A head appeared in that hole in the sky. "Hello there" a voice said. The old man on the ground tried to see that face, but the light coming from that hole was too bright. Wanting to shield his eyes from the bright light, He tried to close his eyes. He wanted to lift a hand to try to ask for help. He wanted to speak but he couldn't find the strength. His voice box felt as if it had rusted from the years he spent in silence. He tried to mime his agony, his painful lonliness and the intolerable darkness he had been forced to endure because of his crime in a moment of folly. he looked up into the blinding light with all the sadness his heart could muster. His frozen muscles ached from the effort to express. Grief had become concrete, solid in his little cell. It was like the darkness around him, thick and deep like a liquid half solidified, caressing him with a seductive touch such that he could not totally find the determination to leave it once and for all. Abandon it and hope for something better. He had become attached to it, although he yearned for a freedom away from her presence. The new found ray of hope in the form of light and that voice full of life, full of something other than the darkness, the silence and the dampness lifted something dead inside of him. Raised it from the dead like a resurrection--only half sucessful.
"What are you doing here?" Oh my god, he thought, it is a child. A child, a young bud fresh with possibilities, imagination of the great beyond, so different from this chained old man anchored to his grief, mired in what he have already forgotten, burdened by a history no longer relevant. Only the deep sadness where hope could not penetrate. Help me he wanted to say. Save me, free me, love me. But nothing came. It was as if he had turned to stone, such that his tears could not flow. so the sadness is intact, nothing is subtracted from it to diminish it. So that he will always suffer it alone, suffer it all in its fullness.
"Are you still alive? can you move?"
"Here, give me your hand." The faceless voice stretched out a tiny hand.
The old man tried to stand, he wanted to touch it even if he could not be freed from his fate. Every atom in his being yearned for a contact with that embodiment of forgiveness, of another possibility, of a new beginning.
"Come on, don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."
His body had long become useless, his mind is half ravished, his heart... His heart searches for the soul which he had given up in despair. He is lost, he is abandoned. He had lost everything that meant anything to him-- flaking from his being like pieces of old skin which refuses to grow again. Swallowed by that darkness.
"Why are you scared of me? Quickly, take my hand or I will have to leave soon. I hear my mum calling me already." Quickly quickly.
Knowing that it was his one chance to redeem himself, to save his lost soul torn apart by the bitter years spent as despair's slave. He knew that if he could just reach the boy, he would be saved. He would cease his torturous existence. I felt his skin throbe. HIs finger tingled. Wait for me, he wanted to say.
Wait...
"Who are you talking to? There is no one there. Johnny, stop playing these games, it scares me." Mother says. She closes the box her son loves to look into and talk into. I am going to throw this away she says to herself. Tomorrow. She makes a mental note.
Johnny thinks to himself, he still refuses to talk to me, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow.
The old man sees the light go out, the hole closes from the sky. He springs up from his nightmare. He is dreaming of this boy again. He is dreaming of hope again. It will happen again every night and he will fail, always at the last minute. He will tell the boy how much he loves him tomorrow, Sail away from his little cell tomorrow. Tomorrow.
"What are you doing here?" Oh my god, he thought, it is a child. A child, a young bud fresh with possibilities, imagination of the great beyond, so different from this chained old man anchored to his grief, mired in what he have already forgotten, burdened by a history no longer relevant. Only the deep sadness where hope could not penetrate. Help me he wanted to say. Save me, free me, love me. But nothing came. It was as if he had turned to stone, such that his tears could not flow. so the sadness is intact, nothing is subtracted from it to diminish it. So that he will always suffer it alone, suffer it all in its fullness.
"Are you still alive? can you move?"
"Here, give me your hand." The faceless voice stretched out a tiny hand.
The old man tried to stand, he wanted to touch it even if he could not be freed from his fate. Every atom in his being yearned for a contact with that embodiment of forgiveness, of another possibility, of a new beginning.
"Come on, don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."
His body had long become useless, his mind is half ravished, his heart... His heart searches for the soul which he had given up in despair. He is lost, he is abandoned. He had lost everything that meant anything to him-- flaking from his being like pieces of old skin which refuses to grow again. Swallowed by that darkness.
"Why are you scared of me? Quickly, take my hand or I will have to leave soon. I hear my mum calling me already." Quickly quickly.
Knowing that it was his one chance to redeem himself, to save his lost soul torn apart by the bitter years spent as despair's slave. He knew that if he could just reach the boy, he would be saved. He would cease his torturous existence. I felt his skin throbe. HIs finger tingled. Wait for me, he wanted to say.
Wait...
"Who are you talking to? There is no one there. Johnny, stop playing these games, it scares me." Mother says. She closes the box her son loves to look into and talk into. I am going to throw this away she says to herself. Tomorrow. She makes a mental note.
Johnny thinks to himself, he still refuses to talk to me, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow.
The old man sees the light go out, the hole closes from the sky. He springs up from his nightmare. He is dreaming of this boy again. He is dreaming of hope again. It will happen again every night and he will fail, always at the last minute. He will tell the boy how much he loves him tomorrow, Sail away from his little cell tomorrow. Tomorrow.
posted by Nippy at 7:39 AM
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