vendredi, décembre 24, 2004
11.10pm 23rd December 2004
I sit on the bus, speeding silent and fast into the night. It is a quiet bus. From the purr of the engine to the pale whispers of the few passengers. Outside darkness passes silently, barely penetrating in.
The bus had arrived quickly, far too quickly, no doubt it was meant to be. Tonight is the night for me to take this bus, to return. It is tonight.
Everything is silent. My eyes hurt a little less now. But it hasn't been lessened from the gentle hands of a healer, rather it fades through the numbing coldness of death's chill.
This story might be long, but there will not be many more, I promise. Maybe it will even be the last. Bear with it, s'il vous plait.
Eight twelveths of an hour ago, the phone clicked shut. Shut with the abruptness and silence that I had known it would, with the predicability that I hoped for, and hoped against. And which was my fault. the click simply heralded an inexorable silence, binding the icy coldness, speechless silence and stinging red eyes with the seal of finality. And with that I bid a quiet farewell, pciked up whatever little posssions, and took my leave. It was an exit from the harsh white lights, from the painful conversation, to a neverending darkness, to a peaceful silence, to nothingness. The path was more deserted than normal. The toads and crickets were silent, the snails were in hiding. There was literally nothing Living on the path now; It was a different path. In my
accompanying shadows I could feel the Dead flanking me, Shadow Hands and Mordants ever closing in and ambushing their prey. They travelled in the familiar shadows which I have been so accustomed to. They have always been here, but only now is the time. And so on they escort me, through the zigzag, down the short steps, past the railing. They cross the road too, fleeting feelings of existences on the brightly lit road. They slip like invisible shadows up to the even brighter parade square. I walk on alone in my painful solidarity, a purpose to finish with. There appears a slim cat in front of me, who swiftly disappears when I have turned my head back. The floodlights shine as they have for years. But now the grounds are naked, devoid of the
gleaming guns peering out of the garages, of the row of black vehicles bristling with signal antennas, of the barbed wire ever waiting to be pulled aisde, of the young fellows which I once was part of, still infused with spirit and gusto. But it is all bare, and distant fond memories come to life in my imaginative eyes.
I stomp up the steps and enter the room, intruding on a petty thief spinning the combination on the safe. He sees me not. or chooses not. or simply can't. I exit. I go back up to my room and gathers more belongings. There isn't much left. Much which means anything. I say my farewells to another person. The lights are off, the locked is turned. Down the empty corridor again. The stiffling echoy corridor which once held much noise. The doors that stand ajar, spilling their darkness and empty white bedframes. What lives in them now. It is a grave of a building. I approach the stairs, stairs fit for a Ju-on movie, stairs I have seen so many times and always wished for the white lady to appear, both out of fear, and hope. She never does. The concrete
echoes with my footsteps, doors leading to nothingness.
I exit onto the path again, the Dead rising to the new pace. My escort never ceases. He must be keeping a good watch on me. I walk past the stadium track. It is as dark as before. Devoid of lights. Was it months, or even a year ago, when I, when we used to run on it. In the darkness. In the night. A shadowed soul floating past in the darkness, into the darkness, and then back into view much later. The eeriness and creepiness got to me. It was scary, but we did it. No longer. They are mostly gone. There are few who appreciate the fear of the dark night, and with that, the fears means nothing any longer. I wonder if anyone would run on it in the darkness again. Perhaps it might pass on as a legend.
I walk back past the work place. It has grown darker since I left it awhile ago. Darker than normal. I approach the gate. The two listless souls guard against the outer limits. We of the night know the meaning of Death. We who watch dusk fall and are unable to run, but count the Dead that fleet through the night, waiting time for the crack of dawn. "Thank you." "Goodnight."
I pick up my pace, feeling the cold waft of the currents in Death. I let it carry me along now. Now that I am going in the opposite direction, away from Life. The waters bring me towards the First Gate. There is no more weariness in this path. No more oppressing humidity, no more sweaty heat, no more noisy vehicles, no more crowds. Everything grows silent in Death. The Journey to the Ninth Gate seems effortless, I do not struggle against it any further. It is like a fastforwarded movie, or maybe reverse. It speeds past like a blur, without sound. I am making the Journey to my doom, called by the necromancer who strives to put all wandering to rest.
My eyes hurt so much, my crimson eyes dried of tears. My nose, stuffed with the effects of weeping, breaks down. The will of sorrow saps my strength and breath away, leaving me barely to have kept alive so long. It is a silent for the ears have long since gone deaf, and the mind registers no coherent thought. It is silent for the tongue has none to direct it to move and the breaths of sound have been exhausted. I pass on along the roads, there is not much energy, but I move on.
Life has passed on. And now I am waiting for the bus again, the bus which arrives so soon and speeds so fast. It shall bring us away, while the hand scrawls these last words on the long unused paper. There might not be time for the entire story before I reach, but I try.
It is ending tonight, the party. It is my turn to take my leave, perhaps someone will come along and explain why. Amongst these Dead Marshes might the answers be. Do not try to pull me back, the tingling of the silent bells are sufficient to hasten me along. The current grows swifter, or is it me who is weaker. No matter, I am past the Third Gate now, it will not be long. The Greater Dead await me down there now. I knock into something, flies into a spin, and does a big splash. The Seventh sounds close. Before I pass the Ninth Gate into oblivion, I woud like to turn back for a last glance, at Everything, at Everyone, at Everytime. A pity, only those who have walked in Death know the feeling, but it is not for me to traverse back and forth.
