Time doesn’t heal
I wonder when I can open that, whether I can ever watch the three of them walk across the den, pet the dog, smile out at me, even if it is only on a television screen.
Maybe Every last one will be on my favorite family books list for a long time. Different situation, different personality, but it gives me so familiar a feeling, like the writer and I were somehow connected and our thoughts, thus, met.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to recall those memory without feeling suffocated and painful, too. But I can’t help remembering it. Sometimes I was doing my own job and suddenly an image bumped out in my head, and I tried to turn away but then ended up staring straight at it. Sometimes it was our group walking on the street, half talking half laughing. Sometimes it was me playing the piano in that house. Mostly it was me, on the cursed morning, sitting among them – those brilliant people – and faded among them; it was me, silent and ridiculous; it was me, scared and insecure; it was me, walking into the room with a faking smile, blabbing about things I don’t really believe in; it was me, crying on my father’s motorbike, telling him it would be fine, it would be fine but I can’t stop my tears…
And I try my best to avoid thinking of that two days, after coming back home. I don’t mention it to anyone, neither do I answer their questions. The funny thing is, they keep approaching me to tell “solace words”, to tell me to be strong and get over this when I’m trying hard just to forget it.
The point of that is to move on. I don’t want to move on. I want to go back.
I know what the world wants: It wants me to heal. But to heal I would have to forget, and if I forget my family truly dies.
And I want to heal. Or maybe I want to pretend to want to heal, because I seem to be incapable of letting those memory fade. I know a part of me died in that incident, and I know because of that I would never ever be able to completely heal. I don’t want to move on, either. I want to live in this misery so I’d not forget this. How can I forget it anyway? It was my everything, my EVERYTHING. Forgetting it means forgetting myself, it means erasing my own life. How could I forget? How could I heal?
*all the quotes are from Every last one by ANNA QUINDLEN
dark ocean [1]
One, two, three. You threw yourself out from the jagged cliff. Cold winds tore the air a part with its raging sounds and for a second you had a feeling that your small and meaningless existence could easily be swept away, leaving no trace on this big land. You thought of him, too, in that short moment. Eyes like deep ocean with waves rolling towards you.
oOo
The winter that year came very early. Without giving the villagers any chance for preparation, icy winds howled and snows had started to fall. It was such a chaos, and even years later when recalling that period you still shivered uncontrollably like the coldness had eaten to your bone. Every night you waited in the corner of your slummy house for it to penetrate. “The monster slithering soundlessly from house to house finding its preys”, you had heard stories about it like a thousand times and still you could never imagine that scene, maybe a bloody yet breath-taking one, maybe a typical dead scene with cold bodies and sucked-out blood.
You knew it would come to you, there was no other choice, all the villagers had packed their things and run to the mountain to seek for a hiding place through this harsh winter. The weak one, the coward one, the orphaned one… whatever, you were left behind with two small breads and a bottle of water. What for, you wondered bitterly. Once again, you couldn’t stand their pretentious acts. Their nature was cruelty and there absolutely nothing could hide that. They gave you food because it made them feel easier, it convinced them that they were not bad people after all, it fooled them into the illusion that they were nice and treating you well, yet in the end they left you behind and everything else became meaningless. That was fine, though, you didn’t have much faith to this life to begin with anyway.
Old lullabies. Sleep tight, don’t cry, mother will protect you from tiger’s sharp teeth, father would shoo away darkness’s cold hand. Old stories to teach naughty kids, who apparently trembled with fear when sitting around the fire hearing the elders retelling them. The monster lived in the deepest and farthest place of the forest will come out once a year to find food. You will feel unspeakable fear and your body is as cold as you are trapped in an iceberg, you will, then, wake up from your dream only to find that monster standing right in front of you, with a hand or half body of yours in his mouth. You can’t even feel the sharp pain, even when it’s there, as your body is like frozen… [-Does that mean if I didn't sleep in the first place then I won't wake up and nothing will happen?] You remembered yourself, so innocent and stupid at that time, asked the elders, but only received thoughtful looks in silence from them. Old jokes, told by Neim. Yes, that annoying boy with face always red like a beet, who once blabbed that he would come into the forest and defeat the monster when he’d grown up. Old dreams, when Marla looked at you with her big tea-colored eyes whispering she would marry you someday and you two would have many many kids…
Those were all meaningless now, although you couldn’t think of any other things. It was fine, you told yourself, at least you wouldn’t feel the pain as you were frozen. Then again you started to doubt those words. How could the elders know all that when there had been no one alive – or reappeared – after being caught by the monster? Maybe that was just a big lie to chasten the children, stopping them from running everywhere and becoming meals for wild animal. And even if it was true, then it might not be now, say, the monster only came out once a year. Kept thinking and thinking hard, you were getting more and more tired.
