Manninu88
07-18-2013, 10:48 AM
As the sun spirals its longest dance,
Cleanse us
As nature shows bounty and fertility
Bless us
Let all things live with loving intent
And to fulfill their truest destiny
Although by then it was dark outside.
Man and Beast.
I poured myself a bowl of cereal. I think it was muesli, but it quite easily could of been something else. I looked down at the various dried nuts and fruit as they tumbled out from the cardboard box. When all of a sudden, my peripheral caught sight of a bird, swooping down into my garden. I gazed a mesmerised fixation at the feathered creature. But, before I knew it, my bowl was full, and overflowing onto the kitchen surface and floor. I looked back to see if the bird was still there, but it had flown away. I think it was a pigeon, but it quite easily could of been something else.
I proceeded to find a dustpan and brush, but my hunger got the better of me, and i found myself at the fridge. I took out the milk, full cream as usual, and returned to my mountain of cereal, along with its tremendously erupted mess. Upon opening the milk, I noticed a stale rind around the lid, which had turned a sour yellow in colour. And as I twisted the cap loose, lots of dried milk segments fell off into my ridiculously sized bowl of cereal, along with the lid; I somehow lost grip of it, like you do so often with inanimate objects. Before I could remove some of the now unobtrusive, dried milk particles, and the apparent lid. I was greeted with a unfathomable stench of gone-off-milk. Which more closely resembled a disgusting cheese I had once sampled many years ago. I looked at the date of the milk (best before 26/04) and thought to myself a hard, puzzled curiosity towards the date of which today was known. " What date is it today?" I asked myself out loud.
I swiftly exited the kitchen, and marched towards the living room. I manually turned on the television, as I couldn't find the remote control. I then flicked through each station, in hope to find a news channel of some sort. But only ever uncovered pixel scatterings of fuzzy black and white. It started to give me a headache. So I turned the old CRT off, and crouched the same bemused thought as my last. "What date is it today?".
I quickly stood up straight, and noticed something i swear i had never seen before. I began to stare doltishly at an old picture which hung irregularly in the corner of my living room. It was no larger than an average sized book. I think the exact dimensions were 7 by 5 inches, but it quite easily could of been something else. I couldn't take my eyes off it, and I wasn't entirely sure why. The composition itself had noticeably faded through time, and small concentrations of dust had built up customarily around the frame. The now weathered colours consisted of dark browns, iridescent reds, murky pinks, strange, greyed-out blacks, and forgotten, faded tints of white.
The picture was that of an oldish man, perhaps in his early fifties. Who had below his nose, a thick, prickly crescent of a moustache. He wore black leathered mining gear, complete with cap, and looked decidedly thin. The man was shown to be crouched down, stroking a very large dog, perhaps a St. Bernard. Who had upon its body, shackles, or reigns of some sort. There was snow on the floor, a few overturned rocks were visible, and an old style tent was erected scarcely behind them both. The old man was looking down at the dog, and the dog back up at him, with a captivating embrace of warmth, care and love for one another. However, I thought to myself "not just a man and his dog". As there was also an uneasy air of misgiving stained between both expressions for one another. Which, suggested they had either just been through the worst, or further bad tides lay ahead.
I genially walked over to the portrait to correct its unbalanced state, and continued to frequent myself with the images' timeless luxuriance.
It wasn't till a passing car outside squeaked to a holt, and bellowed out its unharmonious horn. That I remembered what I was doing prior to my tableau encapsulation; Although by then it was dark outside, I was almost certain I had just awoken, to start the day off with a bowl of cereal.
And, so drolly forth.
Know yourself.
I remember receiving a few letters from the electricity company informing me that my account was overdue. I also remember writing several cheques out to the electricity company, for sums of various amounts. Perhaps similar, if not the same, as what was owed to them. However, it quite easily could of been something else.
I was still in the living room, standing in the dark. So I reached over to the nearest switch, and to my shock, the room was filled with translucent light. To where a lampshade should be found, there was not. And it took my besieged, hazel green eyes an unaccountable few moments to adjust to their most wondrous best. I took one final glance at the picture, of which I had starred at for so long. And it had lost all of its natural majesty, to the unnatural gleam of the non-energy-saving bulb above. I thought back to my childhood house, where I grew up so many years ago; It was home to switches with adjustable dimming control of the light, and I continued to think " if I had these switches where I live now, would I dim the light? Or would I just flick the switch off altogether?" Evidently, the picture was still circulating around in my mind. So I decided to leave the living room, to rid myself of its controlled ownership, which it had beset upon me.
I returned back to the kitchen, where I was reintroduced to the disordered cereal, and the spoiled milk. The best before date still read (26/04), and my intolerance of the unresolved date, of this day, today, grew towards a melancholic state of mind; For I had no telephone, no computer, and no watch. I was at a loss for what to do.
I sat down at my kitchen table, and occupied the single chair which surrounded the console. And like a fed up child who has just been told off, started to flick through some loose papers, which had gathered impressively over time. To my surprise, i unearthed a magazine hidden beneath the depths of all the unimportant scribbles and drawings above. The print was January's edition of the Men's health magazines'. Who I had once subscribed yearly too, but later cancelled the subscription due to reasons unbeknown to me now. On the front of the cover was a man of Herculean comparison. Who to me, possessed the most unconvincing smile; As if he was honestly overjoyed with his metallic appearance. It was uncanny. There were all sorts of various slogans and indicative quotations, printed invariably around the edges of the cover. Along the lines of: the five most versatile watches, save your heart with raisins, how to do the Zercher squat. And, so drolly forth. I started to flick through the frivolous contents with a dejected, carefree approach of speedy disregard. As the bimonthlies remaining half a dozen or so pages dwindled away, something caught my eye. And there, on page 75, the right side of the two page spread, was an article entitled "double your productivity" under the fore-title, "smashing stress". It wasn't these words, which were the reason to why I had temporarily hovered over page 75. It was the anecdotal scribbles, the thickened circles of meaningless random words. And a small doodle of questionable depiction, which had encompassed my meddlesomeness. All of the now encaged, circled words, intrigued me more than anything else, and I started to decipher their mysterious meanings. A total of twelve words had been entombed, and in no particular order were as follows: learn, cut, chase, body, power, office, women, improve, time, meet and date. The last word increasing my now perplexed and irrational thinking by tenfold. I jerked an impulsive reaction, which closed the magazine abruptly. Then threw it across the kitchen floor in haste. The other words had lost their connection with me altogether, and I cared not for them anymore. The word 'date' stood out like a sore thumb. It pulsated through my mind like a tiring old headache, which seems to linger there forever. I had once again been reminded of what I was doing prior to my brochure fascination.
I arose from the slumber of my chair, and walked over to the sink. There was a mixture of dirty plates and cutlery spread unorganised across the basin, which I didn't bother to attend to. Instead, I looked up, and found myself transfixed with a reflection; It was brought to life from the darkness of outside, against the light from within, set upon the mirrored window pane. As I starred moronically at a face which closer resembled a stranger, than a friend. I swear I was thinking a blind nothing at all. All I could hear were the loose drippings of water, which fell every so often beneath me. My mind was blank, I felt no life. I stood there for a further moment, when I enquired out loud "What date is it today?". Nothing, and no one replied. So I quickly returned to my sceptical, daydreaming state of mind.
No decision was mine. I, wasn't me.
Control your Demons.
I soon found myself upstairs, standing in the area of space which unifies the rooms. And with a surfeited sense of feeling, looked down upon the descending flight of stairs questionably; Including the floor in which I so earnestly stood, I counted twelve steps in total. A number precisely the same as the numerical equivalent, for which my house was known.
