frequency

How many days, how many nights? The only light comes from directly above me. From the pale blue glow I saw that it was night. Even during day, the placement and angle of the window never allowed the sun to ever hit the ground. So many days I yearned for her warm touch, yet a ray of sunlight merely teases across the cold cellar walls as the days drip by.

My eyes were half opened. Sleep never came easy, nor was I ever fully awake. Something ran over my leg. It screeched tiny whispers down the cell, along the walls, every hour of every night, these rats would look for scraps of food that were not there.

This one slipped out underneath a crack below the wooden door which locked me in.

Do I regret anything? Do I remain strong? Despite the tortures, I have not spoken a word to jeopardize my kingdom. How easy and sweet death would be. Release from this cold dampness and the ceaseless stench of my own piss and filth. Yet they question me every day, and pull at my limbs, and still I do not speak. I scream, but I will not speak. It must have been over three months since I last uttered a single word.

But death will not have me. perhaps a cruel joke to myself. Perhaps it’s what they want. I’m holding all the keys, after all.

As each day passes i continue to feel like my entire existence was leading up to these very moments. the more they tortured me the less it had any affect on me. i can feel my consciousness detaching from the physicality of reality. this is a quest, i tell myself. a journey into something much greater than anything i could’ve imagined. as they questioned me with vile intentions, i could not help but smile. this was all beginning to make sense. as my livelihood slowly faded, my reason for being glowed brighter still.

there were moments of madness, and then there were moments of bliss. it would come interchangeably. sometimes at moments when the spit of my nameless torturer would speck my face as he demands information. his red, agitated eyes would remind me of a mercury sunset i once saw with childhood friends from atop a pine tree hill. his wet globs of spit would at times remind me of the light drizzle of of my sleepy hometown in the mountains. when they torture my flesh and tug at my bones, i sometimes feel only a slight sensation, as if a winged insect had landed upon my skin. when i’d look over at where it had landed, i could almost see it glowing. these moments may not be much, but they are small sources of solace amongst such squalor.

a smile would creep upon my face during these moments of release and my torturer would yell all the harsher, his red eyes bulging, and more and more drizzle. sometimes i wonder who is more tortured. he or i?

it is almost time for me to leave this place. i don’t know this, and i don’t know how, but i can almost see it. i can taste it. i have been having the same dream in growing frequency. in this dream i wasn’t unchained and walking out the door. i was simply no longer here.

there is something out there. but it’s not just out there, it’s in here, it’s all around us. yet nobody can see it. but this unseen is precisely that which will set me free. i have been invited to the communion.

the cave walls began to melt all around me. rocks and cobblestone into molt and into ink, drizzling slowly in a slate waterfall. my half opened eyes looked about. was i dreaming again? is this what is to be when i no longer exist? does the reality of stone and moss just dissolve into air? i heard a noise, both foreign yet familiar. slow and pulsating, rasping like the air which is stretching all around me.

i realized it was the sound of my own breathing. is death so near me now? what is this cool calm within and without me? my head felt light, as if seeping into the melting walls. it was then that the cellar door opened.

the door welcomed who i was. who i was would’ve crawl up with gaping mouth and widened eyes towards this release. but it was no longer necessary. i felt surges of energy sweeping through my entire physical being.

i simply remained. sitting and gazing at the light slipping out of the open door. i was calm, without desire nor wants. the limestone waterfall all surrounding me took on a warm glow, as if to strengthen my spirit.

i heard two distant voices. echos of two shadows slowly approaching from down the light corridor.

i closed my eyes and a smile came across my face without effort or purpose. the voices drew closer, but it didn’t matter. they were sounds no different from my own breath. the rhythmic succession of their voices, slight, hollow and melodic, escalated as they drew closer. the melodies of their timed exchange swallowed into a growing wall of droning noise. layers of abstract noise, echoed upon me as if from all directions.

and then. it was no more. the air was different, i could feel a cool breeze and hear the sound of gliding blades of grass. my eyes remained closed, my new setting did not stir this entity one would call “I” or “me”. finally, the voice of a child in a way woke me.

