Shadows. That's what they were. They weren't delusions. Not hallucinations. What I saw was real. Shadows, they said, are only a reflection of something real; a dark, cold reflection on the asphalt. But I knew better. They said I was crazy. They said I needed 'medical attention'.
The hell I do.
I'm as sane as the next person. Say...that man in the standard business suit, blazer slung over one shoulder, briefcase swinging easily from his left hand. Or the old woman with the shopping cart crossing the street, her poodle trotting along beside.
I'm not mental.
They were shadows. Shadows of a life gone, taken as abruptly as she. Taken away from me; every happy memory, every caress and sigh, every tear...vanished. She loved me once. People loved me once. I was their idol.
I was a king.
Sometimes, when I'm sitting on the veranda, the scent of spring air filling my nostrils, I can see her. At the edges of my vision, she lingers for a moment. I turn my head; she is gone. I used to dance to our favorite song, my arms clutching empty air where her waist should be. Walking down the street one day, rain pouring off my hat brim, I glanced into a shop window in passing, saw her green eyes staring out at me.
The rain-washed street faded to white noise, the sound of a car engine a dull roar. Her auburn hair gleamed, bright waves of honey-colored beauty, the only radiance in that street. I walked into that shop, shook the tiny water droplets from my eyes. I was transfixed.
She looked at me, not a hint of recognition in those emerald eyes. "Can I help you?"
I jumped.
The voice was off; it was higher, more shrill. It hurt my ears. I backtracked quickly, leaving the shop and continuing down the street, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
She is gone, I thought to myself, splashing haphazardly through ankle-deep puddles. She wasn't coming back.
But for some unfathomable reason, I kept searching. My eyes unconsciously raked every alley and back road, every shop window and street corner. There was a tiny sliver of hope, a piercing ray of light through the bleak life I somehow continued to live. Every time I saw a slash of auburn hair disappear around a corner, every time I was a pair of vibrant green eyes...my heart jumped, stuttered, stopped. And then slowly picked up speed.
They said...the hallucinations would stop. They said I would be normal.
Fuck that.
I am normal. I am perfectly sane. People imagine seeing their dead lovers everyday. People are given bottles of little white pills, are sent home placated until their next emotional breakdown, when they cry and whine and babble incoherently for the hour they are allotted. The cycle begins again.
Please.
I am not like that. I refuse to be the mental patient locked in the padded room, straight jacket securely fastened, drawing nonsense on the walls with a crayon held between my toes. Muttering obscenities at the person whose face I cannot see when he slides my food through the slot in the door. Random outbursts, subdued by the men in white coats.
No.
I. Am. Not. Mental.
She was a real person, she was my wife. She was my everything, the reason I fucking lived. She held me close, whispered sweet nothings in my ear. She knew my thoughts, the way I liked my coffee in the morning. And however unpredictable I was to the rest of this maddening world...she was always one step ahead. She knew what I would say, could give me an answer to a thought. She would look me in the eyes...and know my pain.
God.
I am mental.
My mind is twisting, knotting up. Thoughts are scattered, overwhelming. I see her everywhere now. She is here, standing next to me. Now she is across the room, her hand outstretched, beckoning me. I cannot resist, am pulled by some unknown force, but when I reach the point where she stood, she is gone. I am frantically searching, searching. Looking for a way out, looking for her.
I am trying to recall her face, the way she smiled. Everything is fading, fading into black. And still I am searching, only to find I cannot remember our first kiss, my favorite memory to replay over and over again. I cannot remember the way her hands felt on my skin, cannot feel the beating of her heart against mine.
I am dying, dying inside. Death is looming, oppressive, stifling. I am hyperventilating, my breath coming in short, strained gasps, clipped off at the end by this pain in my chest. What is it, this maddening pain? It is worse than the searing pain brought on by memories which I no longer recall. It is white hot; a burning, consuming fire in the chest, clawing its way viciously to my heart.
I know now my fate. I will die here, in the institution in which I was so utterly adamant about never being locked away. Damn the ones who think they are superior to me. Damn those who, by a general consensus, proclaimed me unfit for normal human interaction, hid me away from the world. Hid me away so they wouldn't see how they could one day end up. Living their carefree lives, never knowing true pain, never knowing the suffering I have endured.
And I will die here, in this place, the blinding pain causing my chest to constrict, the muscles in my body go tense and unmoving. My final thought was that I never did find her in the shadows, though I knew she was waiting for me, just out of sight. Waiting for me. Not the crazy man everyone else saw on the outside, but me. Me! The person she fell in love with, the only one she ever loved.
Unconditionally.
Fin.
Tell me what you think. Reviews are much appreciated. :)
~Jax~