Nothing
But the slow strokes of breath
Rhythm flowing
In… and out…
In… and out…
… a single small white light
Bursts into existence
Silent
But the vibration begins.
A streak beams
Across the darkscape,
Then falling up
Into the descending white noise
Movements in vain
The impending darkness
Engulfs…
Then…
A chilling growled garble––
Pens out the lettered wall.
ThEnThERoaR
WiTHapULliNReVErSe…
…So, where should I begin?
… I have not thought about these events for a while, but as I try now, I can visualize it clearly.
The hard thing about recollecting to others is figuring out where to start. You do not want to just toss everything out there in clumps and leave it up to everyone else to patch it up in a cohesive work. It may not be perceived the way you would like it to. But you do not want to be too elusive either, potentially withholding crucial details.
So… I guess… I should start with that night. The night I had that strange dream. It was more like a nightmare when I was going through it, but as I awoke with a jolt into reality, the fear that shook my heart subsided as a dull ache set in.
The moonlight was bright, illuminating my apartment through the single window. The blinds would have covered it, but they broke on the first attempt to twist the turn switch, the spontaneity of it causing a small gash on my right hand and a heap of broken plastic on the floor.
I turned my head to look out the window to see if the sun was peeking over the buildings. But the moon was so unusually bright that I could not see anything past that blinding white light. Nearsightedness did not help either.
Oh, that's not the moon, I realized. That's that lamppost they moved in front of the window. *sigh* Well, they had to move it somewhere. I didn't want to be mean and say, 'No, you can't move it here! It's going to bother me!'… I'm not anyone really important…
Groggy, I turned to face my clock.
Three o'clock? I still have a couple hours before I have to get ready for work…
I rubbed my eyes, feeling restless.
"… I can't go back to sleep".
I got up from bed and stretched. The bed was a bit small for my stature, but it was the cheapest thing I could afford.
I shuffled my feet across the floor, heading towards the refrigerator, avoiding the lip in the carpet.
What should I have for breakfast? Hm… noodles and sausage. Just like yesterday's dinner… and lunch.
It's not that I did not enjoy the occasional Ramen meal, especially with the savory taste of meat, but a repeated meal does lose its flavor after some time. That was the quickest thing I could come up with, though.
I placed the container into the microwave for about fifteen seconds and just rested my head in my hands on the counter, looking over the apartment room.
There was not much to look at. My bed, dresser, nightstand, television, and table rested in the small space.
Then there was the corner of the room I could not stand to look at.
The canvases.
My passion lied within painting and writing. Choosing certain words for expression is such a delicate process. It interested me. And when I could not express myself in words, even through a poem, I resorted to painting, a quiet yet just as impactful art form.
But… nothing I made seemed good enough. Neither the scenery I imagined nor the scenery I saw on strolls through the city translated well on the canvas. Halfway through painting, I tossed the canvas every time, seeming too bland and not doing anything any justice. Writing did not go well either. Tangible or intangible, I hated everything I wrote. Eventually I just gave up on reviving that passion.
I knew that nothing can be perfect, but nothing I made came even close.
But… maybe I can try again?
I stabbed my fork in the reheated meal. What am I thinking? I can't do anything right. I'm just… just…
Though I saw the beauty in the world, I failed to see any worth in myself. Dry, scraggly black hair, dull gray eyes, knobby long legs and arms.
That is all I saw in myself.
Mom and Dad thought differently…
I shook the thoughts from my head. I'm not going to think about it. I'm not going to think about it. I'm not going to think about it.
My mind searched for something else to think about. To keep from remembering.
That dream was pretty weird. But I felt "pretty weird" was an understatement.
I'm probably thinking too much about it, though. Hardly remember what it was about. Just another nightmare, nothing more…
Something did not sit well, though. This was not just a nightmare-type feeling, followed by the relief that it was just a dream, but something completely different. Something… dark.
My eyes drifted in thought, settling on the clock. It read three o'clock.
Wait, wasn't it three o'clock twenty minutes ag-
"Oh no, don't tell me!" I rushed over to the clock, nearly tipping over the table in my haste. With my eyes better adjusted to the dark, I noticed––
"The second hand isn't moving. It broke!" I yelled.
I bounded to the window. Doing my best to ignore the beaming lamplight, I looked outside. Ominous clouds loomed in the sky. "It's not nighttime, it's cloudy. Argh! Where's my watch!?"
In my frantic search, I found it on the floor under my bed.
"Must have knocked it off the nightstand when I was asleep––" I saw the time.
Half past six.
"Oh, great. I'm going to be late!"
And that's how my day began.