Part 4 – Silent Whispers Under A Crimson Sky…

27 03 2007

Dreams and illusions are mere states of the mind; a cellular exchange of electrical signals and chemical substances. For some, dreams are often thought to pertain to the realm of the supernatural, revealing a sequence of forthcoming events; a window between what is and what will be. Or is it just a crude reflection of one’s sub conscience? Either way, dreams are what they are: An alternate reality generated by the brain. What for?

The question was further more appealing than the quest for an answer. For him, dreams were the only way to escape this reality he now found himself trapped into. He was prisoner of his own body, a slave of his own mind.

He stayed there looking at the ceiling for long hours, dreaming he was somewhere else. Searching for a refuge in his own memories. But the tedious mechanical disturbances around would drag him back, slamming his imagination against the four sterilised walls around him. He then realised what loneliness really means. The frequent visits of his shattered parents only made it worse.

It’s in these moments of dementia that you ask yourself whether it was all worthwhile. Does it have to be this way? Or was it all just a glimpse of your imagination? No matter where you are in the universe, the truth, even the most imperceivable part of it, cannot be denied, as it is what constitutes the reason of your being here. The reason why it all started. The reason that pushed you through the door and made you pickup that chainsaw to cut off all that was dear to you.

Memories are like butterflies trapped in a jar exposed to a disease; some can escape, some survive, and others just fade away, simply because they are too weak. That’s all he could do; fighting to preserve all that was left. It’s been days since he was there, half dead. In a way, the truth was much worse than that. He would have laughed if he could… at the irony of his own fate.

Ah fate! The escape goat of all lazy, desperate, depressive neurosis victims. What’s more easy than putting the blame on destiny? More than once you hear people blaming their nature on their fate. Maybe they should try to see things the other way round. Destiny can be viewed as an immense puzzle which can have different possible outcomes depending on the choices you make. Even the most unimportant event can cast ripples through the immense web of destiny. He could hear Coldplay playing in his head “… we never change, do we?”. Ironically, what makes all the beauty of human nature, is its ability to change, to remodel itself according to circumstances and evolving environments.

He kept thinking about those who won’t stop complaining about the misery of their pointless lives, but won’t ever dare to change something. Maybe they were used to grumble, ’cause it’s so much easier than actually admitting that they were the sole responsible for their failure. It’s easy to put the blame on others, on fate. But when it comes to admit one’s faults, it’s a completely different story. It’s all about games people play… All these contributed to the reasons why he always felt alone. He never seemed to understand the vanity of human nature.

He had made some friends though. The nurse who always wore a blue bracelet, the cleaner with headphones and the patient next to him: a 70 year old retired school teacher. They would talk to him, sharing their experiences, their lives. We always need someone to talk to. It seems that many psychological instabilities and social problems is due to the lack of communication. All that people need, is a friend who can share their pain, someone they can confide in. And who is better suited than someone in his state? It might seem a bit creepy at first. But come to think of it, the coma made him the perfect person for that.

He would not say anything, never interrupt. He would not be able to anyway. Sometimes he had the impression they thought he could not hear them. That made things easier in a way, at least for them. It’s always easier to talk when you know no one is going to judge you.

Days were flying by like cheap ink from a mad writer’s pen. All this looked too much like a distorted sequence from a gloomy soap opera. He just hoped all this would end one day.




2 responses

27 03 2007

captivating.. so damn true..
youve got to ability to make ur reader actualy get in the character’s skin… its really not just like reading it.. but u cant actualy b like asilent observer within the mind of ur character and actualy b living all these..

the standpoint u take to describe all around u so objective..and so much truth in there.. things one actualy never would have seen unless..made to stop and see it.. and u did that..brought a harsh reality in the forefront..

i really like.. ek in a way u wana know the next step ahead..
chapo Nit .:)

28 03 2007

She always end up looking at the ceiling too … maybe its a gravity thing! Somehow …always lifting herself to another dimension.
Wished she could look down for a change… be constant in reality…
Loneliness he says….Escape ….
How much longer this run to nowhere ….
How much more his brain can take of this nightmare…
How much longer will he survive in these walls where the maggots lurk to his soul…
Looking for Truth … A reason to hang to existance she guesses….
she might be wrong …. His memories might be more painful than she thought … the disease could get out of the jar…the butterfly might just grow into a monster instead of dying …. there might be no hope left …or could there be?

Fate ? He smiles i guess … but isn’t he a procrastinator too sometimes …? Isn’t he scared? Doesn’t he get hurt coz fate does play tricks on him, coz things don’t turn out the way he fought for….

she wonders if he fights then for what he believes in, if fate he says is for the lazy ones…

He’s sick of the whinings..then maybe he should just turn deaf!
Doesn’ he know that people are bloody ignorant apes ?!
That complaining is a universal human thing … bloodyblablablabla….. The song goes on ….
Sometimes she’s one of the head Sollists… can’t help it~ she joins in!
she thinks she might have seen him there too … Wasn’t he the leading guitarist? hah!

Well … at least..he’s got someone to hang on to… friends, so he calls them…

He listens in silence …living his coma through theirs ….
He says ” We always need someone to talk to” but he really means “they”…. like he’s not part of it !!!!

She wonders why?

And maybe she wonders too much!

And she will bloody shut up now!

She looks up… Back to the ceiling …. back to her thoughts…back to her own living death …

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