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The Abstract Thought
06.10.08, 23:03:33
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Post #1 (permalink) |
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One moment I’m watching the sun rise, the next I’m on the floor with a pen stabbed into my hand. Somehow it missed the veins. Perhaps next time I will awake in a hospital missing an arm, or sleeping on a park bench after my house just burnt to the ground.
But for now the sun is down, my walls are covered with ink, and the alarm is beeping. I’m not even sure what day it is.
Maybe Sunday. All that matters is it’s still March.
I must be experiencing a form of shock, because I can’t feel any pain. My hand is trembling and my heart pounding, yet as I stare at my hand I’m not convinced this is real. After all, it was an accident.
The alarm is to remind me it’s three in the morning, and as I pull the pen out my hand it’s still beeping.
And now I can feel the pain. I bite my fist to refrain from cursing and the blood taste like salt. My stomach turns at the taste, like it always does. My head is pounding.
“All right.” I say. Move.
Rinse.
Dis-infect.
Wrap.
Nothing makes the pain go away. Water cuts through like ice. Peroxide burns. I wonder what effect ink has on the circulatory system?
I’m in the bathroom moving an inch at a time, checking the living room every few seconds. My family’s asleep, oblivious that I’ve been bleeding for half an hour. Ignorance is bliss, I say to myself as I’m creeping out the front door. A cool breeze touches my cheek and I am alive again.
I am Caleb Evans. I am awake and strong. Never mind the bags under my eyes.
It hurts to walk this fast. It keeps me awake, so it’s the good kind of hurt.
Streetlights guide the way as the only light out tonight. No stars, no homes or cars. Everyone is asleep and it feels like my footsteps are the last sound in the world. Some call this isolation; I call it freedom.
When alone I can drown out the noise.
I arrive to the park at 3:25 and sit at a bench. I’m rubbing my fingers against the wooden surface, along the five notches carved into it. The notches are impossible to see at night, but I know they’re there. I pull an army knife from my pocket and carve a sixth mark.
Then I hear it. Footsteps, fading. Tap-tap. Going-going-gone. Goodbye footsteps.
So I sit and wait and before I know it the sun is rising. Again. All in the blink of an eye.
There’s only a few blank spaces on the walls.
I’m writing smaller than I ever have but with the wrong hand. It’s like a child’s handwriting. A squiggle here, a blot there.
With words on walls and not in my mind I can think clearly.
And there’s only a few blank spaces on the walls.
“Evans! Where have you been?” a voice asked. “Never mind, can I ask you a favor? Can you pick up Katy from work tonight at 8, I’m swamped.”
“Of course.” I said into the phone.
“You’re a life savor. Anyways, I haven’t seen you all month, we need to get together. Plus, Katy’s party is this Tuesday. You–”
“Don’t worry, I’m there.” I held the phone with one hand, scribbling times and dates onto my wall with the other. Things like: Katy at 8, Garrett sounds angry, engagement/birthday party this Tuesday. It blends into the mess.
“So, have you taken any of those sleeping pills Katy gave you?”
“You know how I feel about medicine.”
“Yeah, well you sound tired as hell. Consider it. Anyways, I have to go, super busy. Later man.”
The phone clicked.
I’m writing with my injured hand. I’ve never tried to write right-handed before, yet I couldn’t resist the pain. Think of it like those monks who subject themselves to torture and learn to transcend physical pain.
Becoming enlightened. It’s a good feeling.
Knock-Knock.
“Caleb, you ready to go?” my Mother asks from the other side.
First they pat down my mother, then on to me. It’s only procedure. Sorry sir, can’t bring in anything sharp, even if it is only a pen they tell me. Then I walk through the doorway and all eyes are on us. My mother pretends not to notice and looks straight ahead bitting her lip.
White. Everywhere. The clothes are white, the hats are white, the walls are white. And my pen is gone.
Were following an older nurse even though we know where to go. Juvenile ward just ahead. Ah, right here she says jingling her keys. There he is. She opens the door and we step in.
Joshua seems not to notice us step in.
“Hello Josh, it’s your mother.” She’s faking a smile, but now he’s staring at me.
Joshua is my younger brother. Fifteen already.
They have him strapped down like an animal. I couldn’t imagine why.
“How-how are you feeling... You know it’s your birthday soon...Are you excited?...You know, Caleb and I both love you very much...Well get you all sorts of presents...” It’s no use; he’s not listening to her. She turns to me and a tear swells in her eye. Her head drops. “Please talk to me.”
She stands, says I love you once more than walks out. I have to force myself to leave his gaze.
When we reach the gate my mother falls into my arms sobbing.
I don’t remember picking up Katy from work, but it’s 3, so I hope I did.
Those footsteps didn’t fool me. They’re here again at three in the morning at the park. They wait till I carve the seventh notch to disappear
The sun takes longer to rise this morning.
Everything is black. I want to say I’m asleep, but that is false. What happens is your mind awakes from a dream, however your muscles remain stiff to avoid injury. This is called sleep paralysis.
I hear my mothers voice repeating my name softly into my ear. She’s sobbing. There are other sounds, but it’s all static. I can only distinguish her voice from the noise. She’s saying my name and I want to respond, but my body won’t let me. I’m pushing every muscle and screaming in my mind.
When I awake there’s no one there.
My walls are blank, pure white. I check my hand and the wrap is gone; the cut is gone. The sun is up and I’m still not sure what day it is.
All I know is it’s march. |
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" If not you, if not this, what else is there but death? It's your call, it's all on you. Give more, give everything, give blood."-Bane
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