And you did suddenly awaken from a dream that night, to see a dark shadow approaching. [ Well, must say I'm a lucky boy for it had chosen today out of 365 days] , you thought, your body was numb with fear and you could hardly breathe.
Something warm touched your cold body, a hand, you thought, no fur nor claws, just a hand. Something sparkled in the night, something darker than the dark yet could make you feel like it was glittering. Were those eyes, you wondered, and even felt ashamed for that ridiculous thought.
It was still the middle of night and you could hear nothing except the roaring of wind. It wasn’t light enough for you to see, too, but you could faintly grasp the figure of the monster, or maybe not, as it was, though blurry, a thin, delicate body. A human? That was weirder than the monster, because no one would come back in this kind of weather to find a thrown-away kid like you. Or the monster was disguising human to seduce people, like in the tales? Aha, if that was true then this monster had stupidly chosen a wrong form, as a beautiful young lady would be more suitable for you than this handsome, thin guy.
The monster’s face was pale, maybe it was cold too? But that did highlight its eyes – which were so deep you felt like you could be savored by them. You thought they were black at first, but when it turned to you there were a gleam of oceanic blue glistered and totally opaque in the next second.
And then it asked, are you cold.
When you were five, your mom asked you the same question, too. Baby are you cold? Come and put this sweater on. And you heard Neim calling you, and you ran out with joy, forgetting to say thanks to your mom and to tell her you loved her so much. The next year an unknown epidemic burst out and took both your parents away. You still heard Neim calling you, but you never went out anymore.
Are you cold, the monster repeated, and you felt like crying. No, I’m not cold, do whatever you want, freeze me with your power, eat me, tear me a part, whatever… you shouted to hide the weak, useless cries.
oOo
Somewhere deep inside you knew you were broken, and you isolated yourself from people because of that. Even though now you were consider somewhat a powerful young man, you could do nothing to erase memories of those days out of your head.
You were ashamed of yourself.
Because there were beasts rumbling in your ears everyday – find him, find him. Because ghosts appeared before your eyes all the time – hey, do I look just like him? Because the legendary monster in old story became true and savored your heart. Because everything you could think of was just about him.
But you had passed the point. The limit. Everyone had a point where, once you had decided to take a step passing it, you could never ever find your way back. You could never become who you used to be again as you had left that that transparent borderline between childhood and adulthood behind.
After that winter you never get cold again, but neither could you feel the warmth of living things.
oOo
Jumping off a cliff seemed to be a superficial and silly idea, always, no matter what happened to you. You couldn’t expect people to spare their precious time caring about your very own problem, could you? They had their troubles, too, they wept their tears in the midnight and put their mask on the next second, and how could anyone have strength left to sympathize you, greedy child? They just needed to know that, oh, that boy killed himself, jumping off a cliff to end his life, that’s stupid, right, right. But that wasn’t a big thing, after all. Just that they wouldn’t get to see someone – an unimportant one – from now on and they had interesting things to talk to one another in the mid-afternoon tea break.
You knew since that day you weren’t living anymore. Here you were standing in the light, but your heart wasn’t beating, or at least beating in the right place. Here you were commanding people things to do, but your head was filled with his image and all you said was nonsense [and sure you wondered why those people still kept listening to you]. Nobody asked if you were cold anymore, because they knew you were not, or because they didn’t care.
[tbc]
summer time
So the results of this year has come out. It’s unexpected, really, I have never thought I would get higher than 8.5 with my lazy and irresponsible attitude in the whole semester ‘ ‘-
Anyway, sadly do I realize that I’m now trapped in a room isolated with everything. That means I don’t care, to be honest, whether I get a 9 or a 6. Two years ago if there were any slight signs warning that I might slip the first ranking in class, it would be enough for me to kill myself [or at least torture myself to a certain limit]. But now, except for a little shock, I can feel nothing.
Is that good or not? I don’t know. The bright side is, thanks to this, I’m no longer the sickie-nerdy who always overreacted when it came to scores and ranking things. I can live much more freely and comfortably now, well, at least it’s better comparing to the past as a desperado is incapable of happiness. However, also because of this I seem to lose all my motivation, my hope, my faith or whatever you call those abstract things..