I pondered this insignificant, statistical comparison for a few moments more. When, all of a sudden, the thought was lost due to a disturbing noise from one of the adjoining rooms. I wasn't entirely sure which room was home to the mysterious, nighttime bedlam, as all the doors were closed. The noise seemed to be echoing from the farthest room on the left side of the landing. However, upon closer inspection, the noise seemed to have moved to an entirely different location altogether. I would best describe the lamentation as a non-rhythmical rattle of varying pitch; Sometimes clear as crunching paper, and other times, quiet as the tiniest tap on a table. For short periods of time, the noise would cease to exist altogether; When, without warning, a reverberated bang shuddered through your body, prompting an impulsive recline. I thought the noise to be nothing but an open window, blowing in violent wind, from outside. However, I quickly thought it could quite easily be something else. Perhaps even Someone else.
I paused for a moment. I was dead still. The thought of someone else in my home sent an immediate rush of adrenalin through my body. I became anxious, yet strangely aroused at the same time. My hands went clammy. The beat of my heart increased, and i could feel the blood literally pumping through my veins. I felt zoetic.
I finally located the noise, to one solitary room. And I'm not sure how long i gloomily positioned myself outside the subjects door, which was home to the discord. It seemed like an eternity. I began to enjoy the uncertainty which lay undiscovered from within the room; It became a vivacious ecstasy. Again, everything went silent, as if the noise from within, had detected my presence from without. And With a vigorous entanglement of apprehension, a whole range of daunting preconceptions further engulfed my mind; my forehead became itchy, followed by layer of warm sweat. My heart pumped itself into a third gear, and a few seconds later, a hot flash, whizzed through my body like a train out of control. My breathing become rapid, and my right hand scarcely went back and forth from the door handle, like it was a game of some sort.
I'm not entirely sure how many times I retraced my hand from the handle, as i wasn't counting. All i felt was an outré, catatonic state of absorption towards the handle. An almost bewildering admiration for it. I couldn't take my eyes off it.
I was getting close. My confidence was growing. I knew at some point I would burst through the door. I just didn't know when. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours. All my inhibitions had left me. I was purely functioning on adrenaline. No decision was mine. I, wasn't me.
A further moment past, when all of a sudden, found my right hand firmly grasped around the handle. I took a deep breathe, which staggered its way into my lungs. Then plucked some unwilling courage from out of know where. And then, with a clockwise motion, began to twist the handle.
As the handle squeaked and cracked this way and that, I thought I was making too much noise of my own. Finally, enough was enough. And With a final twist of audacity, the door opened.
I ran in heroically. When all of a sudden, found myself flying back in midair. I had slipped on something. As I continued to fly through the air uncontrollably, the last thing i remembered was arching my neck forward intently. Everything happened so fast, yet felt forever lasting. I glanced a brief glimpse of what i was searching for. And there, right in front of me, was an open window. But before I knew it, wham! I was out cold.
Half beaten up by my own carelessness.
Find the funny side of life.
The next thing I could remember was a very painful, deep, throbbing sensation around my head and upper neck. I couldn't open my eyelids, I could barely manage a squint. My mouth was dry, and I could taste blood. I felt an overwhelming sense of nausea, which only got worse. Both my arms were spread parallel beside my body. And I could swirl around puddles of water, with the ends of my fingertips. The back parts of my shirt and trousers were soaked to the skin. I soon realised i was shivering. And there I was, spread flat across the floor of my bathroom, like a piece of drift wood.
As my eyes gradually opened, and the blurriness subsided. I starred incoherently at the ceiling for a few moments. I then somehow managed to raise myself to a sitting position, albeit in discomfort. The incline was met with a cool breeze of air, which glided soothingly across the cheeks of my face. I glanced up. There was the open window. It was ajar no more than a few inches. Yet this minuscule of all openings, was my antagonistic downfall. Another sweep of cool air, brushed against my face. And for no particular reason, as I continued to stare at the window, began to smile. I don't know why I smiled. I thought it must of been something to do with the sorry juxtaposition I found myself in; sitting on a wet floor, half beaten up by my own carelessness. Fuelled by gusts of wind, blowing in, through an open window, which at the time, i thought to be something else. The smile didn't last, in fact, it was gone before I knew it. I clambered to my feet, which was met with an intense rush of blood to the head. The endless pounding erupted once again. I nonchalantly walked over to the window. Took a deep breathe of cold, nighttime air, exhaled, then closed the window shut.
Who is this someone?
Think of others.
I was still upstairs. I knew this because as I looked out of a window, everything was below, rather than in front. I studied the street beneath, and the nights darkness was unyielding. It was only destabilised by pockets of orange permitted from the lights above; They had an estranged charm about them. An almost welcoming reminder, that you're never too far away from society. I was sitting on a bed, which was unmade, and I began to look around the room. I think it was where I slept, but it quite easily could of been somewhere else. There were two unopened suitcases on the floor to the right of me. A chest of draws was to my left, and a large, walk-in closet opened from the other side of the bed behind me; Except for an old pair of running shoes, and a few hangers, the closet was empty. I turned my attention back to the chest of draws on my left. And i noticed something. It stimulated my senses out of an early retirement. I leisurely walked over to the draws, and disclosed the stimulation as a picture frame; Rather than how a conventional picture frame should be found, it was laid flat. And as anyone would instinctively do in this situation, I corrected the frames disposition. Expecting to see a picture of some kind, i was left disconcerted. The frame was empty. And As I continued to look at the empty frame, my mind spiralled into a bottomless thought. And for the first time, since I could last remember. I remembered something.
The memory wasn't clear. In fact, at about the same time as I remembered the memory. It was gone again. The memory was as quick as a flash of light, from a distant thunderstorm; There for a split second, then gone again. I looked back at the frame, and tried to search my mind for that lost memory. Again, nothing. I was left unanswered. The obscure memory was there, somewhere, it was just unreachable. It was like a word stuck on the tip of your tongue, that you've said a thousand times before. Yet, when you need the word, or in this case, a memory, you're always left absent-minded. It was like an evil spirit was safekeeping the memory for its own personal pleasure. And I was never to know what it was. There was nothing i could do, i was defeated. I returned the frame to where I found it, and sat back down on the bed. I then turned my considerations to the two unopened suitcases to my right. I kneeled down onto the floor, and studied the cases. They were made from toughened plastic, jet black in appearance, and secreted a robust character. And if it wasn't for a lengthy scratch on one of them, they'd be unmistakably identical. I reached over to the none scratched suitcase, and placed my fingers on the catch. I flicked it loose with my thumb and index finger, then lifted the divide open with both my hands. It was full of clothes.
Most of the colours were irrepressibly bright; consisting of pinks, turquoises, lilac purples, summer day sky blues, and stylish greens. And as the garments were an array of blouses, dresses, lingerie, sarongs, and skirts. I needn't have to sift through the contents, to determined the apparels gender. The clothes were female. Female clothes? I thought to myself. I became sickeningly discombobulated. I wanted to throw up, but I had no idea why. I kept starring repulsively at the clothes, and without a thought, or regard, reached down to pick one of the items up. I think it was a bedtime frock of some sort, but it quite easily could of been something else. I lifted the garment to my nose. Paused for a second, closed my eyes, then took a deep, nasal breathe of air, through the frock.
The smell was wondrously hypnotising. It exasperated a hysteria of memories, only instantaneously hindered by irresolution. And for the second time tonight, I remembered something. Someone. Someone? I thought to myself. Who is this someone? Again, just as I remembered the memory, it was lost. It vacated itself from my mind. It had been evicted without warning. Thrown-out without a reason. Lost forever. Never wanting to return, never asking to be found. What was this memory? What was this memory?! I broke into a woefully emotional mess. I stood up, and with my vision impaired by a watery haze of tears, threw myself onto the bed. I think I feel asleep. Although, I may of just sunk into one of my obligatory, disorientated conditions, of swollen nothingness.
