52.5
55 Reads
3 Favorites
Amaranth Fades
Chapter 1
Immortal amaranth, a flower which once
In Paradise fast by the tree of life
Began to bloom; but soon, for man's offence,
To heaven removed where first it grew.
Paradise Lost by John Milton
Serenity. A beautiful word. I sigh as I gently mouth the sound it creates. Serenity is all around me. It's what I want to feel but I know I never will again. I know too much. I've done too much but here I can pretend. Pretending is all I am able to do. My head is never silent. I am staring out at virtual stillness when a gentle, yet almost teasing, breeze caresses the blades of grass. Taunting them. To anyone else the sound would be a faint whisper but I hear swords clanging and crashing. Over and over. The smash of each blade resonates through my memories. Memories I think I have. Memories I have dreamed? Maybe. I can't be sure. Memories I've created? Perhaps. Or is this all more real than any reality I've ever lived and experienced? I'm not sure which memories are just dreams but right now my dreams and life and are morphing into a nightmare that I cannot awake from. Inside I am screaming but the nightmare resists my pleas for mercy.
I almost feel physical pain as I use all my inner strength to force the nightmares to the back of my mind. I place my hands down either side of me as I decide to stand up from my familiar bench. My old friend. I notice that I am instinctively tracing the grains of wood. Those grains are memories. I wonder what they would tell me. I move a few steps forward and look up to admire the two majestic trees that stand like sentries on either side of me. Guarding. Protecting. I lift my head and see the branches entangled above me. Are both trees fighting for space in a never ending universe or are they holding on? Supporting one another. Never letting go. For fear of a branch colliding through space and time and destroying every piece of creation. Just one. That's all it would take. I imagine the trees are Phoebe and I, protecting our two children. I wish. Are wishes possible? Are wishes the same as prayers? People pray. What are prayers even? Wishes that God may grant? If we ask over and over and over will our wishes be approved? I hope so but I know that when Jasmyn and Henry ask us repeatedly for a cookie or candy, Phoebe and I will invariably answer no. Stop asking we say. If you didn't ask quite so much we would have given you the candy or cookie or whatever the request was a long time ago but really, your persistence has made us inclined to change our minds. Does God ever feel like this? Exasperated. I don't think so because we are encouraged as grown up humans to keep asking, praying, wishing as the right thing to do, but when our children ask and ask, we tell them they are being rude and disrespectful. What are we actually required to do? I wish there were an instruction manual for life. That would make everything so much easier because I certainly don't have the answer.
I think about our cat, Erwin. Erwin suits her and doesn't sound too masculine. Her full name is Doctor Erwin Schrodinger-Meyer. We agreed her last name should be double barreled and obviously include ours. She is a very elegant cat and we decided she deserves a dignified name. Erwin will be waiting when I arrive home. She will elegantly step out of her current favorite box. Every box is her favorite, and she will stretch her languorous body and greet me with a faint meow as she yawns and announces: "Oh you there. Would you be so kind as to fill my food bowl. I am famished." The next part of her routine is to meow at me constantly, insistently, whilst I clean her bowl and fill it with her specific requests. I will stroke her and tickle her under her chin and then show her today's menu.
"So what would Madam prefer this fine morning? Gourmet Mixed Grill or Ocean White Fish and Tuna?"
Her persistence will not wane. Not at all. Not until I have completed my task but all of the time I will smile and tell her: "Yes. I know what you want sweet girl. It's nearly ready." Not once do I chastise her for her impatience but instead I reward her. Ask and you shall receive but perhaps that only applies to cats.
She isn't a very tidy cat. In fact Jasmyn and Henry are tidier which is hard to believe sometimes. Boxes and cat toys will be strewn all over the living area even though I am sure our home was tidy before I left this morning. I silently collect while the rest of my family sleeps. The floor is the new shelf apparently. I remember reading that somewhere. Phoebe is always berating me for dumping bags, drinks, books and more on the floor. I quite obviously inherited the untidy gene from one of my parents. I am not sure who because both of my parent were capable of untidiness. Erwin takes after me and likes to use the floor as a storage area too but she very possessive of her toy mice which she systematically squirrels away under the sofa and now under the oven. The main reason for hiding toy mice under the sofa is because it prompts me to use the grabbing tool I bought recently and as soon as Erwin sees it she meows insistently! Apparently it is the most exciting thing.
