- Mar 18, 2010
- 34
- 1
- Faith
- Christian
- Marital Status
- Single
- Politics
- US-Libertarian
this is my first foray out of the poetical world and into short stories. hope you enjoy!!
The man awakens. He is lying on a bed of jumbled rocks,
covered in bruises and blood. He looks around him, he notices
he is at the bottom of a cliff, surrounded by trees, and the
stars glare at him from their unreachable thrones. "How did I
get here?" he wonders. "Oh my god, who am I?" He can not
remember anything but a pale shadow of dark emotions. At the
top of the cliff he notices motion. Turning his aching neck,
aiming his eyes skyward, he sees a fleeting glimpse of a
figure.
A quick flash of what seems to be dark hair flutters
through his vision. He feels his body beginning to fall away
like a great burden slipping. He sees himself suspended on a
pane of glass, somehow viewing his twisted body from above
and below at the same time. He is floating in a vast void,
utter blackness engulfs him with the slow but forceful touch
of an endless ocean. His peripheral vision widens until he
can see a full 360 degrees around him, but there is nothing
to be seen. Suddenly, out of the inky black miasma, a face
appears.
The face comes more and more into focus, until he can see
it is the face of a beautiful woman. A sense of familiarity
tickles his consciousness. She is seemingly right in front of
him, whatever he is. "Am I human, a ghost, a god, a demon, or
something else entirely?" he asks himself.
Then, the spectral woman opens her mouth. A low hum begins
to emerge from the gaping maw. It sounds like the grinding of
tectonic plates, it sounds like a flowing river, it sounds
like the chanting of thousands of otherworldly devotees of
some bizarre cult. It is all these things and yet none of
these things. The cacophonic noise coalesces into one
sentence. "You said you just wanted to forget." This sentence
repeats itself, over and over, seeming to come from her mouth
and his mouth and the mouth of the void he floats in. He
hears it in the voice of every person he has ever met, but
when he focuses on it, it is just the gossamer voice of a
young woman. The sentence is now being repeated so many times
it is bleeding into itself, and eventually it fuzzes out
completely, into an ambient fog of nonexistent gibberish, and
back into the sound like the gears of reality catching upon
one another. A high pitched beep comes in.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. A blinding flash of white light.
Beep. He opens his eyes. Beep. He sees blurred faces. Beep.
He realizes he is in a hospital bed. The beeping comes from
the machine monitoring his heartbeat. The room is a blur of cold
white, pale green, and corpse blue. Things begin to swim into
focus. The voices of the people in the room with him are a soup
of syllables, indecipherable to his weary ears. One of the
blurred figures draped in white breaks away from the pack and
crosses the foggy room to his bed.
The figure says Mburlyng saido avvar hud. He is met with
a blank stare from the man laying in the bed. The figure speaks
again. Can you hear me, young man?
The ravaged body laying on the bed nods his assent, finding
his tongue to be weighed down by an invisible force. He
attempts to speak again, but only small grunts escape his
paralyzed mouth.
He's still out of it. Give me his chart, would you, Kim?
One of the other figures floats across the room and hands a
square object to the head doctor. Hmm. Says here our CAT scan
picked up some minor damage to the hippocampus. There is a good
chance this kid is gonna have some trouble remembering what
happened to him. Give Sgt. Ackerton a call and have him come
on down here. The doctor turns to the man in the bed and says
Son, you need to be getting as much rest as possible. I'm
going to have Nurse Blake here sedate you so you can get some
more sleep. When you wake up, if there's nobody in here,
press that little yellow button next to your right hand.
The group of doctors exit the room, a blob of white and silver
to the eyes of the man in the bed.
The man closes his eyes. Merciful sleep overtakes him, a
dreamless, deep slumber. In what seems like one second, or
ten years, he awakens once more. His vision has become much
clearer, and he notices a jovial looking policeman sitting
opposite to him, reading from a thick manila folder with
numbers scrawled on it in red ink. The policeman looks up and
notices the man staring at him. He slowly lifts his substantial
bulk from the cramped confines of the chair, and lumbers over to
the bed, his slow and purposeful gate belying his enormous
strength. Hey there kid, how ya feeling?
