06-18-2018, 05:55 PM
The line where the water meets the sky appears hazy, just before the colors begin to warm with the promise of a rising sun. I find myself atop a ragged cliff, overlooking the coarsely fragmented coast on the other side of the Sylvan boundary mountain range. It took me quite the long while to get here, treading tirelessly up and down the narrow switchbacks of the unforgiving mountains. Several times I had to work my way backwards, having come to an impassable dead end. A time or two I had nearly slid off the face of the crags, my rounded toes having found no purchase on the slippery slag, though I had caught myself with an uneasy ferocity and determination—I had a goal today and I was not going to meet it too early.
Some may have gotten unnerved by where I stood standing now as I line my chipped hooves up with the edge of the rock face. I drag my eyes from the misleading, warm hues of the sky to the raucous, gray waves retaliating against the cliffside with watery fists. Whatever has angered mother sea today, I do not know, but I will use the phenomenon to my advantage.
Raising my head back upwards, I close my eyes ceremoniously as a smile of utter contentment splits my face. I am at peace, for however slightly that moment may be, and I find a brief moment of internal silence as the voices are drowned out by the rush of waves. In fact, it is almost as if the water is cheering for me, applauding me, beckoning for me to kill the suspense, for they know what is about to happen as I do. But I enjoy their torture for now, revisiting the thought of how the act of death or sex seems to be the only saving grace I truly have. It’s not much, but at least it’s something. There are simple, consuming feelings associated with each appropriately. Where death brings upon a quiet, floating calm, sex brings a ravenous, pleasurable ecstasy and these two simple acts are enough to help me focus my thoughts, if only for the briefest of moments. But it is enough.
Muscles coil and release then, launching myself off of my perch and into the awaiting rocky sea crown. The pain is magnificent, but brief, and darkness wraps me in her familiar feathery embrace once again. Quicker than I had hoped, I am upon the tangible threshold between limbo and the other side. Like the sickest game of keep-away, I am teased and taunted as I approach the flickering light, because I know all too well what will happen next. As I reach out and am just about to pass through, my vaporous body will go heavy and weighted, before being ripped backwards though a vacuum and spat back out into the reality of this disgusting world. Though I know this cruel game, it does not stop me from trying to touch the light each time, and now is no exception. But my reach hesitates, considering what would happen if I didn’t try to pass through and stayed in limbo instead. Looking behind me, all I can see is varying shades of blackness and shadows. I blink before I snarl uncharacteristically, <b>”Fuck that.”</b> That’s no way to live. Turning back to the light source, I reach out again with quiet resolve, ready to be catapulted backwards, but imagine my stunned surprise as whatever is left of my body continues to ascend toward the light. There is no heaviness or disorientation, no, there is only a sudden lightness and brightness as my fallen smile grows wider realizing that I was finally passing through at last. The brightness continues to grow in intensity and I have little choice but to shield my eyes against the blazing white.
Somewhere in the distance the muted sound of metal upon metal is enough alarm to cause my eyes to reopen, though they are only met with the sight of more stark whiteness. In rapid succession I blink my eyes, trying to focus on something, anything. A minute passes and I begin to relax when outlines of shapes begin to appear. But I do not have to wait for the shapes to completely materialize because a familiar twinge in my gut is telling me this is not Beqanna anymore. The white frame of a rounded metal bed appears in front me, and I don’t have to lay on it to remember how uncomfortable the lumpy springs feel upon my back. An angular desk and chair is pushed into one of the corners of the room, but I don’t have to look to know it’s there. I am sitting on the cold floor with my back pressed against the wall as I rest my chin upon my skinned, pale knees. The thin white gown I wear does little to protect me from the frigidness of this place and I use my long white-blonde hair as a shawl to blanket my shoulders. I hadn’t realized I had closed my dark eyes until they slowly reopen on their own accord. It’s nearly impossible to focus on the bed nearby as the lines begin to blur while my vision becomes marred by unshed tears. The sound of my own voice is grating in my ears as the whisper is enough to shatter the bitter quiet, <b>”Not again.”</b>
Some may have gotten unnerved by where I stood standing now as I line my chipped hooves up with the edge of the rock face. I drag my eyes from the misleading, warm hues of the sky to the raucous, gray waves retaliating against the cliffside with watery fists. Whatever has angered mother sea today, I do not know, but I will use the phenomenon to my advantage.
Raising my head back upwards, I close my eyes ceremoniously as a smile of utter contentment splits my face. I am at peace, for however slightly that moment may be, and I find a brief moment of internal silence as the voices are drowned out by the rush of waves. In fact, it is almost as if the water is cheering for me, applauding me, beckoning for me to kill the suspense, for they know what is about to happen as I do. But I enjoy their torture for now, revisiting the thought of how the act of death or sex seems to be the only saving grace I truly have. It’s not much, but at least it’s something. There are simple, consuming feelings associated with each appropriately. Where death brings upon a quiet, floating calm, sex brings a ravenous, pleasurable ecstasy and these two simple acts are enough to help me focus my thoughts, if only for the briefest of moments. But it is enough.
Muscles coil and release then, launching myself off of my perch and into the awaiting rocky sea crown. The pain is magnificent, but brief, and darkness wraps me in her familiar feathery embrace once again. Quicker than I had hoped, I am upon the tangible threshold between limbo and the other side. Like the sickest game of keep-away, I am teased and taunted as I approach the flickering light, because I know all too well what will happen next. As I reach out and am just about to pass through, my vaporous body will go heavy and weighted, before being ripped backwards though a vacuum and spat back out into the reality of this disgusting world. Though I know this cruel game, it does not stop me from trying to touch the light each time, and now is no exception. But my reach hesitates, considering what would happen if I didn’t try to pass through and stayed in limbo instead. Looking behind me, all I can see is varying shades of blackness and shadows. I blink before I snarl uncharacteristically, <b>”Fuck that.”</b> That’s no way to live. Turning back to the light source, I reach out again with quiet resolve, ready to be catapulted backwards, but imagine my stunned surprise as whatever is left of my body continues to ascend toward the light. There is no heaviness or disorientation, no, there is only a sudden lightness and brightness as my fallen smile grows wider realizing that I was finally passing through at last. The brightness continues to grow in intensity and I have little choice but to shield my eyes against the blazing white.
Somewhere in the distance the muted sound of metal upon metal is enough alarm to cause my eyes to reopen, though they are only met with the sight of more stark whiteness. In rapid succession I blink my eyes, trying to focus on something, anything. A minute passes and I begin to relax when outlines of shapes begin to appear. But I do not have to wait for the shapes to completely materialize because a familiar twinge in my gut is telling me this is not Beqanna anymore. The white frame of a rounded metal bed appears in front me, and I don’t have to lay on it to remember how uncomfortable the lumpy springs feel upon my back. An angular desk and chair is pushed into one of the corners of the room, but I don’t have to look to know it’s there. I am sitting on the cold floor with my back pressed against the wall as I rest my chin upon my skinned, pale knees. The thin white gown I wear does little to protect me from the frigidness of this place and I use my long white-blonde hair as a shawl to blanket my shoulders. I hadn’t realized I had closed my dark eyes until they slowly reopen on their own accord. It’s nearly impossible to focus on the bed nearby as the lines begin to blur while my vision becomes marred by unshed tears. The sound of my own voice is grating in my ears as the whisper is enough to shatter the bitter quiet, <b>”Not again.”</b>