I contemplate asking our cat about the Universe and God. Perhaps she knows more than any of us. What does it even all mean? Life. We go to church every Sunday and listen intently to the sermons so I am supposed to have some sort of clue but I can't help but challenge and question. Our cat just naturally accepts, but why program humans to doubt and destroy. Giving humans a mind of their own was probably a mistake. Free will isn't always a good thing. Not really. From my experience people like to be told what to do. It's takes away the stress of responsibility. Let someone else take charge. Tell me what to do! I glance around searching for an answer and I am suddenly mesmerized by a writing spider. Spiders really are not on my list of favorite things but writing spiders are actually quite beautiful. I watch her weave her web hoping that she will give me a sign. I watch her create. Everything creates. Everything has a reaction. Everything has the ability to destroy. Some humans would destroy this spider's web out of fear. I suddenly feel helpless. I don't know what to do? Should I stay here forever? Never moving. My thoughts become serious once more and it's something I dread. Life is too short for such somber and solemn musings. Life is too short. If only.
I consider standing still in this very place. Forever. Will that prevent all that could happen? If I never move will everything just stop? I can't. I need to live. That statement. That thought. It makes me smile but not because I am happy but only because the idea makes me feel ridiculous despair. I. Need. To. Live. I shout it out loud lifting my arms up as high as they will reach. I shout as loud as I possibly can and I know it doesn't matter because there is never anyone else here at this time of day. Here I am free but only for a short space in time. By midday this place is at a different chapter in it's never ending story. The park becomes claustrophobic. A different version of it's true self. This is the version I enjoy the most. Alone is good sometimes. And yes, I am sociable but sometimes I relish being alone with no one, just my thoughts and nothing else and no one else to bother me. My crazy brain is bother enough! Don't get me wrong. I love meeting new people. Striking up new subjects for conversation. I have a fondness for hearing words combined in new and unique ways. I love to see someone's face light up when they realize we have something in common but I prefer this to be on my terms. What I don't enjoy is feeling obligated to be polite. Can't I just ignore strangers if I want to? If I were to spy someone now it would feel far too early in the day for pleasantries. I glance upwards to check on the sun's progress but it hasn't fully risen yet. The new day hasn't quite begun. I don't know why I am even worrying about seeing another living being, but my head won't stop. I don't want to feel forced into waving and saying hello to a fellow jogger just because they are performing the same action as I am. Both legs taking turning to pound the ground beneath. Why should it mean we have the potential to become best buds as we blissfully run towards one another?
"Wow. Your legs!"
"What? What about them?"
"They're doing the same as mine!"
"Good grief! You're right. I almost didn't notice."
"Isn't it amazing?"
"Yes!"
"How long have your legs been doing that running thing for?"
"A couple of years."
"Mine too!"
And off we run into the sunrise together, happy in the knowledge that we have absolutely nothing else in common, but we don't need anything else. Future weekends are taken up with our family get-togethers, and as our wives chat and children play and the sun sets we clink our bottles of beer together and smile and celebrate that jogging brought us all together. Even if we run out of things to talk about we can always just run.
I bend over and laugh genuinely at this tiny slice of life I just created and I shout once more:
"I. Need. To. Live!"
This time someone does hear me. An old lady out for an early morning stroll with her dog. As our eyes meet she looks worried and curious but carries on walking. May be a little fastest than before. She looks like she has lived through eight decades. She is still beautiful and I wonder if she is thinking her time will come soon. Eighty is a good age. People say that don't they.
We're close enough now that I can see the pure white hairs on her head move in different directions. Beautiful waves of white light cascading down her shoulders as she passes by. The sun beams through the branches and her hair appears to glisten like millions of tiny particles moving in complete opposition and harmony. Chaos. I feel distracted as the juvenile dawn sunlight is quite magical and I never want it to age and mature into darkness. Emptiness. I shake my head. For some reason I perform a calculation in my head because I can and I smile again and I feel alive. Just a little. I think the shaking may have jump started my brain. Perhaps I should spontaneously shake my head, my body, my soul more often. I might receive some wondering and questioning looks but what the hell. I am almost certain that everyone I meet thinks I am insane. I might as well appear mentally deranged as well as sound it.