“how did you get here?” it was a curious boy.

my answer was confident and true. “i don’t know.” i willed my eyes open.

it felt strange to hear my voice again. and weak as it was, it pierced an arrow through the haze of echoes all around me. the walls slowed in their movements, my eyes were focused on the boy looking back at me.

he was a thin, pale child. perhaps sickly, though his eyes was full of life and curiosity. my mind was slow and un-processing. i thought not of how he got there, or why he was standing in front me, silhouetted by the orange glow of the hallway outside. i simply saw that he did not move.

“what is your name?”

my eyes were still regaining it’s focus. as time passed i began to realize something. “what is your name?” my won voice echoed in me.

“Jacob.”

Standing before me, was me. at that instant i knew what i had to do.

i placed my hand on the floor. it was softer than before. i got to my knees, and my flesh sunk slightly into the ground. hard, wet cobblestone had given way to soft, thick soil. i placed one foot onto the ground, and felt the prickling sensation of wild grass swaying and brushing against my foot. my other foot followed, and slowly with a degree of shakiness, i stood up and felt the breeze upon my face.

my sensations flooded with the smell of fresh plant life billowing in the wind. it felt like it was gusting directly through me. my skin softened as i revelled under a full blanket of the sun’s warmth. the sound of my name still echoed all about me as i opened my eyes. truly opening them, like a shutter which had been closed too long. i blinked, and blinked again.

the light was all around me.

somewhere in the hills

Arrived in the hilly highlands deep in the centre of the continent. With each step, the landscape had slowly risen from the ground. The atmosphere shifted from that sea-side breeze into the cold starkness of altitude.

I looked for an inn to rest my tired legs.

There were three options along the main rocky boulevard. The closest of which had an imposing dark oak door with two torches lit beside the entrance. Though it the two torches licked the shadows along the wall, the door looked barred and closed. Beside it, there was an array of tall potted plants surrounding a rickety looking door. An old man in a gray hood sat on a stool directly beside the door. He smoked from a pipe and the smoke twisted and turned among the leaves all around him. The furthest door was open, and had lively muffled noises coming from within.

I walked towards the furthest inn. It was drizzling and cold. Some ale and friendly conversation would be comforting after such a long journey to this highland town. The sounds grew louder as I approached and there were quite a few drunkards singing merrily inside. I stopped in front of the door. Do I really need social contact in the calm that has been solitude for the past few weeks of walking? What has brought me to this glowing tavern of noise, emenating the smoky smell of roast pork?

It’s been almost two months since I've last spoken to a human. Two cycles of the moon since that incident by the pier. I had retreated into dark solitude. In this solitude I had built up walls within myself. I promised myself never to be hurt again. Nothing will make me feel that weakness which cuts deeper than any blade. Yet here I stand, and I feel the glow and warmth of the rowdy tavern tugging me towards the activity within.

A man by the bar turns towards me, and notices my silhouette by the door. Did he recognize me? If so, I would need to be quick and stealthy to make my way to the nearest road. Again.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he roared, a lazy twinkle in his eye. “How long have you been standing there? One pint of ale for this man, bar keep, and one night with your wife from the looks of him.”

He laughed boorishly. Spit and bits of pork rose and fell in the air. He didn't actually care much at all whether I was standing there, or for what I had to say when I sat down next to him. He was too drunk and enjoyed filling the stuffy tavern air with his own voice. But a pint was welcoming. He soon disappeared into the dancing throng of sweating people and I was left with myself again. Amidst the rowdy crowd I felt invisible. For a while, I pictured an umbrella above me, and everyone else bathed in the waters of vagueness. I’m trying to arrive at a conclusion, about me, about her, about anything. About…Everything.

There are no answers to be found in here, but this noise is a nice change... I suppose.

