A dram of whisky is running down the back of my throat, a slight pricking of my oesophagus is the only thing I’ve felt in months. Outside, the oak trees, barren, have long given up on holding on to their leaves. A red sun paints the horizon in a pinkish orange as the last bit of blue sky gives up its cold colour to be replaced by a warm red hue just before turning pitch black. The branches in front of this spectacle seem to show connections between things which have none. A cold breeze hits my face. I can barely feel it. I look at the trash can on the driveway and I can hardly find a reason why my place should be out here and not in there. The dark is welcoming, it beckons as it tauntingly leaves only a slight shimmery line of red from this day before it shows its power to divide time, to erase one’s sense of urgency only to create it anew with its disappearance in the morning. A black veil that doesn’t extinguish but protects what is from the gaze of passersby, that lets privacy be privacy, that offers nothing but pure blindness to any sort of judgment.
All intensity, the lust, the power, the fear, all the adrenaline needs to be balanced out by stillness, calm, serenity. But in that moment, so sinister and silent, all the danger of the hustle and bustle of the day becomes apparent. When silence reigns, trouble rises up. And with a trebled voice it breaks the night’s quiet, bears marks of fire and brandishes a torch that threatens darkness’ shelter. It is not the dark that we fear, it is the truths that force themselves upon us when every distraction is faded out. It is not blindness that scares us, but the resulting prevalence of our mental images in our perceived reality.
A crow flies by, I can’t make out exactly where it is, but hearing its croaking in intervals leads me to believe that it is circling me, closing in on me. I feel entrapped, a stabbing pain in my chest. I hastily rip off my shirt. It was too white. Too white for this night. What have I done? Excruciating pain. What have I done? Why? Weeping, knees falling to the ground, I stare up into the sky. Betrayal by the moon. Why did you have to shine your treacherous light on me? Couldn’t you just let me be? And nothing stirs – only the crow and I. It starts to rain, my pulse is high. I can’t… I didn’t want to… I never meant for any of this t…
NOISE. WHITE NOISE. A blinding light and nothing to be ever seen.