Math and Physics make me happy. Excite me. Well they used to and sometimes still can. I also love to retain useless or useful facts, whichever way you prefer to interpret them. Did you know there are approximately 120,000 strands of hair on an average human head. Less if you have black hair and more if you are blonde. Red is somewhere in between. I guess she was probably blonde once. I think she would have suited blonde. In which case the number of hairs increases to about 140,000 so I proceed to divide 140,000 by the number of days in a year, which to be precise is 365.25. I like to be precise. It pains me to not know the exact number of hairs on her head. I laugh again at the absurdity of life. She doesn't even know. She doesn't know that we could sit down on this park bench and I would actually have the time to count each and every individual hair. I find this thought incredibly silly but all too real at the same time. I laugh as I continue with my calculation. The woman begins to walk a little faster away from me and I don't blame her. Did you know that 365.25 days refers to the Julian calendar and is thanks to the Roman emperor, Julius Caesar, who made a proclamation in 46 BC that the calendar year should have 365 days, but that every fourth year should have one extra day. Four years equal exactly. 1461 days, so the average Julian year is exactly 365.25 days. The preciseness of it all it very comforting to me.
Proclamation. What a beautiful and commanding word! The word exudes authority and is actually fun to say. Try it. You must. In fact I also insist you say it in the style of Captain Jean-Luc Pickard. That's how my I used to say it and the reaction was always this pure and perfect creation of the most wondrous giggles animating from my children. The results were always the same. Genuine and bright laughter. The most beautiful sound in the world. The memory has distance and less reality than it used to but the word still reminds me of the book my wife and I would read to our son and daughter. Naked Mole Rat Gets Dressed by Mo Willems. Still photographs appear in my mind of warm and fuzzy bedtimes. Children laughing and snuggles in bed and peculiar bedtime rituals. I say peculiar when I actually mean unique to us as a family. My son loves space. Maybe we influenced him a little, and for a while our children would name all the planets after we read them a bedtime story, which progressed to them both attempting to touch Saturn. Not the real Saturn of course but the solar system which dangled from our son's bedroom ceiling. I'm not sure how that game was invented but I would help to launch each of them so high into the air. The atmosphere. Soaring into the heavens. Their little bodies stretching and reaching with such concentration. I remember encouraging and telling them that one day soon they would be big enough to touch Saturn.
I feel a tear burn my eye. I need to focus. Focus on the calculation. No warm and fuzzy memories. Facts. Facts. Facts. I shake my head again. I am still processing the numbers in my head. Can't. Won't stop. I don't know why I need to know the answer but I know I can't stop until I do. I can't move on to my next task until I achieve the result. The combination of these numbers means nothing. It will not prove anything to anyone else but to me it will feel comfortable. Safe in an uncertain Universe.
Yes! The answer to the sum is approximately 383. I am happy yet annoyed as I hate approximating. Rounding up. It hints at simplicity and life is so much more. It's complex beyond comprehension. There is no real reason why I wanted to know this except that it temporarily occupied my mind. For a short while numbers occupied the space in my head. Not sounds. Ugly sounds. Screams. Sounds I can't and do not wish to describe. Oh God, why will these obsessions never end. Numbers are better. 383 divided by twenty-four. Nearly there. My breathing slows down. I could count fifteen hairs per hour and by the end of a year I would know how many hairs are sprouting from her head like silver fairy wings. Almost transparent. I could count more in an hour. Of course I could but my calculation has determined fifteen and that's what I must do. Sleep of course will not be an option. Fifteen per hour. No more. No less.
I start to feel anxiety as I realize she is disappearing into the distance. I clutch my chest and collapse in a heap and feel true despair. I ponder if she will ever really disappear from this world. This space. Everything I have experienced, the experiments. I use the word experiment in it's loosest term. I doubt very much that I can claim what I have experienced had anything to do with science but a lot to do with deranged and indestructible men. Yes, I have been involved with procedures which were initiated to make a discovery. Life or death. We had no idea. We tested an hypothesis over and over so yes they were experiments but I was naive, which is surprising since I love cold hard facts. Results that prove and demonstrate a known fact. They, we, I, took far too many risks. We never knew what the outcome would be. We could only guess and hope. It was and is an addiction but now I realize and understand how much pain my dependence has caused. Pain and misery that I can never fix because I was too caught up in the moment. The excitement. I was too busy getting my fix!