A house could be seldom found.
A Mans home is his Castle.
I had no perception of time. I had not one notion. At a guess, I would place the time at either 1 or 2 in the early hours of the morning. However, it quite easily could of been something else. The time was inconsequential, it was the date i was after.
There was that serene, motionless calm about the night, which floated around so ghostly . Even within the borders of my own home, I felt uncomfortably vulnerable; I lived in a semi-detached house, which towered identical to its perpendicular counterpart. The build was a long stones throw back to the 1950's. And through the recent years, the exterior had bestowed an unsurpassed individualism of unkept jungle; As Somewhere behind all the thorn bushes, stinging nettles, poison Ivy, and trees, a house could be seldom found. I would say similar to that of fairy tale description. A large, wooden front door, which once glistened a varnished brown, was firmly bolted shut. As if it hadn't been used for a while. And the stainless steel number two, of the house number twelve, hung with an unorthodox slant; Which on occasion, confused a debuting postman. The interior was undesirable, displeasing, and unsavoury, as many of the rooms were incomplete. For example; striped wallpaper loosely peeled everywhere. Different coloured stokes of paint were splashed carelessly around the walls. And there were all sorts of loose shelves, uncarpeted floorboards, unwired plugs, and damp patches, situated loathsomely, throughout the house. I could go on. The house seemed to be amateurishly fragmentary. On the contrary, the rooms were also brimming with various, unused DIY equipment; toolboxes, nail guns, paints, brushes, light bulbs, various slabs of wood, flat packed boxes of incomplete furnishings. It was like an Ikea fantasy, which never intimately materialised. And I'm not sure where it all went amiss.
I came and went as I pleased through the back door of my house, which opened up to an average expanse of fenced off, suburban garden. Also overgrown. I thought it to be a mecca for any enthusiastic gardener, who enjoyed a good old spell of excessive-hedge-trimming. A forlorn, moth-eaten shed, somehow still stood intact at the bottom left of the garden. And I believe a compost bin lay unused behind it, but it quite easily could of been something else.
My ears were my eyes.
Be spontaneous
A reconditioned breeze of fresh air, embodied itself around me like a comforting blanket. I could hear a few birds chirping a distant whisper to one another. I opened my eyes, and found myself sitting amongst a leafy assortment of greenery. Some of the plants were rubbing themselves against the bare parts of my skin. Itchiness prevailed. My nose went tingly. I think I sneezed a few times. I looked around, and found myself in the back garden, leaning against a fence. I was sitting on dry, loosened soil, a few rocks, and some weeds, in the area of earth, just off from the lawn. I elevated my head to the night sky, and through the scattered gaps of branches, my eyes met a lilac blue colour; A petty amount of scattered stars remained distinguishable to the naked eye. The moon had disappeared. And there was an intriguing mist developing across the lowest part of the troposphere. The nights darkness seemed to be faltering. I wasn't entirely sure, but I think dawn was approaching. Which roughly established the time somewhere between 5 and 7, in the early hours of the morning.
I rubbed my eyes tenderly, which incensed an immediate yawn. I then scrutinised my mind for a reason to why i was here; sitting in the dark, hidden beneath the overgrown foliage, leaning against a fence in my garden, in the early hours of the morning. As usual, my mind drew a blank.
It wasn't cold outside, which absorbed my considerations towards the seasons. Mainly, which one. I couldn't remember the last time my eyes met rain. I couldn't remember the last time my skin felt rain. I couldn't remember much. But, this did conclude that the season must be summer, and the date, of this day, today, must be somewhere within June, July and August. Although, in the past, random heat-waves, and cool nights, have been known to fall in May.
Upon this seasonal realisation, a perturbed thought crossed my mind; I seemed to have just helped myself in no such way what so ever. I know that the best before date on the milk, still reads (26/04). And there I was, sitting in the dirt, between an array of thorns, in the early hours of the morning. Concluding that the date, for which today was known, was somewhere between May and August.
Through all the extravagant occurrences I had suffered tonight. I found myself not one bit closer to uncovering the date, for which today was known. I continued to ponder this ludicrously naive thought for a further moment more. When, all of a sudden, I heard a crunching sound. Another crunch, followed by another. Even though the darkness continued to relinquish itself, as the light advanced. I was still visually defective. My ears were my eyes. Another crunch. It sounded like footsteps, but not that of any human being. The steps were too soft, too undersized. Plus, as the entity neared my location, I heard inquisitive sniffing. It was an animal of some sort. The unknown animal didn't bother me in the slightest. I was relaxed. I was at ease. The nighttime animal stopped almost in front of me, on the grassy part of my garden. I squinted my eyes searchingly, and slowly leaned forward, to see if I could disclose the unknown creature. And there, to my surprise, a dark silhouette of a four legged mammal appeared. It was a fox. But before I could build any sort of temporary relationship with the omnivorous, it quickly darted off into the unknowable backstreets of suburbia. I was once again, companionless.
As if it was given me a reason to live.
Be at one with nature.
The nights darkness had now deteriorated to a point of no return. Only to the far left horizon, were the remnants of a once exuberant black night. The witching hour vestige, was over.
The sky above was a colour of phosphorescent blue. And to my far right, a promised sunrise was impending. Birds were harmonising triumphantly with familiar sounds of an unknown language; They were commencing their day. A cold pocket of nighttime, to morning air, streamed into the atmosphere uncompromisingly; I sheepishly shivered. And a languished dew, sprouted its pours from out of nowhere; the ground was moist.
At about the same time I thought to see the light maturing. I was almost certain it was trying its best to revert to a former, darkened state. My head was arched idly to my right, and almost rested itself upon my shoulder, like a pillow. I was tired, my eyes were heavy. And I found it difficult to concentrate on even the smallest things.
If it wasn't for a modifying sky, I would have fallen asleep, there and then. As through squinted, stinging eyes, the colour yellow introduced itself to me. It radiated a beginning warmth into the atmosphere. It emerged from the glossy coyness beneath, into the dark blue above, like a painter mixing their watercolours. The result was a lightened, clearer blue, which employed itself magnificently across the skyline. Finally, the sun was rising. And I couldn't remember the last time I witnessed this illusive wonder of the day. So I picked myself up from off the fence. Positioned myself onto my hands and knees, and began to crawl out, from where i had been for so long. When I reached the grassy part of my garden, I stood up straight, and faced the easterly sunrise. I then noticed that the horizon was not just an emerging yellow in colour. But a remarkable collaboration of oranges, reds, ambers, and pinks, with pockets of illuminated whites. An unearthly obscurity, elongated impressively across the horizon, as if the fast approaching sun was informing all onlookers of its arrival. I looked around from where I was standing, and it was light now. I could see everything; my house behind me, my shed at the end of the garden, the overgrown area of bushes and plants, where I had sat for so long. The day had arrived. Although that date, of today, this day, still eluded me. I turned my absorption back to the unrivalled sunrise. And there, so trivial, yet so lustrously resplendent, was the sun. A perfect, naturally formed circle, of life giving heat. I felt its warmth penetrate my skin, it then rejuvenated my core. It made me feel alive, as if it was giving me a reason to live. The comforting heat from the sun was a scientific marvel of unmatched beauty. I examined the sky above, and it was crystal clear now; wondrously blue in colour, and there was not a cloud to be seen. The sun was now on its visual journey, across the area of Earth I knew it to be apprised of. The sun had left the horizon, and pinned itself gloriously upon the sky with such facileness.
