Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Regret...

He apprehensibly walked into the sanitized white room, hearing the respirator straining, pushing air into the body behind the curtain.  He rationalized that whatever it was behind the curtain couldn't possibly be human, couldn't be his love.  He had known her to be a woman of exquisite design.  Curves in all the right places, lovely, long dark curls that stretched just past her shoulders and eyes of the most sparkling green.  Her eyes were the color of Jade, which was; coincidentally, the pet name he had called her for years.

He didn't want to open the curtain, because his picture of her would forever be changed.  How long had she been sick and how long had he not coped with it?  He couldn't remember, but knowing that he couldn't remember, he knew, at once, that period of time must be great.  He had promised her that he would never leave her, but that; like other promises that he made, was easily broken.  He knew, now that he had to be here, had to see her, and wish her off.

He walked closer to the curtain and could see the outline of a body, just on the other side.  He remembered her smile, and how much that she loved to dance and to write, and how very special that she was, not only to him, but to everyone that she came into contact with.  She never failed to make you, or anyone, feel special.  He heard the echoes of her laughter ringing in his mind's eye, and remembered how she had cried happy tears; and let him suffer, without an answer for all of five seconds when he had asked her to marry him.

He remembered how heartbroken that she had been when the doctors told her that it wasn't possible for her to conceive a child, and how many months that she had cried, late at night, when she thought that he was asleep, but never knew that he wasn't.  She didn't know that it had pained him, as well, but that was the beginning of the end.

The love that they had shared had stagnated a little, and the time that they spent together was now less and less.  He had moved out and filed for divorce within the year because the occasional argument had now become an everyday event.  It wasn't for a lack of love, on either part, but the lack of knowledge in the ability to grow past tthe goal that they had both wanted for a very long time, children.

The courage had left him, standing weak-willed at the curtain, but a nurse had come into the room to check on her, and done the deed that he hadn't mustered the courage to do.  It had been probably two years since her had  seen her last.  He couldn't remember what the doctor had said that she had, but did know that he had said that she didn't have very long, and didn't even really know how she had hung on as long as she did.  Her body was wracked with pain and she was living completely artificially, tubes running this way and that.

She had lost so much weight, and the beauty that was her, still present, but fading fast.  Her body, once lush, was now emaciated and depleted of needed resources for survival.  Her skin, black and blue, and the blood vessels, where the needles had violated, were in severe distress.
He drew closer to her, took her hand, but immediately let go when he saw the expression on her face registering pain and saw her eyes open slowly and strained.  There is a lot that he didn't know about life, especially the end part, but he looked into her eyes, he could see her speaking volutes with just only them.  The spoke of hardship and of pain.  Unbelievable, unfathomable pain that was evident in her physical condition, but the true pain was that which he had given her, and now understood what she was trying to convey.

Her eyes tried their hardest to focus in on him as her body began to reject her presence.  She reached up to touch him, tears coming down her cheeks, straining against the violation of the breathing tube.  In the end, she just stared at him and as she saw the tears beginning to flow down his cheeks, her life stopped and the light faded from her eyes.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Harry in Hell... a drabble.

The room was dark. The darkness is all encompassing and surrounded him completely. His hope was fleeting. For that fleeting moment he had something within himself that he hadn't had in quite some time,and for him it wasn't exactly a surprise to say that it was saying something so much as, `Oh no, not again.'

Hope was something that he wasn't completely unfamiliar with, because it had become a burden and a curse. The burden was that he delved into that hope so completely and utterly that it became somewhat of an obsession. His obsessions literally always led towards despair. His despair was that he could change the outcome of what ultimately drove him here.

Here. He laughed at the thought of here because it brought madness.A madness that completely enshrouded him into a false sense ofsecurity.Was he ever secure? Was there an escape from the inevitable that had become his destiny? A destiny that had been forced upon him at such an early age. Fifteen months old is such a young age to be forced apart from whatis real and true.

What is love? Nobody's perfect, and he knew this all too well. He was far from a saint. Seen such things that would make a saint sin for the sake of simply getting away from these visions. Visions of grandeur. Visions of success and of hope, but not to be for him today. You see, he rationalized, every day is Thursday, which isn't ever pleasant.

Nothing is right because nothing can ever be right in the eyes of others. I'm here. I'm not where I am supposed to be and when I get there I'm here again, but when it was there I wasn't where I was supposed to be and the punishment came whether I warranted it or not.

Darkness. Did I mention the darkness, and the random flashes of light that brought fleeting figments of something that was imagined to be hope? There isn't much hope only to and fro.I find myself rocking gingerly and systematically into a pattern, hoping that it changes. Hope is fleeting too, in the fragments of myshattered psyche.

Coldness. So complete and without worry that it would always be there. I look to my only window which brings light and darkness, however I'm off. The light is fleeting as my cycle has been ruptured and I'm forever in night time. Looking at the cycle of the moons.Who am I? Do I even know? Do I know my name? What is a name? Does it label me out of this surreal? The surreal is so much a better word than the night mare which holds me prisoner.I rock to and fro, hoping for this nothingness to claim me, but it doesn't listen.

I had a life but it's abandoned me, like everything else. I had ahope but in this dark and empty room, even it has abandoned me.There is nothing out there that will save me. There is nothing outthere that resembles my thoughts of a word I heard once, when I heard something beside myself breathing, or moaning, crying or retching.

There is nothing more than my complete and utter anguish.He lashed out in better rebellion against nothing but the cold stoneroom and found nothing there but never changing stone.Visions of curly brown locks and honey brown eyes enclosing him intoa hug, something utterly foreign.

Friendship, unknown to him a world that was drilled in school that didn't make it into the real world as it was fleeting as pealing wallpaper that was long left neglected. Checkmate, mate, left alone and wandering along dark dank halls that offered no advice as to how to proceed.

Red. Blantant flaming red locks that promised family only to break that promise in the next breath and profess hatred that was so convincing… Peace in oblivion. Looking for help in finding that the cycle had started again. Pain to see that it is just real. There is no escape. There is nopardon from this.

This is it. There is no really REAL worldbecause it's here, and it is now.

Breath.

Take a step away and hope that it comes together.You've been here before. You've hoped this before. Before all ofthis, there was something more.

You're doing it again.

Attempting to conceal the enevitable true that there is somethingoutside of a seamable purgatory. Attempting to grab a hold of something floating in the murkiness.Attempting to hold at bay the circular reasoning that is completelypresent.

Evident. Crucial in the constant enfolding hopelessness.