Did the results really prove anything? I don't know. My brain tells me that I am invincible but am I really? Is anyone? Evidence is telling me I am but my mind, my body, my soul cannot comprehend. I have survived so much. If everyone is like me then that means no one can ever die but isn't dying inevitable for all living things? Or am I special? Am I the only one of a select few? But why me? I think it's easier to believe that life is like this for everyone because what makes me extraordinary? Nothing. Not one aspect of me. There is only one unique fact about his whole crap and that is, I know. I KNOW! Everyone else around me expects death. Some fear it and some accept it and some do both but all believe it will happen one day. One way or another. It is a certainty like leaves falling in the Fall. Actually they don't simply fall but trees throw their leaves off. Discard them. As the days grow shorter and colder, those changes trigger a hormone and send a chemical message to each and every leaf that it is time to die. Perhaps dying is good. Time to go and make way for something new.
Certainties I can deal with. I like to know that events will happen no matter what I do at particular moments. I cannot affect those occasions. They are written in stone. They are permanent and cannot be changed. A standard that is durable and will always occur. Our lives end. We are born into an unbalanced world. I recall one child telling me they were born in heaven. I love the innocence of his statement. He believed this unconditionally. Perhaps we, the human race, are always trying to achieve balance. An equilibrium. Stability. A certainty. An action should equal one result, not two or more. Just one outcome. One possibility.
This is the moment I decide to move. I have to. I cannot stop life or what the universe has in store for me. Standing still won't prevent anything so I have to be part of whatever this is and do my best.
That's all I can do. I need to protect my family and prevent them from feeling anymore pain. Pain that I have caused. The screams in my head. They are imagined. I will never experience them. They will never be real for me but I know somewhere they are real for the people I love the most. More real than my heart beating. I head down the path and begin with a gentle jog but it isn't enough. I need to feel pain. Faster, faster, faster. I begin to feel beads of sweat appear. It isn't enough. Faster, faster, faster. I need to feel alive. My lungs are yearning. Pleading for oxygen. I'm struggling to breathe but I can't stop. Boom, boom, boom. I try to keep in time with each beat of my heart. I am sprinting so fast I feel sick. The malodorous taste of vomit is creeping it's way into my mouth. I have to keep going. I suddenly realize that most adjectives which characterize vomit could be used to describe evil too, and so I delight at the thought. I savor the evil in my mouth. I run as if death itself is chasing me which amuses me since he can chase all he wants to but he will never catch me. Never. Sweat is pouring down my face, my chest, like rain down a window pane. Like a crying sky. Transparent streaks of hopelessness. Still I persist. The Fall sky assists my determination. I am breathless. I wish that were literal. To be out of breath completely would imply my mortality. I'm not even sure what that means anymore though if I had a dictionary to hand it would say: Mortality means 'the state of being subject to death'. Am I a subject? Am I dependent? Do I need death as much as I require life?
Running makes me feel mortal. I continue. Pushing harder. The puddles I run through serve to wash away some of the misery I hold on to. Fountains of water spread upwards. I feel them on my legs attempting to cleanse away my torment. The streams of water move and disperse like the branches of a tree. Spreading and making new connections. My thoughts are distractions and that's why I never listen to music when I run. That would be a pleasant diversion that I do not deserve. I surrender to the irresistible motion of my body. My actions becoming instinctive and almost require no thought. My legs, my feet, my arms keep hammering out a rhythmic beat on the concrete path. Virtually in time with my very essence. I know I will ache tomorrow. Running on hard ground always hurts more but I want to hurt so that's acceptable. I need to feel physical pain. I have an urge to torture myself even more. Ridiculous, I know but I can't help myself. I am now breathing so hard it is completely unbearable.