Although we forget, it's not the sun moving around us, but us, moving around the sun. Such an ignorant, and easily forgotten fact, I thought to myself; As we're forever spinning on our own axis, never stopping, always moving. Always breathing, always making sure life exists. Something impressively out of our control.
It's just sometimes how the dice is rolled.
Always listen.
I knew I was in one of my daydreaming plights, as all these thoughts manifested so easily, when I was. Although, I could also hear mumbled words, which were alien to me. They were not my thoughts. They were something else, something different. The words became more prominent. I began to hear tone of voice. Importance. Meaning. Discussion. It was a conversation. The words were clear now, I broke from my daydreaming state, and heard the following.
"Well, if I don't put a load out, first thing the morning, then ill never be able to do all three."
"Yes, exactly. Especially when you have a day like today. Best get it all done."
"And after i bring each load in, I've got to iron it, then fold it, then put it away."
Yes, yes. As you should do with freshly clean clothes.
"I've still got to do the weekly shopping, the vacuuming, and Margaret and her sister are coming for tea at four".
" Oh, I've never seen her sister. I've heard about her though. Married twice I think."
" No, she's married again. It's a third marriage now."
"Oh gosh, what is that? Married three times in one life time. It's unheard of".
" Well, she only has herself to blame, as it's always been her fault, that's what Margret tells me.
"Huh?! Always her fault? A woman should forever stand by her husband. Take me and reggie for example. We've been married 48 years this November."
"Yes, I know. And similar with me and Pete.....It's just sometimes how the dice is rolled."
The two women carried on talking as if they had rehearsed the night before, about what they were going to talk about today. Their conversation flowed with such ease. A carefree conversation. A conversation with no difficulties, no complications, a normal conversation. I couldn't remember the last time I spoke with someone, like the two ladies were with each other. It seemed forever removed from my mind. Did I ever speak with anyone? Did I ever know anyone? Someone? What date is it today? "What date is it today?!" I had spoken out loud. I didn't think. I didn't mean too. What have I done? I quickly plunged onto the floor, then crawled over the fence, where the two women conversed the other side. Everything went quiet. I could feel my heart beat, just as I did when I was standing outside the bathroom door. I then heard mumbling. Then the moving of feet. Then.
" Hello? Excuse me? Is someone there?" One of the ladies said, inquisitively.
I said nothing.
"Hello? Did you ask something? The other lady said.
I said nothing.
They mumbled to each other again.
Until.
"John, is that you?" The First Lady said.
I said nothing. I was petrified. I didn't know what to do.
"Mr Wallace? it is Mr Wallace, yes? Said the other woman.
I said nothing. There was a further pause, until.
"Did you shout, what date is it today?" One of the ladies said.
I said nothing. How did they know I was here? I was silent.
" We know you are there." Said the second woman.
I paused briefly, until without a thought, or consideration, somehow shouted.
"What date is it today?"
There was a pause. I felt sick in the stomach. What have a done? Why did i speak? Why did i ask something? I was now petrified, and I was quickly loosing control of myself. Then, all of a sudden, I heard.
"It's the 8th of 43". Both the ladies said, simultaneously. As if they were continuing their rehearsed existence.
What was that? I thought to myself, what happened there? Thats not a date. Again, without a thought, or any deliberation, i somehow asked.
" What date is it today?!"
Another pause. Quickly Followed With.
"We just told you, it's the 8th of 43!" They both said, again, concurrently. And this time with a heightened sense of impatience.
And again, i thought, what was that? That's not a date. I didn't understand what was happening, or going on. Were they tormented me? Playing around with me? What was happening? What was the 8th of 43?
Why couldn't I hear the date?
Family first.
As the sun rose high into the sky, and time continued to endlessly tick away. All i could think about was the 8th of 43. What was it? Why did the two ladies tell me this? Its not a conceivable date, it makes no sense. It must be something else. What was the 8th of 43? What does it mean?
I was still pathetically crouched against the fence to where I had the conversation with the two ladies. And it was quiet now. I could no longer hear the flowing conversation which once flourished in the neighbouring garden. It had been distinguished. I slowly clambered to my feet, then extended myself onto tiptoes. I peered over the fence expecting to see two elderly ladies. Instead, the garden was empty. Only filled with clothes blowing gently on a washing line, a dried out pond, and a bench.
I returned to my normal stance, and began to walk gingerly to my house. As soon as i entered the kitchen, my door bell went off, which startled me somewhat insanely. And it took me a while to gather myself. When i did, the door bell sounded again. It was so loud, and it hurt my ears. Another press on the door bell.
"DING-DONG, DING DONG!"
Followed by lengthy knocks. I slowly walked into the hallway, then over to the door. I was frightened beyond belief. I then heard someone say.
" John, are you in there? John? Hello?"
The mans voice was familiar to me, it was a welcoming voice, yet strangely unknown at the same time. Again, another knock, followed by two lengthy.
"DING-DONGS, DING-DONGS!"
I walked over to my front door. And looked out the peep hole. No-one was there. I unbolted the lock, then started to open the door. It took some doing. As it had been bolted shut for a while now. I slowly eased the door open, when, all of a sudden, heard a voice behind me.
"John, what are you doing?"
I turned around and saw a woman. Her face was familiar to me, yet at the same time, she was a stranger. Behind her was a man, who also looked familiar, but then again, we may have only just met for the first time.
"John, John, are you okay? The woman said.
I paused for a moment. The lady then Started to walk towards me.
"John, what's wrong?" She said, questionably.
"Stay away from me!" I shouted.
"Who are you?" I continued.
"What do you mean?" The lady said.
The man interrupted with.
"John, it's me, dad, what's wrong"?
Dad? I thought. He wasn't my dad. And who was this women, my mother?
" And this is your mother." He went on to say.
My mum? No, this woman is not my my mother, I thought. They both neared closer to me.
"Stay away, stay away from me!" I said.
They both backed off, and looked at each other. The lady then went over the the man and said.
" Oh Zebedee, what's wrong, what's wrong with our Johnny?" She said, woefully.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay. He's been through a rough time." The man replied.
A rough time? I thought to myself. What did he mean by that?
I then looked towards what they were wearing. They were both dressed in black, from head to toe. The woman was also wearing a black hat, which wasn't flattering in the slightest. It was a large hat, and it was positioned with a concealing slant, which blocked most of her face. I thought it to be purposefully positioned in this way. There was a lengthy pause. I was nervous. There were two strangers in my house, who claimed to be my parents, and they were staring at me, and I back at them. And without a thought, or any consideration, i somehow asked.
"What date is it today?"
There was a pause. Both the strangers looked at each other in confusion, until the man went on to say.
"John, it's the 8th of 43, today's Friday."
Again, the same date. What was that? Why weren't they telling me the date? An actual date? Why couldn't I hear the date? There was a further pause. The atmosphere in the room became stale. The man then went on to say.
" It's Letha's funeral today, you know that, what's wrong?"
I paused. I became stiff. I couldn't move. Letha, who was this Letha? A funeral? I continued to look at the two strangers in my house, and somehow asked, without thought.
"Who is Letha?"
There was a cold pause, followed by gasps and shocked faces. Tears started to flow from the woman's eyes. The man was grimacing. I was left confused. The man turned to the woman and said
" It's okay, Salome, everything's going to be okay."
He then turned his gaze to me and spoke the following.
" My poor son, my poor John.....Letha was your wife."
Be you so far away, yet feel you so close,
your daily arrival shines, descends, adios.
I know you are there, I can see you on the other side,
but the crowd barricades your beauty, warmth, hide.
Your endless crying cycle, clouds who you are,
stop drowning me with your sorrow, sadness, au revoir.