The buzz of the fiddler and the stomping drunkards singing and dancing rose into a swollen drone in my ear. It had been a while since I last tasted ale, and already I can sense it rising within me. I looked at the dirty metal mug before me. It was empty now. There were two empty mugs near me on the counter. Were those there before? Had I drunk them so quickly? And then I looked towards the whirlwind of people. They seemed to be moving faster now. How strange I thought, that this mug, this ale, these people...

Suddenly I could relate to them. I know how this feels, I’ve been here before. I began to nod my head, the rhythm began to make sense to me. A hint of joy began to surface from within the darkness that had been my haven. I was conscious of everything. Every little glance between the people dancing, that sense of unity, that careless euphoria. Each second passed by vividly, but at the peak of my sudden awareness, something happened. All the noise vanished.

Do i want to relate to these people? To anyone? The way I related to her? More than anyone else in the world?

The noise dimmed to a hollow pitch, and so too did the void within me rise and rise until it surrounded me. Even in a room filled with people, how can one feel so lonely. This sudden shift from shared joy... Half a moment ago, a slight smile had begun to escaped my lips. Yet now I questioned this too. What are they to me? These foreign faces, all a blurring quicker and quicker now.

How her face does blur too, now more than ever. Every step towards the highlands brought on a deeper and thicker mist in my memory. Is nothing permanent? Are we all fated to wander lost in the fogs of our previous lives?

But there was no other way it could have happened. If it was that moment again, I would make the same decision all over again. Is this all there is? I could see every single person in this tavern living out their existence page by page, books upon books of people’s written histories. A dusty and crumbling archive measuring all of humanity’s endless endeavours.

Despite all the writing, it’s as if the unfolding of actions and events could not have been any other way than how it IS. Right this moment. And the next. And the next. There are those who believe that our lives are prearranged, and that freedom is an illusion. This cannot possible be. But where is this will that I so strongly vouch for? It must be in that moment, right before anything happens, yet ever so feeble, like an ever-dying ember, an infant, an unloaded gun. I look at these people, and then to myself, and I see no hope. There was never any other way. This void is me. And i am to live?

I look down at my half-pint and wish it all away. it’s suffocating in here.

I stood to rise, uneasily and knocked into someone.

“Watch where you’re fuckin' going you twat.” He raged in my face. His eyes didn't meet mine, they were glaring down at my neck. An irritated red vein was bulging at his temple.

I could have fought back. As if my pride had taken a hit. As if there was any pride left in me. My dagger was near my hand, and it was sharp. Yet before I knew it I found myself staggering into the cool mountain breeze outside. I gulped in that night air, and felt my head clear a bit. The old man a sitting amongst the potted plants lifted his head. From behind the smoke rising from his pipe, I saw two bright, red-tinted eyes gazing directly at me.

“He almost brought it out.” I said. The old man continued to gaze at me, unmoved. “My dagger. The dagger in me, that man almost got a slice of it. It all didn't even last ten seconds, but that was nearly the end of me and the beginning of something else.”

I felt insane. The old man looked as if he knew exactly what I meant, and I was relieved. But not a moment passed before he looked as if he confirmed my insanity.

His face had never changed.

How much of myself did I see in his stoic face? How much did I yearn for understanding from another? He puffed at his pipe and gazed at me all the while. I began to wonder if he was deaf, or mute, or both. I looked away from him and away from his silence. Three black dogs were crossing the cobblestone street. One of the dogs, the smallest of the three stopped and sniffed at my direction. How strange this insanity, this relief. The look of simple honesty on the dog provided me a faint sense of peace. Yet how ‘honest’ can a dog’s appearance be? How much of myself am I putting into all that is outside of me?

“Your thoughts,” I heard a croaking voice speak, “They go nowhere.”

I turned to where the old man sat, and watched him slowly walk away. I turned back towards where the dogs had been. They were gone too.

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