Light

Posted: March 9, 2008 in Uncategorized

It didn’t make any sense. Of course, I had yet to acquire all of the puzzle pieces that were necessary to fully understand the depth of the situation. But the bits I did have, when pushed together, formed nothing more than a fractured photograph with very little context. After all, one may force such memories together, but that does not necessarily mean that they will harmoniously join together.

I felt it was necessary to do quick inventory of what I did know; that perhaps such an exercise would allow the closed doors of my mind to open. First on the checklist of current knowledge was the fact that my current surroundings were dark. In fact, it was beyond dark, it was black. The floor that I layed on was concrete, or so it felt. It was cold and hard and chipped, as a concrete floor should be, particularly one that was so devoid of light. As I propped myself up on my hands, I panned the room and saw nothing but black. The only feature I could deduce was the hum of some sort of ventilation system; but considering I could not see said ventiliation system, and my ears were not fully in sync with my brain, I could not really tell from which direction the hum was coming from. In all honesty, it sounded as though it came from everywhere, but nowhere at the same time.

I was, to the best of my knowledge, still fully clothed. Not only was I fully clothed, by the smell of my shirt, I was wearing the same clothes I had been wearing for God knows how long. I felt, for lack of a better word, sore; this dull pain that radiated from every inch of my body. My legs felt as though they had just been sewn onto my body and my hands felt stiff and blistered, like they had been digging into frozen turf. In another test of my senses, I brought my hands up to my face and felt the around my cheeks. They felt dirty; crusted. What was it that I felt on my face…was it…

(blood)

Wait. Blood. I could remember seeing dried blood on my cheeks; as though I had been crying bloody tears. Why do I have this memory? Where is it coming from?

I could feel that the answer was so close, but the metaphorical fog that had decended over my head kept me from spitting the answer out to my lips. Suprisingly, my head did not ache (and with such a fog one would figure that it was accompanied with pain), but it was foggy nonetheless. The fogginess was, in my mind, comparable to that moment of confusion that arises when coming out of anesthetic coma. That moment when you crack your eyes and see someone that you do not recognize, nor do you have any recollection as to why you are laid out on a table. This moment was similar, yet in some way, wholly different.

“Why, why, why?” I whispered to myself in dry and cracked voice while my mind pondered the self-directed question.

After a few moments of pause, the fog lifted for a millisecond. “The mirror. By the door. I saw my face. My blood…?” I whispered yet again.

(thirsty)

Well, that answered one question, but not where the blood came from, nor did it answer why I was aching. The situation appeared to provide an overabundance of questions, with nothing more than a drought answers. Back to the inventory, I thought, over thinking will just make the answers more fleeting than they currently were. Established within my brain thus far: streaks of blood, and a cold, pitch black room, but what else was there?

My name is Cole. I work for an advertising firm. I live in a flat downtown and I drive a Volkswagen. I am 32 years old and I live alone. Good start, I thought, but those are easy questions to answer. Dig Cole, dig…dig a little deeper.

I had a date. With a woman. Her name was…Jocelyn. We flirted for a while, I asked her out and she said yes. I went to pick her up on a Friday night at 7pm. I was wearing…

(the same shirt)

and took her…took her…where?

(the door)

(what about the door?)

(think about the door)

That voice. The Voice that has been with me since childhood, always prodding me about this and that, but currently persuading me to think about “the door.“ But what door? It would appear that my mind is currently a steel door; a door that is closed and has had gum shoved in the lock, but surely the Voice is not referring to that door.

The door, the door, the door…what about the door?

(BANG, BANG, BANG)

DING! That door. There was someone at that door. I could see myself…in the mirror by the door when… going to answer the door. Cold metal on my fingers as I opened the door (brass painting worn off)…turned the knob and….and…and what?

(them)

The flood of realization (relief) washed over me and pierced my skull as I began to realize how

(but not why)

I had arrived in the room. And much as the lights went on in my memory, and nearly in sync with my epiphany, so went the lights in the black room in one blinding second. Blinded by the abrupt bright and yellow and man-made illumination, I began to remember…everything.

Prying open my Third Eye. So good to see you once again.
–Maynard


LongStar

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