The Waves
1/1
It hoards them, they say. It drinks them in like Romeo drinks poison, deep and with misguided purpose. I do not know who they are, but they have always sounded so sure, voices caught somewhere between awe and horror.
I want to ask it why, why does it steal away these things from us? When did we become so insignificant that our souls no longer mattered? It will not answer, that I know, but the question persists, slamming around in my skull. It beats so hard sometimes that I feel as if the bone is finally shattering, shards flying around in my empty headspace. I knew it would happen some day.
I go to the river to seek it out, to stare into the water, as if my rippled reflection will tell me how it happens, will tell me how to escape. The water doesn’t. It never does. A small fish jumps, flails, and breaks the surface. I am gone.
Staying here doesn’t seem so bad though, as my shattered reflection stitches itself back together with the little, lapping waves the fish created. This place feels so peaceful, and I have not felt so safe since I had first encountered it. At the water I was safe because it is afraid of the smooth, silky liquid. It fears fire too, and I wondered if I could construct a little one. I’d trap myself between the river and flames and be safe here.
It’s on me though, before I can fight it, tight in my fingers as it slides its sinewy body through the frail digits. It weaves around my limbs and leaves my stomach churning as it crawls. With the impulse to throw it far, far into the water, it clutches tighter to me and I tighten my grip, holding fast. I cannot release it, not yet, when its soul has so thoroughly stitched itself into mine. I want it gone, want it to disappear, but fangs are sinking into my wrist and I can see the bloody red poison seeping in. It rushes deeper and deeper and I feel myself drowning again, my brief freedom gone already, as the water splashes around me and extinguishes the little flame left of my once flamboyant soul.
I see only a flash as the flame goes out, long white coats like the robes of priests gathering around me, converging into a blur of white-capped waves. They’re too big though, next to the little river waves I’m accustomed to, and I cannot swim. A tiny, clear boat rides the waves and, though I am jealous of its buoyancy, I admire the elegant, black lettering that proclaims the little boat to be named Clozaril. The name sounds foreign, exotic, and I like it. I want to consider it further but I cannot breath as the waves press against my chest, lungs giving out as its fangs slide back in.
I want to ask it why, why does it steal away these things from us? When did we become so insignificant that our souls no longer mattered? It will not answer, that I know, but the question persists, slamming around in my skull. It beats so hard sometimes that I feel as if the bone is finally shattering, shards flying around in my empty headspace. I knew it would happen some day.
I go to the river to seek it out, to stare into the water, as if my rippled reflection will tell me how it happens, will tell me how to escape. The water doesn’t. It never does. A small fish jumps, flails, and breaks the surface. I am gone.
Staying here doesn’t seem so bad though, as my shattered reflection stitches itself back together with the little, lapping waves the fish created. This place feels so peaceful, and I have not felt so safe since I had first encountered it. At the water I was safe because it is afraid of the smooth, silky liquid. It fears fire too, and I wondered if I could construct a little one. I’d trap myself between the river and flames and be safe here.
It’s on me though, before I can fight it, tight in my fingers as it slides its sinewy body through the frail digits. It weaves around my limbs and leaves my stomach churning as it crawls. With the impulse to throw it far, far into the water, it clutches tighter to me and I tighten my grip, holding fast. I cannot release it, not yet, when its soul has so thoroughly stitched itself into mine. I want it gone, want it to disappear, but fangs are sinking into my wrist and I can see the bloody red poison seeping in. It rushes deeper and deeper and I feel myself drowning again, my brief freedom gone already, as the water splashes around me and extinguishes the little flame left of my once flamboyant soul.
I see only a flash as the flame goes out, long white coats like the robes of priests gathering around me, converging into a blur of white-capped waves. They’re too big though, next to the little river waves I’m accustomed to, and I cannot swim. A tiny, clear boat rides the waves and, though I am jealous of its buoyancy, I admire the elegant, black lettering that proclaims the little boat to be named Clozaril. The name sounds foreign, exotic, and I like it. I want to consider it further but I cannot breath as the waves press against my chest, lungs giving out as its fangs slide back in.
♠ ♠ ♠
concrit please!