Whenever you are there, I am with you. Shine for me, my distant friend.
Cleanse us
As nature shows bounty and fertility
Bless us
Let all things live with loving intent
And to fulfill their truest destiny
Although by then it was dark outside.
Man and Beast.
I poured myself a bowl of cereal. I think it was muesli, but it quite easily could of been something else. I looked down at the various dried nuts and fruit as they tumbled out from the cardboard box. When all of a sudden, my peripheral caught sight of a bird, swooping down into my garden. I gazed a mesmerised fixation at the feathered creature. But, before I knew it, my bowl was full, and overflowing onto the kitchen surface and floor. I looked back to see if the bird was still there, but it had flown away. I think it was a pigeon, but it quite easily could of been something else.
I proceeded to find a dustpan and brush, but my hunger got the better of me, and i found myself at the fridge. I took out the milk, full cream as usual, and returned to my mountain of cereal, along with its tremendously erupted mess. Upon opening the milk, I noticed a stale rind around the lid, which had turned a sour yellow in colour. And as I twisted the cap loose, lots of dried milk segments fell off into my ridiculously sized bowl of cereal, along with the lid; I somehow lost grip of it, like you do so often with inanimate objects. Before I could remove some of the now unobtrusive, dried milk particles, and the apparent lid. I was greeted with a unfathomable stench of gone-off-milk. Which more closely resembled a disgusting cheese I had once sampled many years ago. I looked at the date of the milk (best before 26/04) and thought to myself a hard, puzzled curiosity towards the date of which today was known. " What date is it today?" I asked myself out loud.
I swiftly exited the kitchen, and marched towards the living room. I manually turned on the television, as I couldn't find the remote control. I then flicked through each station, in hope to find a news channel of some sort. But only ever uncovered pixel scatterings of fuzzy black and white. It started to give me a headache. So I turned the old CRT off, and crouched the same bemused thought as my last. "What date is it today?".
I quickly stood up straight, and noticed something i swear i had never seen before. I began to stare doltishly at an old picture which hung irregularly in the corner of my living room. It was no larger than an average sized book. I think the exact dimensions were 7 by 5 inches, but it quite easily could of been something else. I couldn't take my eyes off it, and I wasn't entirely sure why. The composition itself had noticeably faded through time, and small concentrations of dust had built up customarily around the frame. The now weathered colours consisted of dark browns, iridescent reds, murky pinks, strange, greyed-out blacks, and forgotten, faded tints of white.
The picture was that of an oldish man, perhaps in his early fifties. Who had below his nose, a thick, prickly crescent of a moustache. He wore black leathered mining gear, complete with cap, and looked decidedly thin. The man was shown to be crouched down, stroking a very large dog, perhaps a St. Bernard. Who had upon its body, shackles, or reigns of some sort. There was snow on the floor, a few overturned rocks were visible, and an old style tent was erected scarcely behind them both. The old man was looking down at the dog, and the dog back up at him, with a captivating embrace of warmth, care and love for one another. However, I thought to myself "not just a man and his dog". As there was also an uneasy air of misgiving stained between both expressions for one another. Which, suggested they had either just been through the worst, or further bad tides lay ahead.
I genially walked over to the portrait to correct its unbalanced state, and continued to frequent myself with the images' timeless luxuriance.
It wasn't till a passing car outside squeaked to a holt, and bellowed out its unharmonious horn. That I remembered what I was doing prior to my tableau encapsulation; Although by then it was dark outside, I was almost certain I had just awoken, to start the day off with a bowl of cereal.
And, so drolly forth.
Know yourself.
I remember receiving a few letters from the electricity company informing me that my account was overdue. I also remember writing several cheques out to the electricity company, for sums of various amounts. Perhaps similar, if not the same, as what was owed to them. However, it quite easily could of been something else.
I was still in the living room, standing in the dark. So I reached over to the nearest switch, and to my shock, the room was filled with translucent light. To where a lampshade should be found, there was not. And it took my besieged, hazel green eyes an unaccountable few moments to adjust to their most wondrous best. I took one final glance at the picture, of which I had starred at for so long. And it had lost all of its natural majesty, to the unnatural gleam of the non-energy-saving bulb above. I thought back to my childhood house, where I grew up so many years ago; It was home to switches with adjustable dimming control of the light, and I continued to think " if I had these switches where I live now, would I dim the light? Or would I just flick the switch off altogether?" Evidently, the picture was still circulating around in my mind. So I decided to leave the living room, to rid myself of its controlled ownership, which it had beset upon me.
I returned back to the kitchen, where I was reintroduced to the disordered cereal, and the spoiled milk. The best before date still read (26/04), and my intolerance of the unresolved date, of this day, today, grew towards a melancholic state of mind; For I had no telephone, no computer, and no watch. I was at a loss for what to do.
I sat down at my kitchen table, and occupied the single chair which surrounded the console. And like a fed up child who has just been told off, started to flick through some loose papers, which had gathered impressively over time. To my surprise, i unearthed a magazine hidden beneath the depths of all the unimportant scribbles and drawings above. The print was January's edition of the Men's health magazines'. Who I had once subscribed yearly too, but later cancelled the subscription due to reasons unbeknown to me now. On the front of the cover was a man of Herculean comparison. Who to me, possessed the most unconvincing smile; As if he was honestly overjoyed with his metallic appearance. It was uncanny. There were all sorts of various slogans and indicative quotations, printed invariably around the edges of the cover. Along the lines of: the five most versatile watches, save your heart with raisins, how to do the Zercher squat. And, so drolly forth. I started to flick through the frivolous contents with a dejected, carefree approach of speedy disregard. As the bimonthlies remaining half a dozen or so pages dwindled away, something caught my eye. And there, on page 75, the right side of the two page spread, was an article entitled "double your productivity" under the fore-title, "smashing stress". It wasn't these words, which were the reason to why I had temporarily hovered over page 75. It was the anecdotal scribbles, the thickened circles of meaningless random words. And a small doodle of questionable depiction, which had encompassed my meddlesomeness. All of the now encaged, circled words, intrigued me more than anything else, and I started to decipher their mysterious meanings. A total of twelve words had been entombed, and in no particular order were as follows: learn, cut, chase, body, power, office, women, improve, time, meet and date. The last word increasing my now perplexed and irrational thinking by tenfold. I jerked an impulsive reaction, which closed the magazine abruptly. Then threw it across the kitchen floor in haste. The other words had lost their connection with me altogether, and I cared not for them anymore. The word 'date' stood out like a sore thumb. It pulsated through my mind like a tiring old headache, which seems to linger there forever. I had once again been reminded of what I was doing prior to my brochure fascination.
I arose from the slumber of my chair, and walked over to the sink. There was a mixture of dirty plates and cutlery spread unorganised across the basin, which I didn't bother to attend to. Instead, I looked up, and found myself transfixed with a reflection; It was brought to life from the darkness of outside, against the light from within, set upon the mirrored window pane. As I starred moronically at a face which closer resembled a stranger, than a friend. I swear I was thinking a blind nothing at all. All I could hear were the loose drippings of water, which fell every so often beneath me. My mind was blank, I felt no life. I stood there for a further moment, when I enquired out loud "What date is it today?". Nothing, and no one replied. So I quickly returned to my sceptical, daydreaming state of mind.
No decision was mine. I, wasn't me.
Control your Demons.
I soon found myself upstairs, standing in the area of space which unifies the rooms. And with a surfeited sense of feeling, looked down upon the descending flight of stairs questionably; Including the floor in which I so earnestly stood, I counted twelve steps in total. A number precisely the same as the numerical equivalent, for which my house was known.
