Lord, you do
not exist in my life. Nothing has ever given me any reason to believe in you or
seek for your judgement; only the insane concept that I should! The predetermined ideals of my peers and elders and that
of the entire world it seems. For Heaven or for Hell I no longer care. I have
endured things that I never imagined I could struggle through and still I have
prevailed, in a sense.
My true Hellish
inferno is on this very land, and the demons within the spiralling circles are the
memories that revel in my life force and rape my sanity. Why should I beg to
you? What prayers have you answered? I beseeched you and pleaded with you to save the pieces of me but
it was too much to ask. The only thing that has ever offered me solace and
aroused my exaltation is the natural world in all its glory and cruelty. The
beautifully devastating life
process and its painful continuous circle; it fills my soul with wonder and
amazement. And the glorious elements that surround us! - Most of all the destructive
beauty of the flame; that blazing lover that strokes the fabrics of matter,
offering warmth and light to a traveller then
destroying them in vibrant devouring heat and fiery fingers. I often ask myself,
how could such an utter treasure
of creation be the sole element that fuels evil in the deepest furnace of
Hell? - Always the flaming rivers or the burning trenches. Why can it not be
seen as a symbol of untameable existence?
Like man consumes the world in his own way? A great idol and adoring icon.
Something godlike. Violent and loving. It is like a child for it needs to be nurtured, and only after creation can it feed hungrily and in
turn swallow the tools of it’s birth. Why should man be punished for the
ingenious formation of implements to conceive beautiful fire?
I regard the
element of water to be far more disastrous, even more terrifying over fire. Waters
drown, swallow great structures and eat away at the highest and strongest
mountains. Slowly, single-handedly it wears the world away like a silent tyrant yet it also fills the lungs more rapidly that
one can scream. But the cadaver still
remains suspended and digested within the oceans, held there in the lowest tomb
as if the great monster does not wish to give the spirit release. Unlike the fire,
water is a gradual demon, chewing slowly and containing a corpse until it feels
the need to reject it back to the shores when it has had enough taunting the soul.
For how can one’s soul rest within the icy enclosure of pressing layers at the
base of a watery grave?
I felt my eyes freeze over as I gazed upon the scene before me. Never before had I felt so cold within and so comatose.
The room was silent. I could feel the breath of my companion whistle through my
very chest and chill my lungs. I could not quite take it upon myself to move
from where I was; I continued to stand in the corner of the room, back squared
against stone and arms hugging my body.
Sadness fell over me, I could not breathe
easy. My body trembled with sickness and my mind rippled in dreaded
realisation. It suddenly became clear how far I had strayed from myself and how
much I had sacrificed to become something I utterly loathed. Prickling dread
and fear seeped over my shoulders and filled the pores in my skin.
Damien
still slept. It was all I could do not to burst into tears. I clenched my fists
and gnashed my teeth, looking out of my nook at this man lying on the bed on
a strewn blanket. Then tears leaked themselves out of my eyes and
trickled down my cheeks slowly; the light from the windows shone on my face and
blurred my vision even more. I felt the nebulous view of everything gradually
slipping completely over my eyes like a blindfold.
I could hear nothing outside. I felt numbed
and my senses all dulled. The smoke was still settling in the room from last
night and the air smelt of the thick residue of opium. My mouth was parched and
dry, I licked my lips but it made no difference. My tongue swelled and my head
swam with illness and shaking exhaustion.
_____________________________________________________
I wished for death after my Father's suicide. I was so young at the time that I do not think I even knew what the feelings meant. I just wanted to cease existing, to silence my mind and stop being a conscious being. The trauma and the fear was just so overwhelming and I didn't see any other way of stopping it. Inevitably, the rawness of my emotions subsided but not before sending me into, what I believe to be, a temporary madness. I lost all sense of logic and nothing could stop me from spinning off into an insane tirade. I felt such shame and confusion about the events that followed but they seemed so far away as to be an old nightmare. And yet, I felt they would no longer have a hold on me. How wrong I was.
It was sweet Rosella, my angel, who reminded me of that ordeal. The touch of her, the slightest looks of her sorrowful eyes and the desperation to reach me within my cage brought forth such utter terror that I felt the madness resurfacing again. I do not remember much of what I said or did but her reaction read it back to me. Her face alit with fear, and her lips trembling with a great sadness. I feel stricken and pained at what horror I must have caused her.
Even now, as I look at my branded hands, I feel sick to the core. The memory of the sacrificial fires, the blood and agony is too much to bear. I see it all now behind my eyes, as if it has been scorched into my mind. And it was all caused by the sinful one, the child of ice eyes who destroyed all he held dear because of the internal fiery wickedness. The one who abandoned his only family due to fear, the one who sought to hide from the ghosts that will never rest, the one who is chained a by damnable bloodline curse...
I feel I must stop. I cannot even bring myself to write any further. These unforgiving tears burn my cheeks and my hands shake too greatly. I must retire and reside myself to nature's silence, should my mind quieten its persistent torment.
I felt my eyes freeze over as I gazed onto the scene before me. Never before had I felt so cold within and so comatose. The room was silent. I could feel the breath of my companion whistle through my very chest and chill my lungs. I could not quite take it upon myself to move from where I was; I continued to stand in the corner of the room, back squared against stone and arms hugging myself.
Sadness fell over me, I could not breathe easy. My body trembled with sickness and my mind rippled in dreaded realisation. It suddenly became clear how far I had strayed from myself and how much I had sacrificed to become something I utterly loathed. Prickling dread and fear seeped over my shoulders and filled the pores in my skin.
Damien still slept. It was all I could do not to burst into tears. I clenched my fists and gnashed my teeth, looking out of my nook at this man lying on the couch on a strewn threadbare blanket. Real tears leaked themselves out of my eyes and trickled down my cheeks slowly; the light from the windows shone on my face and blurred my vision even more. I felt the nebulous view of everything gradually slipping completely over my eyes like a blindfold.
I could hear nothing outside. I felt numbed and my senses all dulled. The smoke was still settling in the room from last night and the air smelt of the thick residue of opium. My mouth was parched and dry, I licked my lips but it made no difference. My tongue swelled and my head swam with illness and shaking exhaustion.
Why? Why did this happen? Oh I had dreamt of the accursed flames but it was not really a dream, was it? It was true and here lies the scorched remains of the Manor. It could not have been me; no, I was too far away. It could not have been me at all. This time it was the cruelty of fate and the sick, sick terror that is the world we know.
I know now that there is no escape for me or the ones that were born alongside me. Not at all. My mother and father were born in such a terrible place, deep and dark and swallowing all goodness; a hellish ditch furthest away from righteousness and the light. Even if it was conscious choice they had no hope of a “normal” existence. They never stood a chance.
And myself, maybe once there was a chance. But now it is destroyed. My face is tainted and my soul stricken and shocked by the implements of horror. I was not far enough away from The Town and with overseers who were sinners and damaged by The Town’s terror. If only I had not been given back to my father I may have been saved. I do not know. Others may have prevailed but I was born with a wrong mind. Something that ate away at my sanity and gave me an insight to things I never ever wanted to witness. Why? Why? Why could I have never been born?
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