The man struggles to form words, and finally after a few
seconds of grunting and moaning manages to spit out a warbling,
stuttering answer. I-I-I... Urggh... Uhhh... Not so hot sir.
The policeman turns his head to the door and shouts Hey Doc!
He's awake and talking! Get in here as soon as you can! He
turns his attention back to the man on the bed and says So kid,
turns out you got a pretty nasty bump on the head. You fell about 50 feet from that cliff top. Why'd you do it, kid? You
are so young, what made you decide to end it?
The man says I don't remember anything. I don't even
remember who I am. What is going on?
Well, you were found about a week ago by some college kids
at the base of Pierson's Point in Richardson County, Nebraska.
We managed to get your information and we found out that your
name is Branson Moore, and you live and work on the Missouri
side of Kansas City. I've taken the liberty of contacting
some of your co-workers. They should be arriving in a few hours,
and we are gonna try to piece all of this together.
The head doctor barges in, a nurse at his side. Does he
remember anything, Sgt.?
The Sgt. replies He's talkin' now, why don't you ask him
yourself?
Okay, Mr. Moore, can you tell us what happened that night,
and how you ended up at the bottom of that cliff?
Wish I could sir, but I'm still trying to figure out what
my life is all about. I can't remember anything about myself.
Alright son, I'm going to have the nurse sedate you again so
you can rest until your co-workers get here. The nurse crosses
the room and puts a syringe full of hydromorphone into Branson's
IV port. A cloud of warm cotton caresses his mind and body, and
he nods off into oblivion. Hours pass in this twilight world,
and then he notices very familiar voices. He shakes his head to
ward off the opiod fog, and opens his heavy eyes. Two people,
a man and a woman, stand anxiously at the foot of his hospital
bed. The woman sees his open eyes, and leaps across the room to
grab his hand. The man follows close behind her. She speaks in
a clear, lovely voice. Branson, Branson, Oh my god we are so
happy you are alive. When you left the bar that night.... Oh
Branson, what happened to you?
I don't remember. I don't remember anything. I recognize
you two, but I don't know your names.
Oh, well, I am Lacey, and this is Claudio. We work with you
at a bar slash concert venue in KC. Last time we saw you, you
were totally wasted and leaving the bar with some chick who kind
of looked like.... She breaks off here, a look of apprehension
in her eyes. Ummm, Branson... Do you remember Amelia?"
Amelia. Amelia. "Oh god." thought Branson, "I know that
name." A huge icy rush of pain floods his body. He is choking
on a lump the size of a fist, a tiny pathetic fist weakly
attempting to beat back the memories. Oh, how he wished he
could have her back. Oh, how he wished he could just forget.
Sven pats him on the chest, and turns to leave. Branson does
not speak. Lacey mournfully glances at him, and chokingly
says "She was so beautiful, it was such a tragedy when she
killed herself. You've been so depressed lately, drinking
more than even the old Vietnam vets who come in at 9am.
Branson digests this information for a few seconds, then saysI-I-I...I'm afraid I'm going to need some time to think about this.
Lacey replies Of course Bran, of course. We have left our
contact info with the front desk, and we will come pick you up
when they release you. Goodbye, Branson. Don't forget how much
we love you.Branson weakly waves a half-
hearted goodbye in their general direction. Once again, the
mysterious net of sleep wraps itself around his mind. The
hypnagogic images flash past his closed eyes, shades of red
and blue melding together into a jewelled blanket that takes
over his field of vision. And then, nothingness.
He is in an open field, on an autumn morning. Frosty dew
glistens on the blades of grass like a million tiny beacons.
He sees a far away figure approaching. He knows in his heart,
that Amelia has come back for him at last. As she draws
closer, he is filled with a mixed sense of dread and hope.
She walks right up to him and stands inches from his face.
He reaches up and lovingly traces her features with his hand.
Those eyes, like a tunnel into some long-lost world where
everything is perfect. Those lips, smiling and frowning at
the same time, nature's perfect duality. That gorgeous blonde
hair, a river of lights. He notices she is becoming
translucent. His heart sinks, realizing this is but the dream
of a fevered man. The sunrise lit field fades.