One, two three. I start counting with every beat of my heart. I count each moment a foot hits the ground like the beating of a drum summoning a deathly spirit. Keeping in time. All the while I am willing the spirits to open up the earth and consume me. Offering myself as sacrifice. Take me and end all of this. No more. Numbers fill my head and I think of nothing else until I collapse. My lungs are screaming for mercy. I hold my stomach tightly willing the vomit to surge out of my mouth. Pushing the vile out of my body and my cramping muscles assist the relief. I lie back on the grass satisfied. My eyes are closed and I am savoring the moment. Delighting in the pain I caused my body and that may be I have expelled all evil from it. I wait until my body recovers. Slowly my pulse returns to normal and my breathing steadies. I deliberately open my eyes. Some part of me is hoping that life is normal once more and that none of the events of the past year ever happened. I am living a usual and very ordinary but remarkable life with my beautiful wife and two children. Have I been dreaming and will I now suddenly wake up and find normalcy? What the hell is normal anyway? Is it whatever we become used to? I don't know anymore. My eyes are open and I notice the rising sun has born another day. Another day in the life of Jack Meyer.
Chapter 2
Jets of freezing water cascade down my skin, caressing my overworked muscles. Provoking. Touching. Looking for a reaction but I give none. I stand perfectly still, absorbed in the moment. The water seeming to wash away all of my irritations. And there are many. Why does life enjoy annoying me? Prodding and poking. Bullying. I prefer to ignore its challenges and turn up the temperature. That's much better. The hot water envelopes me like an angel's wings. Soothing and reassuring. The droplets of water are now like soft feathers stroking my skin. The heat is calming. I close my eyes and lose all track of time.
"Jack. Are you finished? I need to shower too."
"What time is it?"
"7.30am."
"Shit. I'm going to be late!"
Minutes later I am dressed. I race to the kitchen and sneak a bite out of Phoebe's toast and kiss her briefly on the lips. Leaving behind crumbs which I gently wipe away from her fascinating lips.
"Jasmyn and Henry! Come and say goodbye to your Dad. Sorry guys. Got to go."
I hug them so tightly, as I always do, and kiss the tops of their heads. I still instinctively smell their hair and bury my nose in their smell whilst attempting to scent them with mine. I am declaring my ownership of these two amazing tiny beings. I am almost trying to consume their very fiber, just like I did when they were babies. Habits are habits for a reason and I love it. They look up at me and smile with such innocence. The world around them is still so new and they are still so trusting. Smell triggers memories and I want to remember my family's smells. Even the absolutely awful ones they emit occasionally and that cause them to laugh so raucously. I could never be mad. A laugh so infectious. Though I do always insist on good manners too, my obligatory frowning when the smells occur is mostly for Phoebe's benefit. She is a stickler for politeness and I agree but I have to admit I find it hilarious when my children burp and fart and I completely regress each time it happens, and occasionally the frowning will be followed by a very sneaky wink.
"Bye Dad." Their little grins make me ready to face the day.
Erwin chirps and nods her head as though she is saying goodbye too. She gently presses her silky body next to my legs and I bend down to stroke her velvety fur.
Erwin chirps and nods her head as though she is saying goodbye too. She gently presses her silky body next to my legs and I bend down to stroke her velvety fur.
"Yes Erwin, I belong to you."
I cherish our rituals and no matter what I have to face, life is ok. In fact life is great as long as I have my family.
"Bye. I love you." Phoebe shouts but her voice sounds more like a sigh as I am already closing the car door. I almost forget to look in my mirror and see that all three of them are waving ceremoniously. I love that. I gently accelerate and all the time I have a big smile on my face and think about how much I love them. I relish in the complete ordinariness of our lives.
I need to stay in a good mood so I try not to think about the fact I have to meet the new head of department today. No, I'll think about that when I get there. No point in wasting time thinking about it now and so I press play on the CD player. Jasmyn and Henry's favorite song, Buck Rogers by Feeder plays.
It is actually one of my favorite songs, but of course I have every right to influence my children with the type of music I like to listen to. I remember Phoebe telling me a long time ago about a friend who she visited when her baby was almost one and the only CD's in her friend's car were nursery rhymes. Her friend gave her a ride to their destination and after an hour of listening to Little Bo Peep for the hundredth time, Phoebe vowed she would only ever play her future children 'real' music. I am certain nursery rhymes could be used as a form of torture but I am sure it wasn't as bad as Phoebe recalls though as memories have a habit of changing over time and Phoebe does like to add feelings and extra events to existing stories. I am sure it was painful to listen to but now part of me feels bad that our children don't know all the childhood songs and nursery rhymes I did, but then again what are they really missing out on. Some psychotic farmer's wife hacking off mice's tails with a carving knife? Really! I think they will be fine growing up on decent music. Well, decent in my opinion.
