forcing the claustrophobic images from your mind’s eye. Pondering your current circumstances, knowing too well how it is you arrived here, the vile desecration of life acting as the gateway to this new realm in which you have so carefully, yet again, constructed for yourself. Knowing this not a Cockaigne and therefore you must fight to survive…
“You will need allies.”
Finally, almost subtly but still hitting with immeasurable force, you ponder the real question of this new world, who is that voice? Where is it coming from?
“I have always been here and will never cease to be here.”
Irritated, the voice speaking only in riddles, the tingle in your spine reminds you of the mortal peril you so recently fled on the notion of the unseen but all too familiar voice. No, you tell yourself, self preservation is the reason to run, the void was to devour all that you are, and you ran, not out of cowardice, but instinctual self preservation.
Cowardice would have been to stay, to allow the untimely destruction of you, withdrawing from the fight that which is life. The precious gift of life, something you have never held precious, ironic now that your life is in dire jeopardy, and even more still that it seems to concern you greatly. To draw breath is to continue to fight, that would not be the way of a coward.
Taking a moment, the flashes of images return, and your eyes closed but your mind unwilling to let you suppress the last images you saw of your love.
Broken, bone protruding through flesh, cold, the rigors of death already setting in, the body was almost unrecognizable when the killer was finished.
“When you were finished.”
Yes, the voice is right, when you were finished
“Kill?”
Not only kill, but destroy, to rip the life from their body, force the soul to escape in any manner possible, and you did this with nothing but your own hands. Hands now covered in a stain that will never come clean.
Another image intrudes, dragging the corpse across the floor, leaving a trail of deep crimson, a testament to your actions now burned in your mind.
And another, looking down at the body of that which was moments before so dear, the smeared and disfigurement now complete, recognition impossible without close inspection, even then a laborious effort.
Angst tears through your body, grief overtaking all other emotions as you remember looking down wondering how it was possible you were capable of such an atrocity.
“Joy.”
The simple truth, joy, unrelenting joy at exerting control over another, so much so life ceased to have meaning or value, and to illustrate that basic truth, you were willing to sacrifice the most dear one you had ever known.
Yet now, regret again fills you heart, your chest aches with the memory, how will you atone for this.
“And yet, the answer is in the past and the future and perhaps here this very moment.”
You squeeze your eyes tightly shut even more so, and shudder with pain remembering the flood of desperate emotions removing all thoughts, even the most primal, as your own survival no longer mattered, regardless of the momentary joy you experienced. And now, looking back, the pain of remembrance is only surpassed by the actuality of the events.
The slow preparations, practiced so often in your mind, now allowed to finally be played out in earnest. Like a retched dance practiced through the ages, you draw water, ice cold water, to numb your skin as you slowly allow yourself to slide in to the porcelain basin. You remember thinking to yourself about the size and shape of the bathtub, your own personal casket you reminisce.
You shove away these thoughts, too painful even now here in the darkness, alone with a void and a voice, neither of which have form, but both as real to kill.
“You must, there isn’t much time left. Remember and never forget.”
Shaking your head from side to side, your brow wrinkles with angst and emotion, deep sadness as you again relive the actions following your traitorous murder of your love.
You remember sitting there in the ice cold water, covering your mouth, turning your lips blue as you struggle to not gasp. Silently your head slips under the water, your grief overtaking all that which is real, and all that which is sane.
Your lungs start to ache, you exhale allowing a stream of bubbles to float to the surface but your eyes now unseeing in the cold as you allow your head to rest on the bottom looking up towards the ceiling of your miserable bathroom.
The aching in your chest turns to burning, your lungs scream for air, but the angst over the heinousness of your actions overrides any other thought, now just instinctual screaming to breathe. All you must do to prove to everyone, least of all yourself, is not breathe. What an ultimate testament to control to suppress even a primary function of all living things. The violent spasms of your entire body will not deter you, subjugating the urge to gasp for breath you struggle to continue to lie there, surrounded by cold unforgiving water, the last bits of conciseness starting to ebb away, until finally, blissful darkness overtakes you.
You scream into the darkness, the path your memory is now retreating from too painful even here, in this nothingness. The only sound that can be heard is the soft rhythmic laughing in your ears, the voice clearly finding your pathetic and agonized memory amusing. How sickly ironic, the preciousness of love and life, and yet you were so willing to destroy two in the same moment, one for joy the other for misguided revenge.
As with all failing to truly understand and be reverent for that which is valuable, you have lost everything. As the darkness overtakes you, even here in this realm where you are totally alone, alone with your thoughts and terrible memories of the most heinous of crimes, but neither your thoughts nor memories are your concern any longer.
Chilling, your body breaks out in a sweat, completely without your consent as your musk now broadcasts your presence to any nearby. Your nostrils fill with the putrid scent of the heightened state of awareness as your most rudimentary behaviors are forced to the surface, sacrificing self and logic for an extreme of the most animalistic, mere survival.
That which distinguishes you from the feral creatures is brutally subdued, replaced by the emerging, almost infantile instincts now the only somber reminder you are still amongst the feeling, the knowing.
Turning your head, already knowing the void which is coming for you, a dark shape in the darkness, moving ever closer.
“Run,” screams the voice.
And yet, this all too familiar world you have painstakingly constructed for yourself, envelopes you, and even as your legs propel you away from the void, you know, for eternity, you will be stalked, by that which is your own angst and remorse, never again to know the joy of control.
