Darker
And I thought this would be easy: a time for me to rest and wait while the next one took up the burden of ever-living. Not like this..
Not like this at all..
Waiting, so much of my time is spent waiting for a period of lucidity where I can slip through a thought- a musing- and hope that the child takes to heart those small comforts that I can spare him. Hope that just maybe he can still hear those whispers I send his way. That perhaps he’ll see the wrongness settling yoke heavy around his shoulders and run while time still allows it. Maybe he’ll see the truth behind those veiled lies and carry us safely out of harm’s reach. Day in. Day out. Hours ticking by..
Somehow I do not think this battle I will win.
I remember the tugging, the prodding which shook me from my slumber, warm and dark. Those questing thoughts that I couldn’t identify as my own. Then I remembered where I was, what I’d done. The flight into myself for safety: was that the end? Questioning, reaching? Yes, yes. I had faded that day, but it was welcome. Long had I plodded on, tired was I. And the end held as much glory as my life had. Now I see what a fool I was by letting the precious mortal coil slip away from me.
I had awoken in this dim place, lit only by a few sparse fancies and filled with the thrumming of Others voicing their worries in low, fearful tones. Some I recognized as voices from my past: persons I had reached for in my times of need. Was that what I have become, I thought. Was there need for my wisdom? I reached for one of those probing thoughts and jerked away at the coldness I had touched upon. What was this thing?
Distance- I needed to be away from it, but no limbs worked to gain ground. No whim put barriers between us. I was trapped in a dark cubicle made of thoughts and wishes and memories. There was nowhere to go. And then it reared away, reaching instead for one that was closer, catching her in its absolute grip. I not so much saw as felt her tear, her essence flailing and scrabbling to get away. And then she darkened, dwindled and quieted. The thing released her and she drifted away, flimsy and thin as the snowflakes I remembered. There was silence as the thing withdrew and disappeared into the gray mists beyond.
The Others lifted wary voices once it was gone and for the first time I was able to truly make out those I was with. Some hid: backed away into deeper recesses, whimpering and moaning. The rest gathered together at the center, creating a pool of light with their vibrant spirits, casting shadows on haggard faces, flickering demons danced beyond. I found myself not with them, rather watching the girl. So still, so pale, wan, and ethereal- trembling slightly as she floated in place mumbling soft things I couldn’t understand..
I found rage in my heart. My spirit fought to be freed, but that, too, was caught here in this place. It’s only channel was my voice as it shook with the fury of the forgotten. “What was was that monster?” I demanded, a hand reached out to touch her essence, cold as a corpse and shallow, nearly empty. The answer came as several voices, each echoing the same dread in their tone as they told me of this world around me and what was being done. The boy, the darkness, the struggle for control. I heard of their attempts to lull him with thoughts of reason or memories of some distant heroic life that followed some more noble life, but each attempt had ended in failure. Alex was not moved, and thus, we remained tied to the choices that he now made. As they huddled together, sketching out plans and plots I sat, instead, and listened.
I heard other whispers cradling, coddling, assuring this boy whom I knew only as Alex. Heard his impassioned cries for justice, for he had been wronged greatly. He had been hurt, had been broken. I saw the gift they offered him, how tempting it would be if in my past, through my hardships and youth, for me to have accepted that gift: for help, for family, for knowledge, for belief, for revenge. So often I, myself, had wondered at how we who lived so long could offer such venom and coldness to our own? How could we possibly turn him aside from an offer so kind and corrupting? And Alex, poor Alex, so young. So wounded. What would await him on this path?
I had to listen closer, had to learn what to say. Day after day of watching the Others' ventures spoil or fail began chipping at my patience. Their fearful whimpering ate at my sanity- and the impending cloud of doom really wasn’t boosting my confidence. Finally, I found that I couldn’t take any more of it and ventured into the mist for myself. At first, I was unsure of where I was or what to do. I was nearly caught by these dark thoughts on several occasions, but I found how to avoid them and not attract their attention.
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I spent so much time listening to the boy. A dreamer was he. A poet born in the wrong time and place, thus marked a misfit by his fellows. He had much anger borne of this and his outlets were limited, restricted mainly to words scratched out with pen and paper. Words that were kept secret, hidden. And so it grew, festering. When the Dark Ones came they brought with them security and community. That will be hard to beat, but I cannot resign to this fate.
Instead, I sent him whispers as well. I stroked his self-confidence when the shadows weren’t near, fed his independence, his art, his virtues. With a little guidance, we set out into the world with a few new ideas and approaches for the day. There was hope among us for the first time in what seemed like ages. But too soon, too late it is, for his persuaders are just as persistent as we.
We found ourselves barricaded in with walls of black glittering ice which only opened for the dark thoughts and my occasional ghostings, for he heard my voice the best. I had to be quiet, for they listened now for words of rebellion and cracked down with smarting hands that drained our wills and sent us recoiling. Still I ventured forth, still I tried, until the day I found myself under lock and key as well.
I could hear the Others- voices raised in protest as the walls grow closer and a warmth tucked us in like a blanket, like acceptance- that drowned out our voices and held us snugly in place. And all those whims and fantasies that lighted our world began growing, darkening, shining with a wicked gleam as they illuminated our fears.
Every hour I could hear the walls grinding their way closer and another voice winked out of the chorus of protests. The rantings of the fallen became a droning wave that echoed in my prison, causing the lights to spin and dance with each lilting crescendo. Is this how it ends, oh glorious one? When faced with death one’s brave with the knowledge that they’ll return again, but this unknown? This evil is unbearable to conceive. It chills me despite the warm and cheerful glow around me as I sit, waiting, wondering..
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How long will it be before the light finds us again? What scars will this leave on us? Will we truly ever heal from them? The last question barely leaves my lips as the wall before me slides back to reveal my nightmare. Not a horrid monster, nor a person, nor anything with a true shape. Simply a thought, a resignation that casts me down with my brethren, takes my will, my way, my soul. And me, without a weapon or even hands to fend it off with.
I brace myself, the wall to my back pushing me forward towards this thought, this dark tentacle in my mind. Feel the thrashing, ripping, the emptiness that it leaves in its place. And the wish that spans the breadth of forever: the wish for an end.
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