Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Why the Evening Didn't End (the start)

I awoke with an absolute void in my chest. It felt as if my chest had been pulled and removed; my ribs jutting outwards, some tissue rippage into the core of my stomach. It didn't exactly hurt. I felt immobilized; stunned, thinking that by no means was movement possible and so I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, recollecting every thought in my life, reliving all the moment I couldn't forget no matter how hard I tried. I wanted pain, it would make more sense . Perhaps some lingering, incinerating pain would get me to try. But instead, I just lay there, for about fifteen of the longest minutes in existence, believing the whole time I'd end up dissolving around that void.

Then I got up. It was simple, as simple as one might expect. And there was still no pain, and no further consequences rather than the realization of that void. I still had my wits about me, and my balance. One of my first beliefs was not to look into the mirror. For some reason that terrified me. To feel that I have this absolute void in and on me, but not see it in the mirror? That'd damage me more than anything else. Or to think that there would be something reflecting from that mirror? I wanted none of it.

So I continued my normal routine; grabbed the keys from my basket, along with my wallet and gum, and took to walking downtown. When I got outside, I instantly got this notion that I hadn't been out in a long time, like everything looked eerily similar to the way things used to be. Even the cars looked odd, or out of place. I couldn't quite put it all together, so I just kept walking.

But then it hit me: the dizziness, the feeling that I would topple over any minute. Strange thing was, I knew I wouldn't fall over, as if I couldn't, so instead I meandered down the street like a wave; the crest of my head breaking along with the tides before billowing up again to start the whole process over. I was dizzy, and completely nauseous, but for some reason, the entire time, I had this insatiable certainty that I was okay. That somehow, within the next span of my life, things would turn out fine.

Eventually, I would come to thing it was all just pride.

2 comments:

  1. Interesting and well-written Sandy. Are you okay? Tell me what happens next.
    Kind of like when you are sleeping and you feel you can't move, but you know you're awake.
    Gregor Samsa awoke one morning to find he was a bug...

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  2. Not awake, but capable of moving at some point in the future.

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