Branson is jarred awake by the voice of his doctor. "Son,
you've got a visitor. A young lady." "Ok, Doc, show her in."
In walked a tall, imposing dark-haired woman. She kept her
eyes to the ground, as if timid or afraid. "Hello Branson, I
have missed you." He cannot see her face, her night-black
hair sheltering it from the light. Her voice resonates within
him, an intense sense of familiarity. "Who are you?" he asks.
"My name is Ailema. You probably don't remember me, but trust
me, we know each other." "Why do you seem so familiar?" "Look
into my eyes, Branson, and you will remember." She raises her
head and brushes back her ebony locks. Her eyes stare into
his. Oh, those eyes. Like a tunnel into some long-lost world
where everything is perfect. He feels himself falling apart.
He remembers, he remembers.
Branson is in his living room with his wife, Amelia. She is
crying and smiling at the same time. "Oh, what a walking
contradiction you are, dear. What crazy plan have you come up
with now? This won't be like the time we tried that
Babylonian sex ritual and I was unconscious for 3 hours,
right?" "No, Branson. I am serious this time. I have found
the reason why I'm so supposedly crazy. I share a twin soul
with another woman. If I destroy this body, my soul will no
longer be divided between us. I can start all over, Branson,
and you can too! You have a twin soul, we must find him."
"Honey, please stop with this. We need to get you help."
"No, Branson! I'm not crazy! We can erase our past mistakes
and begin anew, in new bodies!" "Amelia, please! Just calm
down." "I'm leaving, Bran. I will come back for you when you
are ready."
Branson Moore is in a dark, smoky nightclub. A band with 3
guitar players and a full string section is creating a
glorious noise on the stage. The deep-throated roar of the
singer touches him in a long-forgotten, primal place. A
lovely young woman with black hair and sunglasses approaches
him. "Hey there cutie, wanna dance? I might even let you take
me home if you're lucky" "No thanks. Your cute and all, but I
am not in any kind of emotional shape to be going home with
anyone." "Oh, what's wrong, did the poor baby get dumped by a
mean old crazy lady?" "If you must know, my wife committed
suicide not too long ago. I wouldn't be at this show, but I
work here." "Hmmph. You are Branson Moore then, right?"
Taken aback, he replies "Uh, uh yes. How the heck did you
know that?" "I know you Bran, better than you know yourself,
in fact, you might say, I know Amelia very well too." The
mention of her name breaks something inside of him. A moan
of eternal pain wracks its way out of his chest. "Why did you
have to bring her up? I just wanted to forget. I just wanted
to forget!" The girl removes her sunglasses. Her eyes
glisten, a tunnel into a utopian existence. Branson stares
into them, transfixed. Beneath the surface of the paradise in
her eyes, he can see the evidence of a great and bridgeless
abyss, empty and dead but full of a sinister, serpentine, yet
comforting movement. "Well, come with me then. I'll show you
how to forget, or I might just show you how to remember."
The man awakens. He is lying on a bed of jumbled rocks,
covered in bruises and blood. He looks around him, he notices
he is at the bottom of a cliff, surrounded by trees, and the
stars glare at him from their unreachable thrones. "How did I
get here?" he wonders. "Oh my god, who am I?" He can not
remember anything but a pale shadow of dark emotions. At the
top of the cliff he notices motion. Turning his aching neck,
aiming his eyes skyward, he sees a fleeting glimpse of a
figure.
A quick flash of what seems to be dark hair flutters
through his vision. He feels his body beginning to fall away
like a great burden slipping. He sees himself suspended on a
pane of glass, somehow viewing his twisted body from above
and below at the same time. He is floating in a vast void,
utter blackness engulfs him with the slow but forceful touch
of an endless ocean. His peripheral vision widens until he
can see a full 360 degrees around him, but there is nothing
to be seen. Suddenly, out of the inky black miasma, a face
appears.
The face comes more and more into focus, until he can see
it is the face of a beautiful woman. A sense of familiarity
tickles his consciousness. She is seemingly right in front of
him, whatever he is. "Am I human, a ghost, a god, a demon, or
something else entirely?" he asks himself.