I instinctively tap my fingers along to the beat. I start to sing along but I always get the words wrong which always annoys my wife but mainly because she has an irritating ability for remembering lyrics. If I die first she will fondly remember my incompetence but for now, yes, it will remain an annoyance.
Chapter 3
I don't remember the impact. I don't remember my car imploding and the doors escaping like they were ill fitting clothes. I don't remember that this particular morning was unexpectedly foggy. I don't remember the haze of the sun striving to breach through the mist of clouds. I do remember constantly attempting to wipe my windows as the steam obscured my vision and I do recall a couple of times thinking: "I can't see a damn thing!"
The road I travel twice daily is a notorious accident spot but I always keep a safe distance. I just don't trust other drivers and drive warily of other aggressive drivers. I have a good track record. I really do. Well except two days after I first passed my driving test, though car accidents are defined as two or more cars colliding. I'm sure of that, so technically my first accident wasn't an accident. The only items involved were my car, which was a very old Austin Metro my father had bought for me, and the wall separating our drive from our neighbor's. I managed to wedge my car under the brick wall and our neighbor kindly helped my dad to lift my car out of the way whilst his son some how stabilized the wall. I'm impressed the wall did not come crashing down. I was only seventeen and somehow that has been the worst incident until now. Well disregarding two very near misses which were way too close for comfort.
They say that your life flashes before you when you and the universe think you are going meet your maker but that isn't true. I was still humming and trying to sing along to Buck Rogers. I don't know why. Maybe I needed to focus on something good whilst something bad was happening. Perhaps to try and cancel out the unpreventable. A very simple way to word it but that's the truth.
Stop.
Everything stops. I am frozen in time. No beginning, no middle, no end. I just am. I exist in this moment but the moment has no clear definition. I am nothingness and nowhere. My life has been unexpectedly paused. There is only complete silence but I realize the silence is only real in my head. Perhaps I was attempting to block out the sound of my own screams. Shock does strange things to one's mind and body. Reality is such a temporary existence and some experiences are too bewildering to comprehend that occasionally our mind says no. A very definite and unrelenting no to certain experiences. Why bother acknowledging pain and suffering if there is a momentary alternative. Phoebe often comments that besides herself I am one of the most stubborn people she has ever had the pleasure of knowing. I actually think she means this as a compliment.
I want to live. I need to live. I am drifting.
I am suddenly jolted back into reality or at least what appears to be. I hear music. At least I think I do. Where is it coming from? The tune, the words lend verisimilitude to the situation I presently find myself in.
"I've got a brand car, looks like a jaguar..."
Shit. Am I ok? I think so. I try to wriggle my fingers and toes. If I can do that then I think I might have survived whatever just happened. Shit. Shit. I think I'm ok. May be if I think it enough I will be. I begin to imagine my family at my funeral. I know I am alive. I know I am not dead. Well I think I'm not, but I still picture my beautiful wife weeping uncontrollably and my children in shock. I picture our cat meowing inconsolably wondering where I am.
What's that burning smell? I feel frustration and annoyance that the car might be on fire. Why don't I feel scared or worried. Crazy I know but really it is incredibly irritating. I've realized some kind of accident has happened. Whatever happened it was so fast and yet so slow that I had time to think random and completely unnecessary thoughts like what I was going to buy for lunch today. Why does time move so slowly when something bad happens? Shouldn't good parts of life happen slowly so we have the opportunity to savor them? That would make more sense. I consider time. Is it a constant or variable. So many theories and philosophies ache my brain. I have always believed that time is a variable. So many occasions I've noticed time moving at apparently different speeds. I giggle to myself as I remember the comment Phoebe always makes when we've had so much fun together and became unaware of time: "I think there is a glitch in the Matrix." I smile again. Ouch. My face and arm sting. Why do I feel heat? I think the airbag deployed. Yes. I am sure it did. Why does everything ache and why do I feel a burning sensation? I glance around and I can't see flames thank god but what is that odd burning smell?
