Thursday, September 30, 2010

Radiant Memories

Awoken from fiery rubble, dusting the remnants of ash off his legs, a panicked boy arises. Torched houses and tarred ground are but a skeletal reminder that the worst has yet to come. Fleeting flock staggering around as if their heads were cut off, their animal instincts pried out of them like a rusty nail in a two-by-four. He breathes deep as an infectious, humid gas rushes down his throat and fills his lungs like an anaerobic toxin. The boy coughs heavily at an attempt to rid his body of the foreign parasite only to be left gasping for oxygen, but there is none. Radiation bathes the air in waves of despair as children crowd the streets. The horizon, now a discolored hue as putrid as an overly crowded landfill of deteriorating bodies. As nervousness and confusion encapsulate him, he struggles to recall how he got here, and where he was going. His focus diverted to his burning skin, like an open wound drenched in alcohol. A Lack of oxygen in the air forces a black night upon his helpless body.

A shadowy outline of a familiar shape is slowly drawn in front of him as his eyes slowly begin to open. The stench of watery diarrhea fills the room as his body attempts to rid itself of the poison, a puddle forming under the barely living boy. He began to convulse like the seats of an archaic airplane in a spiraling descent. Death penetrated the room, "my son’s body shutdown, right in front of my eyes, I felt completely helpless. All I could do was watch as his last breathe escaped his little lips, and it was over. I knew I would be next."

He affirmed as he looked up from the floor, his long white cane resting next to his legs. There was not a single unscarred tissue on his body as he looked at me and said, "My blindness is a punishment, my scars are a reminder. I can still see his face, and I will forever feel his pain."

Monday, September 27, 2010

The Man in the Room

He awakens slowly to the sound of the violin and piano.

The walls are black, the air is heavy. He breathes deeply and silently, the music slowly draws to a close; as the last note reverberates around him, he looks up from the corner of the room.

He begins to cry, he doesn't know why, he misses the music, it has kept him sane through the years. A tear trickles down his mellow, pale skinned cheek picking up speed on its descent. Nearing the end of its journey it trickles down the line of his jaw before falling for what seems eternity, and hitting the ground with a loud thump.

He again awakens.

The walls are black. There are spots of white on the ground where he had been crying. A deep note strikes the room, rippling the walls like an ocean wave.

He looks up, each strike of the note altering the color of the walls, rendering them a redder hue. For once he smiles, he feels complete. The sides of his face engraved from the metal, the bridge of his nose indented slightly from the heaviness of the glasses. He picks his hand up to remove them. A sense of peace rushes over him, an emotion he had not felt for years, it was over, his work was done, he could finally sleep for good. And so he slowly drifted off.

He once again awoke.

The walls are black, they were always black.

There is no music, there was never any music.