I pondered this insignificant, statistical comparison for a few moments more. When, all of a sudden, the thought was lost due to a disturbing noise from one of the adjoining rooms. I wasn't entirely sure which room was home to the mysterious, nighttime bedlam, as all the doors were closed. The noise seemed to be echoing from the farthest room on the left side of the landing. However, upon closer inspection, the noise seemed to have moved to an entirely different location altogether. I would best describe the lamentation as a non-rhythmical rattle of varying pitch; Sometimes clear as crunching paper, and other times, quiet as the tiniest tap on a table. For short periods of time, the noise would cease to exist altogether; When, without warning, a reverberated bang shuddered through your body, prompting an impulsive recline. I thought the noise to be nothing but an open window, blowing in violent wind, from outside. However, I quickly thought it could quite easily be something else. Perhaps even Someone else.
I paused for a moment. I was dead still. The thought of someone else in my home sent an immediate rush of adrenalin through my body. I became anxious, yet strangely aroused at the same time. My hands went clammy. The beat of my heart increased, and i could feel the blood literally pumping through my veins. I felt zoetic.
I finally located the noise, to one solitary room. And I'm not sure how long i gloomily positioned myself outside the subjects door, which was home to the discord. It seemed like an eternity. I began to enjoy the uncertainty which lay undiscovered from within the room; It became a vivacious ecstasy. Again, everything went silent, as if the noise from within, had detected my presence from without. And With a vigorous entanglement of apprehension, a whole range of daunting preconceptions further engulfed my mind; my forehead became itchy, followed by layer of warm sweat. My heart pumped itself into a third gear, and a few seconds later, a hot flash, whizzed through my body like a train out of control. My breathing become rapid, and my right hand scarcely went back and forth from the door handle, like it was a game of some sort.
I'm not entirely sure how many times I retraced my hand from the handle, as i wasn't counting. All i felt was an outré, catatonic state of absorption towards the handle. An almost bewildering admiration for it. I couldn't take my eyes off it.
I was getting close. My confidence was growing. I knew at some point I would burst through the door. I just didn't know when. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours. All my inhibitions had left me. I was purely functioning on adrenaline. No decision was mine. I, wasn't me.
A further moment past, when all of a sudden, found my right hand firmly grasped around the handle. I took a deep breathe, which staggered its way into my lungs. Then plucked some unwilling courage from out of know where. And then, with a clockwise motion, began to twist the handle.
As the handle squeaked and cracked this way and that, I thought I was making too much noise of my own. Finally, enough was enough. And With a final twist of audacity, the door opened.
I ran in heroically. When all of a sudden, found myself flying back in midair. I had slipped on something. As I continued to fly through the air uncontrollably, the last thing i remembered was arching my neck forward intently. Everything happened so fast, yet felt forever lasting. I glanced a brief glimpse of what i was searching for. And there, right in front of me, was an open window. But before I knew it, wham! I was out cold.
Half beaten up by my own carelessness.
Find the funny side of life.
The next thing I could remember was a very painful, deep, throbbing sensation around my head and upper neck. I couldn't open my eyelids, I could barely manage a squint. My mouth was dry, and I could taste blood. I felt an overwhelming sense of nausea, which only got worse. Both my arms were spread parallel beside my body. And I could swirl around puddles of water, with the ends of my fingertips. The back parts of my shirt and trousers were soaked to the skin. I soon realised i was shivering. And there I was, spread flat across the floor of my bathroom, like a piece of drift wood.
As my eyes gradually opened, and the blurriness subsided. I starred incoherently at the ceiling for a few moments. I then somehow managed to raise myself to a sitting position, albeit in discomfort. The incline was met with a cool breeze of air, which glided soothingly across the cheeks of my face. I glanced up. There was the open window. It was ajar no more than a few inches. Yet this minuscule of all openings, was my antagonistic downfall. Another sweep of cool air, brushed against my face. And for no particular reason, as I continued to stare at the window, began to smile. I don't know why I smiled. I thought it must of been something to do with the sorry juxtaposition I found myself in; sitting on a wet floor, half beaten up by my own carelessness. Fuelled by gusts of wind, blowing in, through an open window, which at the time, i thought to be something else. The smile didn't last, in fact, it was gone before I knew it. I clambered to my feet, which was met with an intense rush of blood to the head. The endless pounding erupted once again. I nonchalantly walked over to the window. Took a deep breathe of cold, nighttime air, exhaled, then closed the window shut.
Who is this someone?
Think of others.
I was still upstairs. I knew this because as I looked out of a window, everything was below, rather than in front. I studied the street beneath, and the nights darkness was unyielding. It was only destabilised by pockets of orange permitted from the lights above; They had an estranged charm about them. An almost welcoming reminder, that you're never too far away from society. I was sitting on a bed, which was unmade, and I began to look around the room. I think it was where I slept, but it quite easily could of been somewhere else. There were two unopened suitcases on the floor to the right of me. A chest of draws was to my left, and a large, walk-in closet opened from the other side of the bed behind me; Except for an old pair of running shoes, and a few hangers, the closet was empty. I turned my attention back to the chest of draws on my left. And i noticed something. It stimulated my senses out of an early retirement. I leisurely walked over to the draws, and disclosed the stimulation as a picture frame; Rather than how a conventional picture frame should be found, it was laid flat. And as anyone would instinctively do in this situation, I corrected the frames disposition. Expecting to see a picture of some kind, i was left disconcerted. The frame was empty. And As I continued to look at the empty frame, my mind spiralled into a bottomless thought. And for the first time, since I could last remember. I remembered something.
The memory wasn't clear. In fact, at about the same time as I remembered the memory. It was gone again. The memory was as quick as a flash of light, from a distant thunderstorm; There for a split second, then gone again. I looked back at the frame, and tried to search my mind for that lost memory. Again, nothing. I was left unanswered. The obscure memory was there, somewhere, it was just unreachable. It was like a word stuck on the tip of your tongue, that you've said a thousand times before. Yet, when you need the word, or in this case, a memory, you're always left absent-minded. It was like an evil spirit was safekeeping the memory for its own personal pleasure. And I was never to know what it was. There was nothing i could do, i was defeated. I returned the frame to where I found it, and sat back down on the bed. I then turned my considerations to the two unopened suitcases to my right. I kneeled down onto the floor, and studied the cases. They were made from toughened plastic, jet black in appearance, and secreted a robust character. And if it wasn't for a lengthy scratch on one of them, they'd be unmistakably identical. I reached over to the none scratched suitcase, and placed my fingers on the catch. I flicked it loose with my thumb and index finger, then lifted the divide open with both my hands. It was full of clothes.
Most of the colours were irrepressibly bright; consisting of pinks, turquoises, lilac purples, summer day sky blues, and stylish greens. And as the garments were an array of blouses, dresses, lingerie, sarongs, and skirts. I needn't have to sift through the contents, to determined the apparels gender. The clothes were female. Female clothes? I thought to myself. I became sickeningly discombobulated. I wanted to throw up, but I had no idea why. I kept starring repulsively at the clothes, and without a thought, or regard, reached down to pick one of the items up. I think it was a bedtime frock of some sort, but it quite easily could of been something else. I lifted the garment to my nose. Paused for a second, closed my eyes, then took a deep, nasal breathe of air, through the frock.
The smell was wondrously hypnotising. It exasperated a hysteria of memories, only instantaneously hindered by irresolution. And for the second time tonight, I remembered something. Someone. Someone? I thought to myself. Who is this someone? Again, just as I remembered the memory, it was lost. It vacated itself from my mind. It had been evicted without warning. Thrown-out without a reason. Lost forever. Never wanting to return, never asking to be found. What was this memory? What was this memory?! I broke into a woefully emotional mess. I stood up, and with my vision impaired by a watery haze of tears, threw myself onto the bed. I think I feel asleep. Although, I may of just sunk into one of my obligatory, disorientated conditions, of swollen nothingness.