Farewell I go now, it is almost peaceful.
the Tale of
11.10pm 23rd December 2004
I sit on the bus, speeding silent and fast into the night. It is a quiet bus. From the purr of the engine to the pale whispers of the few passengers. Outside darkness passes silently, barely penetrating in.
The bus had arrived quickly, far too quickly, no doubt it was meant to be. Tonight is the night for me to take this bus, to return. It is tonight.
Everything is silent. My eyes hurt a little less now. But it hasn't been lessened from the gentle hands of a healer, rather it fades through the numbing coldness of death's chill.
This story might be long, but there will not be many more, I promise. Maybe it will even be the last. Bear with it, s'il vous plait.
Eight twelveths of an hour ago, the phone clicked shut. Shut with the abruptness and silence that I had known it would, with the predicability that I hoped for, and hoped against. And which was my fault. the click simply heralded an inexorable silence, binding the icy coldness, speechless silence and stinging red eyes with the seal of finality. And with that I bid a quiet farewell, pciked up whatever little posssions, and took my leave. It was an exit from the harsh white lights, from the painful conversation, to a neverending darkness, to a peaceful silence, to nothingness. The path was more deserted than normal. The toads and crickets were silent, the snails were in hiding. There was literally nothing Living on the path now; It was a different path. In my
accompanying shadows I could feel the Dead flanking me, Shadow Hands and Mordants ever closing in and ambushing their prey. They travelled in the familiar shadows which I have been so accustomed to. They have always been here, but only now is the time. And so on they escort me, through the zigzag, down the short steps, past the railing. They cross the road too, fleeting feelings of existences on the brightly lit road. They slip like invisible shadows up to the even brighter parade square. I walk on alone in my painful solidarity, a purpose to finish with. There appears a slim cat in front of me, who swiftly disappears when I have turned my head back. The floodlights shine as they have for years. But now the grounds are naked, devoid of the
gleaming guns peering out of the garages, of the row of black vehicles bristling with signal antennas, of the barbed wire ever waiting to be pulled aisde, of the young fellows which I once was part of, still infused with spirit and gusto. But it is all bare, and distant fond memories come to life in my imaginative eyes.
I stomp up the steps and enter the room, intruding on a petty thief spinning the combination on the safe. He sees me not. or chooses not. or simply can't. I exit. I go back up to my room and gathers more belongings. There isn't much left. Much which means anything. I say my farewells to another person. The lights are off, the locked is turned. Down the empty corridor again. The stiffling echoy corridor which once held much noise. The doors that stand ajar, spilling their darkness and empty white bedframes. What lives in them now. It is a grave of a building. I approach the stairs, stairs fit for a Ju-on movie, stairs I have seen so many times and always wished for the white lady to appear, both out of fear, and hope. She never does. The concrete
echoes with my footsteps, doors leading to nothingness.
I exit onto the path again, the Dead rising to the new pace. My escort never ceases. He must be keeping a good watch on me. I walk past the stadium track. It is as dark as before. Devoid of lights. Was it months, or even a year ago, when I, when we used to run on it. In the darkness. In the night. A shadowed soul floating past in the darkness, into the darkness, and then back into view much later. The eeriness and creepiness got to me. It was scary, but we did it. No longer. They are mostly gone. There are few who appreciate the fear of the dark night, and with that, the fears means nothing any longer. I wonder if anyone would run on it in the darkness again. Perhaps it might pass on as a legend.
I walk back past the work place. It has grown darker since I left it awhile ago. Darker than normal. I approach the gate. The two listless souls guard against the outer limits. We of the night know the meaning of Death. We who watch dusk fall and are unable to run, but count the Dead that fleet through the night, waiting time for the crack of dawn. "Thank you." "Goodnight."
I pick up my pace, feeling the cold waft of the currents in Death. I let it carry me along now. Now that I am going in the opposite direction, away from Life. The waters bring me towards the First Gate. There is no more weariness in this path. No more oppressing humidity, no more sweaty heat, no more noisy vehicles, no more crowds. Everything grows silent in Death. The Journey to the Ninth Gate seems effortless, I do not struggle against it any further. It is like a fastforwarded movie, or maybe reverse. It speeds past like a blur, without sound. I am making the Journey to my doom, called by the necromancer who strives to put all wandering to rest.
My eyes hurt so much, my crimson eyes dried of tears. My nose, stuffed with the effects of weeping, breaks down. The will of sorrow saps my strength and breath away, leaving me barely to have kept alive so long. It is a silent for the ears have long since gone deaf, and the mind registers no coherent thought. It is silent for the tongue has none to direct it to move and the breaths of sound have been exhausted. I pass on along the roads, there is not much energy, but I move on.
Life has passed on. And now I am waiting for the bus again, the bus which arrives so soon and speeds so fast. It shall bring us away, while the hand scrawls these last words on the long unused paper. There might not be time for the entire story before I reach, but I try.
It is ending tonight, the party. It is my turn to take my leave, perhaps someone will come along and explain why. Amongst these Dead Marshes might the answers be. Do not try to pull me back, the tingling of the silent bells are sufficient to hasten me along. The current grows swifter, or is it me who is weaker. No matter, I am past the Third Gate now, it will not be long. The Greater Dead await me down there now. I knock into something, flies into a spin, and does a big splash. The Seventh sounds close. Before I pass the Ninth Gate into oblivion, I woud like to turn back for a last glance, at Everything, at Everyone, at Everytime. A pity, only those who have walked in Death know the feeling, but it is not for me to traverse back and forth.
Farewell I go now, it is almost peaceful.
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