Now whenever somebody tells my something, my face always shows the do-I-look-like-I-care-? expression. Yet I know it won’t last long, because I would be happy like hell if it did. When you care about absolutely nothing, then nothing could hurt you, or even if it does you won’t feel the pain. In the past I cared too much, there seemed to always have bunches of things to worry about. [Would I get good score? Would I rank first? Would my friends respect me? Would they offer me the scholarship? Would my parents be proud? Would I be satisfied? Would things be good? Would I become someone outstanding and well-known?]..blah blah blah, and guess that may make you understand why a person could kill herself just because of receiving a 4 on a test..
As I know this won’t last long, I feel like I should do something, but don’t really have the mood to.. Lackadaisical girl, you fail me times after times…
burn a fire in rainy days
Ah.
Your foot slips on the wet brow road and you fall down into a dirty puddle. Faintly there are shouting and screaming sounds from behinds. They keep chasing you, day after day and week after week, but you are worn out.
Your knee bleeds and it does hurt a little, but ‘ a little’ in your case means ‘nothing’ so you just ignore it and continue running. Can’t let them catch you, or you’ll be beaten and burnt and eaten alive. They are monsters in human disguise, and you are an outsider because you have something you shouldn’t.
Your mom was sad. For all the time she was alive on earth, your house was full of sighs and cries, the sorrow and grief were so thick in the air that you could barely breathe. She kept saying nonsense words, like, no, this should not happen, how could you treat us like this, we have done nothing wrong, or at least not so wrong. It did bother you much, sleepless nights and tasteless meals, how could anybody survive in that house? Her cries stabbed your ears and you felt you would definitely go mad if staying here. Then you ran away home on a rainy day, and maybe after that your mother would no longer be anguish and your father’s anger would eventually die down.
Ah.
They throw stones at you, two miss and one hits. So I’m covered with blood from head to toe now, you think, and that’s kind of a nice scene. Your heart throbs wildly as you’ve been running all the way, and you can feel its tiredness, and you would like to ask it to stop and take a rest, maybe a long one, and you would try to deal with your own problems in some other way. But it won’t listen to you. It’s famous for being stubborn and pig-headed, isn’t it? Huff huff, you have to stop to catch some breath, all the wounds on your body are aching and you are in so much pain that you just hope to lay down and die.
Catch him, they shout with hoarse voice. Catch that monster and stone him to death. Catch that betrayer and burn him alive. Catch that outsider and tear him a part. Catch that unwanted child and torture him.
This is destiny, you think, that’s the only reasonable explanation as you have never done anything bad in your life. How the heck could you be a monster, compare to those bloodthirsty people? Thump thump, your heart beats fast to remind you about its existence..
- but isn’t it normal for people to have that thump-thump thing?
no, not normal h.e.r.e, maybe somewhere out there would accept you, but not here.
- but how can you live without it?
we don’t live, son, we don’t. You don’t live at Land of the Dead, do you?
Then why did you give birth to me, you want to ask. But you know the answer already. They didn’t choose to, your parents, love is forbidden here. If you want to love, the header of the village scream with clear despision, try to lead a good life while you’re alive. Committing suicide to come here and then do these disgusting things? You people are really lower than animal. I can’t accept you here. Nobody can.
If you think you could still love, never try to kill yourself. But your parents did that and now all the sins are blamed upon you. [We can't accept love, nor heart, in this place]. Like you can accept those dead, cold and rotten bodies of them!
Ah.
You fall again and this time is the final struggle before death. They are approaching nearer and nearer. Hey heart, you touch it and gently say, thanks for being with me, but now goodbye.
Goodbye, it says. I’m too tired to continue anyway, maybe all these things are not that bad.
Yeah, you agree, not that bad.
And they pull your hair and drag you back to the village, to do something fun, neh..
- You guys won’t have that chance, you murmur, I won’t let you..
This heart is yours and yours only. Born by love and died by hatred.
And I’m not feeling well, and I mean physically, not mentally, cause you all know how crumbled I am.
And I think I may be dying, ’cause most of the time my body gets numb and my heart fucking hurts, once again, physically, as it always does mentally.
And I feel like I’ve committed a terrible sin. But that’s fine because nobody’s hands are really clean.
———————-
Do really want to write something minutes before, but suddenly lose all interest.
They always say there will be another chance, or maybe some other chances, but don’t they know that people only live once?
How many fucking chances left do I have, if I’m going to die?
None.
Well, thanks for telling the truth.
Once you’re broken, you’ll never ever be able to be b-a-c-k.
There’s no turning point.
No there isn’t.
There’s no meaning in surviving.