A house could be seldom found.
A Mans home is his Castle.
I had no perception of time. I had not one notion. At a guess, I would place the time at either 1 or 2 in the early hours of the morning. However, it quite easily could of been something else. The time was inconsequential, it was the date i was after.
There was that serene, motionless calm about the night, which floated around so ghostly . Even within the borders of my own home, I felt uncomfortably vulnerable; I lived in a semi-detached house, which towered identical to its perpendicular counterpart. The build was a long stones throw back to the 1950's. And through the recent years, the exterior had bestowed an unsurpassed individualism of unkept jungle; As Somewhere behind all the thorn bushes, stinging nettles, poison Ivy, and trees, a house could be seldom found. I would say similar to that of fairy tale description. A large, wooden front door, which once glistened a varnished brown, was firmly bolted shut. As if it hadn't been used for a while. And the stainless steel number two, of the house number twelve, hung with an unorthodox slant; Which on occasion, confused a debuting postman. The interior was undesirable, displeasing, and unsavoury, as many of the rooms were incomplete. For example; striped wallpaper loosely peeled everywhere. Different coloured stokes of paint were splashed carelessly around the walls. And there were all sorts of loose shelves, uncarpeted floorboards, unwired plugs, and damp patches, situated loathsomely, throughout the house. I could go on. The house seemed to be amateurishly fragmentary. On the contrary, the rooms were also brimming with various, unused DIY equipment; toolboxes, nail guns, paints, brushes, light bulbs, various slabs of wood, flat packed boxes of incomplete furnishings. It was like an Ikea fantasy, which never intimately materialised. And I'm not sure where it all went amiss.
I came and went as I pleased through the back door of my house, which opened up to an average expanse of fenced off, suburban garden. Also overgrown. I thought it to be a mecca for any enthusiastic gardener, who enjoyed a good old spell of excessive-hedge-trimming. A forlorn, moth-eaten shed, somehow still stood intact at the bottom left of the garden. And I believe a compost bin lay unused behind it, but it quite easily could of been something else.
My ears were my eyes.
Be spontaneous
A reconditioned breeze of fresh air, embodied itself around me like a comforting blanket. I could hear a few birds chirping a distant whisper to one another. I opened my eyes, and found myself sitting amongst a leafy assortment of greenery. Some of the plants were rubbing themselves against the bare parts of my skin. Itchiness prevailed. My nose went tingly. I think I sneezed a few times. I looked around, and found myself in the back garden, leaning against a fence. I was sitting on dry, loosened soil, a few rocks, and some weeds, in the area of earth, just off from the lawn. I elevated my head to the night sky, and through the scattered gaps of branches, my eyes met a lilac blue colour; A petty amount of scattered stars remained distinguishable to the naked eye. The moon had disappeared. And there was an intriguing mist developing across the lowest part of the troposphere. The nights darkness seemed to be faltering. I wasn't entirely sure, but I think dawn was approaching. Which roughly established the time somewhere between 5 and 7, in the early hours of the morning.
I rubbed my eyes tenderly, which incensed an immediate yawn. I then scrutinised my mind for a reason to why i was here; sitting in the dark, hidden beneath the overgrown foliage, leaning against a fence in my garden, in the early hours of the morning. As usual, my mind drew a blank.
It wasn't cold outside, which absorbed my considerations towards the seasons. Mainly, which one. I couldn't remember the last time my eyes met rain. I couldn't remember the last time my skin felt rain. I couldn't remember much. But, this did conclude that the season must be summer, and the date, of this day, today, must be somewhere within June, July and August. Although, in the past, random heat-waves, and cool nights, have been known to fall in May.
Upon this seasonal realisation, a perturbed thought crossed my mind; I seemed to have just helped myself in no such way what so ever. I know that the best before date on the milk, still reads (26/04). And there I was, sitting in the dirt, between an array of thorns, in the early hours of the morning. Concluding that the date, for which today was known, was somewhere between May and August.
Through all the extravagant occurrences I had suffered tonight. I found myself not one bit closer to uncovering the date, for which today was known. I continued to ponder this ludicrously naive thought for a further moment more. When, all of a sudden, I heard a crunching sound. Another crunch, followed by another. Even though the darkness continued to relinquish itself, as the light advanced. I was still visually defective. My ears were my eyes. Another crunch. It sounded like footsteps, but not that of any human being. The steps were too soft, too undersized. Plus, as the entity neared my location, I heard inquisitive sniffing. It was an animal of some sort. The unknown animal didn't bother me in the slightest. I was relaxed. I was at ease. The nighttime animal stopped almost in front of me, on the grassy part of my garden. I squinted my eyes searchingly, and slowly leaned forward, to see if I could disclose the unknown creature. And there, to my surprise, a dark silhouette of a four legged mammal appeared. It was a fox. But before I could build any sort of temporary relationship with the omnivorous, it quickly darted off into the unknowable backstreets of suburbia. I was once again, companionless.
As if it was given me a reason to live.
Be at one with nature.
The nights darkness had now deteriorated to a point of no return. Only to the far left horizon, were the remnants of a once exuberant black night. The witching hour vestige, was over.
The sky above was a colour of phosphorescent blue. And to my far right, a promised sunrise was impending. Birds were harmonising triumphantly with familiar sounds of an unknown language; They were commencing their day. A cold pocket of nighttime, to morning air, streamed into the atmosphere uncompromisingly; I sheepishly shivered. And a languished dew, sprouted its pours from out of nowhere; the ground was moist.
At about the same time I thought to see the light maturing. I was almost certain it was trying its best to revert to a former, darkened state. My head was arched idly to my right, and almost rested itself upon my shoulder, like a pillow. I was tired, my eyes were heavy. And I found it difficult to concentrate on even the smallest things.
If it wasn't for a modifying sky, I would have fallen asleep, there and then. As through squinted, stinging eyes, the colour yellow introduced itself to me. It radiated a beginning warmth into the atmosphere. It emerged from the glossy coyness beneath, into the dark blue above, like a painter mixing their watercolours. The result was a lightened, clearer blue, which employed itself magnificently across the skyline. Finally, the sun was rising. And I couldn't remember the last time I witnessed this illusive wonder of the day. So I picked myself up from off the fence. Positioned myself onto my hands and knees, and began to crawl out, from where i had been for so long. When I reached the grassy part of my garden, I stood up straight, and faced the easterly sunrise. I then noticed that the horizon was not just an emerging yellow in colour. But a remarkable collaboration of oranges, reds, ambers, and pinks, with pockets of illuminated whites. An unearthly obscurity, elongated impressively across the horizon, as if the fast approaching sun was informing all onlookers of its arrival. I looked around from where I was standing, and it was light now. I could see everything; my house behind me, my shed at the end of the garden, the overgrown area of bushes and plants, where I had sat for so long. The day had arrived. Although that date, of today, this day, still eluded me. I turned my absorption back to the unrivalled sunrise. And there, so trivial, yet so lustrously resplendent, was the sun. A perfect, naturally formed circle, of life giving heat. I felt its warmth penetrate my skin, it then rejuvenated my core. It made me feel alive, as if it was giving me a reason to live. The comforting heat from the sun was a scientific marvel of unmatched beauty. I examined the sky above, and it was crystal clear now; wondrously blue in colour, and there was not a cloud to be seen. The sun was now on its visual journey, across the area of Earth I knew it to be apprised of. The sun had left the horizon, and pinned itself gloriously upon the sky with such facileness.
