Post by Haine Jung on Jul 10, 2011 19:44:01 GMT -7
-- going crazy, crazy [the truth is i'm] -- fading, fading [without you i'm] --
-- impossible -- not possible -- lie and say she's coming home --
-- somehow i won't be left here all alone --
the sheet of paper lay blank across his lap, the edge catching the wind and lifting every now and then. it was one of those rare times when he couldn't seem to bring his pen to create anything. normally the words and images flowed out of him effortlessly, like water rushing downstream in a river, but today...he stared hard at the unbroken spans of white on his knees. nothing came to mind. his hand was still, his brain drawing a zero; it was like his muse had just been leached out of him overnight by some supernatural force.
sad thing was, he wouldn't be surprised if that was the truth of the matter. nighttime was a treacherous period for him; those long hours when the sun disappeared from view and the creatures of the dark came out to prowl. his fingers tightened spasmodically around the thin metal tube they gripped and the scars crisscrossing his back and shoulders suddenly started to pulse with a dull, forgotten pain. they were healed of course, had been for years, but he doubted they'd ever stop hurting until the day he died. a constant reminder of what passed almost not quite ten years ago in the middle of the night.
unbidden, the memories resurfaced and he was once again a child in his hometown, cowering behind his mother as the door to their apartment was bust open by a heavy black boot. wood flying everywhere, he was only aware of the loud voices that filled the small room so quickly. his mother had tried to reason with the men and had pushed haine further into the corner in an attempt to hide him from view, as though she already knew her own life was forfeit but hoping she'd somehow be able to spare her son from joining her in the afterlife. the next scene always eluded him when it came to details. sometimes he'd see one thing, but others he'd be shown a whole different series play out. he'd become so used to repressing the memories that when he did recall that night, everything tended to come out jumbled after the initial entry of the men. images lost their clarity, visions became blurry and out of focus, words were indistinct; the sole moment that remained painted in perfect detail was when his mother's body sailed out the window. the glass shattering upon the impact caught the dim glow from the ceiling light threw little rainbow colored splotches across the boy's hiding place, temporarily illuminating his terrified face. and then...
there came a snapping sound like a firecracker going off, and he was jerked out of the past back to reality. the young man looked down at his right hand and found that he'd managed to break his pen clean in two and was clutching the splintered pieces along with a fistful of ink. he watched the blue spread and sink into his skin for a while, sighed, and got to his feet to find a trash can where he could toss the remains of his writing utensil. that completed, he returned to his seat on the park bench and continued to watch his sketchbook as it rustled in the breeze. without thinking, he brought his palm down and across the blank page in a sweeping motion, leaving behind a fading trail of blue. it meant nothing, but at least the canvas wasn't empty anymore.