I try to focus. I close my eyes and concentrate on the song still playing. I assume I must have pressed the repeat button at some point this morning. I usually do that instinctively as Jasmyn and Henry always ask for one for time and I always comply.
I am still waiting for my life's story. Where is the flashing? I feel disappointed there isn't any. Isn't my life supposed to flash before my eyes? Strangely enough people who have never experienced death close up say that. How do they even know and how can 41 years, 3 days, 2 hours and... not sure of the minutes or seconds... be relived in just a few minutes. How can that many years and and days and minutes flash before me. Doesn't make any sense whatsoever and of course it didn't happen.
I have no idea how long I have been lying here trapped inside this metal cage. I can only hazard guess as I am gradually losing track of how many times Buck Rogers has played. Ten or fifteen minutes probably. I abhor approximations. I like to be specific but for now I have no choice.
I thank the universe for keeping me conscious. That song saved my life. It is undeniable to me. This might be the only time in my life I have felt absolute gratitude that an unpreventable force succeeded in preventing from falling asleep.
I drift again... "Jasmyn please go to sleep. Please." I am almost certain that Phoebe and I did not sleep for the first three months of Jasmyn's life. It was worse for Phoebe since I couldn't feed Jasmyn. If it had been physically possible I would have. My lack of sleep was mainly due to guilt and the fact I could sense Phoebe's annoyed gaze if I dared to close my eyes. I suppose you could say that those first three months we both slept like a baby. As in constantly awake! Where did that phrase even originate from? It makes no sense. All parents know that babies do not like to sleep or at least they enjoy keeping their new, terrified and inexperienced parents awake. I smile at the absurdity. Oh how I longed to sleep then but now I am trying my damnedest to remain aware and alert but the energy required is quickly waning.
"Sir?! Sir. Are you ok? Can you tell me your name? Sir?"
"Jack..Wal..." My surname is almost inaudible but I am so tired and repeating myself would require far too much effort.
I am so tired. The voice I hear seems to possess a firm but empathetic quality. I trust them and I know I am safe. Sleep is insistent. So persistent and determined that I should listen, and I finally apologize and tell Sleep she was right all along.
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
~
Thank you so so much for commenting. Sorry it's taken me this long to respond. I'm back and ready to carry on. I need to read yours again and catch up with everything :)
Thanks for reading mine t https://tablo.io/sabrina-casti...
One thing I noticed ( a weird thing) is that the font size is v small on your page! I would probably break it into some more paragraphs as it's just a bit intimidating to read!
The opener really moved me. it was perhaps a bit heavy but you can swing more to the tell end of the tell/show spectrum when you have a 1st person POV.
On p2 'are both trees...' this is a question but doesn't have a question mark.
I liked this - I like introversion, I like detail, but be warned that not everyone does. Too much introversion can slow the pace.
That said you have a beautiful, quiet, solemn atmos here which I really love.
Thank you. I love the comments you made and will be writing and rewriting and moving words around. I did think that the first chapter was too long but I was aiming to show despair. The first chapter is actually near the end of the story but I am not sure if that's exactly clear. I'm glad you like the funny parts. Writing isn't as easy as I thought it would be but it will be worth it in the end. I love the pace of your story. I had a chance to read today.
Some comments: I'm a fan of 1st person POV because it allows you to delve in a character's thoughts more naturally. So I liked the fact that we get a lot of the character's thoughts. However, I find that pacing picks up if you have a mix of thoughts, actions, and dialogue. Long bits of interior monologue can sometimes be problematic. The same goes for too much of anything, I suppose. One thing I noticed a lot is that you are asking lots of questions. I think every so often is fine, but there are many back to back. One part I liked was when you had two people running making comments about how they both can run. That was funny and showed your character's sense of humor a bit. That and the interactions with her cat. I'd suggest something I've heard a lot. "Start as close to the end as possible." This means if you can get to main conflict of the story earlier, then try to do that. This will help engage the reader and keep them hooked if they know what's at stake. Hope some or all of this helps. Good luck! I clicked +1 Like on your novel as well. Stick with it! Here's mine as well, if you get a chance to look at it. https://tablo.io/philip-overby...
And thank you for liking. Please feel free to comment. I would love to know your thoughts.