Although we forget, it's not the sun moving around us, but us, moving around the sun. Such an ignorant, and easily forgotten fact, I thought to myself; As we're forever spinning on our own axis, never stopping, always moving. Always breathing, always making sure life exists. Something impressively out of our control.
It's just sometimes how the dice is rolled.
Always listen.
I knew I was in one of my daydreaming plights, as all these thoughts manifested so easily, when I was. Although, I could also hear mumbled words, which were alien to me. They were not my thoughts. They were something else, something different. The words became more prominent. I began to hear tone of voice. Importance. Meaning. Discussion. It was a conversation. The words were clear now, I broke from my daydreaming state, and heard the following.
"Well, if I don't put a load out, first thing the morning, then ill never be able to do all three."
"Yes, exactly. Especially when you have a day like today. Best get it all done."
"And after i bring each load in, I've got to iron it, then fold it, then put it away."
Yes, yes. As you should do with freshly clean clothes.
"I've still got to do the weekly shopping, the vacuuming, and Margaret and her sister are coming for tea at four".
" Oh, I've never seen her sister. I've heard about her though. Married twice I think."
" No, she's married again. It's a third marriage now."
"Oh gosh, what is that? Married three times in one life time. It's unheard of".
" Well, she only has herself to blame, as it's always been her fault, that's what Margret tells me.
"Huh?! Always her fault? A woman should forever stand by her husband. Take me and reggie for example. We've been married 48 years this November."
"Yes, I know. And similar with me and Pete.....It's just sometimes how the dice is rolled."
The two women carried on talking as if they had rehearsed the night before, about what they were going to talk about today. Their conversation flowed with such ease. A carefree conversation. A conversation with no difficulties, no complications, a normal conversation. I couldn't remember the last time I spoke with someone, like the two ladies were with each other. It seemed forever removed from my mind. Did I ever speak with anyone? Did I ever know anyone? Someone? What date is it today? "What date is it today?!" I had spoken out loud. I didn't think. I didn't mean too. What have I done? I quickly plunged onto the floor, then crawled over the fence, where the two women conversed the other side. Everything went quiet. I could feel my heart beat, just as I did when I was standing outside the bathroom door. I then heard mumbling. Then the moving of feet. Then.
" Hello? Excuse me? Is someone there?" One of the ladies said, inquisitively.
I said nothing.
"Hello? Did you ask something? The other lady said.
I said nothing.
They mumbled to each other again.
Until.
"John, is that you?" The First Lady said.
I said nothing. I was petrified. I didn't know what to do.
"Mr Wallace? it is Mr Wallace, yes? Said the other woman.
I said nothing. There was a further pause, until.
"Did you shout, what date is it today?" One of the ladies said.
I said nothing. How did they know I was here? I was silent.
" We know you are there." Said the second woman.
I paused briefly, until without a thought, or consideration, somehow shouted.
"What date is it today?"
There was a pause. I felt sick in the stomach. What have a done? Why did i speak? Why did i ask something? I was now petrified, and I was quickly loosing control of myself. Then, all of a sudden, I heard.
"It's the 8th of 43". Both the ladies said, simultaneously. As if they were continuing their rehearsed existence.
What was that? I thought to myself, what happened there? Thats not a date. Again, without a thought, or any deliberation, i somehow asked.
" What date is it today?!"
Another pause. Quickly Followed With.
"We just told you, it's the 8th of 43!" They both said, again, concurrently. And this time with a heightened sense of impatience.
And again, i thought, what was that? That's not a date. I didn't understand what was happening, or going on. Were they tormented me? Playing around with me? What was happening? What was the 8th of 43?
Why couldn't I hear the date?
Family first.
As the sun rose high into the sky, and time continued to endlessly tick away. All i could think about was the 8th of 43. What was it? Why did the two ladies tell me this? Its not a conceivable date, it makes no sense. It must be something else. What was the 8th of 43? What does it mean?
I was still pathetically crouched against the fence to where I had the conversation with the two ladies. And it was quiet now. I could no longer hear the flowing conversation which once flourished in the neighbouring garden. It had been distinguished. I slowly clambered to my feet, then extended myself onto tiptoes. I peered over the fence expecting to see two elderly ladies. Instead, the garden was empty. Only filled with clothes blowing gently on a washing line, a dried out pond, and a bench.
I returned to my normal stance, and began to walk gingerly to my house. As soon as i entered the kitchen, my door bell went off, which startled me somewhat insanely. And it took me a while to gather myself. When i did, the door bell sounded again. It was so loud, and it hurt my ears. Another press on the door bell.
"DING-DONG, DING DONG!"
Followed by lengthy knocks. I slowly walked into the hallway, then over to the door. I was frightened beyond belief. I then heard someone say.
" John, are you in there? John? Hello?"
The mans voice was familiar to me, it was a welcoming voice, yet strangely unknown at the same time. Again, another knock, followed by two lengthy.
"DING-DONGS, DING-DONGS!"
I walked over to my front door. And looked out the peep hole. No-one was there. I unbolted the lock, then started to open the door. It took some doing. As it had been bolted shut for a while now. I slowly eased the door open, when, all of a sudden, heard a voice behind me.
"John, what are you doing?"
I turned around and saw a woman. Her face was familiar to me, yet at the same time, she was a stranger. Behind her was a man, who also looked familiar, but then again, we may have only just met for the first time.
"John, John, are you okay? The woman said.
I paused for a moment. The lady then Started to walk towards me.
"John, what's wrong?" She said, questionably.
"Stay away from me!" I shouted.
"Who are you?" I continued.
"What do you mean?" The lady said.
The man interrupted with.
"John, it's me, dad, what's wrong"?
Dad? I thought. He wasn't my dad. And who was this women, my mother?
" And this is your mother." He went on to say.
My mum? No, this woman is not my my mother, I thought. They both neared closer to me.
"Stay away, stay away from me!" I said.
They both backed off, and looked at each other. The lady then went over the the man and said.
" Oh Zebedee, what's wrong, what's wrong with our Johnny?" She said, woefully.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay. He's been through a rough time." The man replied.
A rough time? I thought to myself. What did he mean by that?
I then looked towards what they were wearing. They were both dressed in black, from head to toe. The woman was also wearing a black hat, which wasn't flattering in the slightest. It was a large hat, and it was positioned with a concealing slant, which blocked most of her face. I thought it to be purposefully positioned in this way. There was a lengthy pause. I was nervous. There were two strangers in my house, who claimed to be my parents, and they were staring at me, and I back at them. And without a thought, or any consideration, i somehow asked.
"What date is it today?"
There was a pause. Both the strangers looked at each other in confusion, until the man went on to say.
"John, it's the 8th of 43, today's Friday."
Again, the same date. What was that? Why weren't they telling me the date? An actual date? Why couldn't I hear the date? There was a further pause. The atmosphere in the room became stale. The man then went on to say.
" It's Letha's funeral today, you know that, what's wrong?"
I paused. I became stiff. I couldn't move. Letha, who was this Letha? A funeral? I continued to look at the two strangers in my house, and somehow asked, without thought.
"Who is Letha?"
There was a cold pause, followed by gasps and shocked faces. Tears started to flow from the woman's eyes. The man was grimacing. I was left confused. The man turned to the woman and said
" It's okay, Salome, everything's going to be okay."
He then turned his gaze to me and spoke the following.
" My poor son, my poor John.....Letha was your wife."
Be you so far away, yet feel you so close,
your daily arrival shines, descends, adios.
I know you are there, I can see you on the other side,
but the crowd barricades your beauty, warmth, hide.
Your endless crying cycle, clouds who you are,
stop drowning me with your sorrow, sadness, au revoir.
Whenever you are there, I am with you. Shine for me, my distant friend.