Then, the spectral woman opens her mouth. A low hum begins
to emerge from the gaping maw. It sounds like the grinding of
tectonic plates, it sounds like a flowing river, it sounds
like the chanting of thousands of otherworldly devotees of
some bizarre cult. It is all these things and yet none of
these things. The cacophonic noise coalesces into one
sentence. "You said you just wanted to forget." This sentence
repeats itself, over and over, seeming to come from her mouth
and his mouth and the mouth of the void he floats in. He
hears it in the voice of every person he has ever met, but
when he focuses on it, it is just the gossamer voice of a
young woman. The sentence is now being repeated so many times
it is bleeding into itself, and eventually it fuzzes out
completely, into an ambient fog of nonexistent gibberish, and
back into the sound like the gears of reality catching upon
one another. A high pitched beep comes in.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. A blinding flash of white light.
Beep. He opens his eyes. Beep. He sees blurred faces. Beep.
He realizes he is in a hospital bed. The beeping comes from
the machine monitoring his heartbeat. The room is a blur of cold
white, pale green, and corpse blue. Things begin to swim into
focus. The voices of the people in the room with him are a soup
of syllables, indecipherable to his weary ears. One of the
blurred figures draped in white breaks away from the pack and
crosses the foggy room to his bed.
The figure says Mburlyng saido avvar hud. He is met with
a blank stare from the man laying in the bed. The figure speaks
again. Can you hear me, young man?
The ravaged body laying on the bed nods his assent, finding
his tongue to be weighed down by an invisible force. He
attempts to speak again, but only small grunts escape his
paralyzed mouth.
He's still out of it. Give me his chart, would you, Kim?
One of the other figures floats across the room and hands a
square object to the head doctor. Hmm. Says here our CAT scan
picked up some minor damage to the hippocampus. There is a good
chance this kid is gonna have some trouble remembering what
happened to him. Give Sgt. Ackerton a call and have him come
on down here. The doctor turns to the man in the bed and says
Son, you need to be getting as much rest as possible. I'm
going to have Nurse Blake here sedate you so you can get some
more sleep. When you wake up, if there's nobody in here,
press that little yellow button next to your right hand.
The group of doctors exit the room, a blob of white and silver
to the eyes of the man in the bed.
The man closes his eyes. Merciful sleep overtakes him, a
dreamless, deep slumber. In what seems like one second, or
ten years, he awakens once more. His vision has become much
clearer, and he notices a jovial looking policeman sitting
opposite to him, reading from a thick manila folder with
numbers scrawled on it in red ink. The policeman looks up and
notices the man staring at him. He slowly lifts his substantial
bulk from the cramped confines of the chair, and lumbers over to
the bed, his slow and purposeful gate belying his enormous
strength. Hey there kid, how ya feeling?
The man struggles to form words, and finally after a few
seconds of grunting and moaning manages to spit out a warbling,
stuttering answer. I-I-I... Urggh... Uhhh... Not so hot sir.
The policeman turns his head to the door and shouts Hey Doc!
He's awake and talking! Get in here as soon as you can! He
turns his attention back to the man on the bed and says So kid,
turns out you got a pretty nasty bump on the head. You fell about 50 feet from that cliff top. Why'd you do it, kid? You
are so young, what made you decide to end it?
The man says I don't remember anything. I don't even
remember who I am. What is going on?
Well, you were found about a week ago by some college kids
at the base of Pierson's Point in Richardson County, Nebraska.
We managed to get your information and we found out that your
name is Branson Moore, and you live and work on the Missouri
side of Kansas City. I've taken the liberty of contacting
some of your co-workers. They should be arriving in a few hours,
and we are gonna try to piece all of this together.
The head doctor barges in, a nurse at his side. Does he
remember anything, Sgt.?
The Sgt. replies He's talkin' now, why don't you ask him
yourself?
Okay, Mr. Moore, can you tell us what happened that night,
and how you ended up at the bottom of that cliff?
Wish I could sir, but I'm still trying to figure out what
my life is all about. I can't remember anything about myself.
Alright son, I'm going to have the nurse sedate you again so
you can rest until your co-workers get here. The nurse crosses
the room and puts a syringe full of hydromorphone into Branson's
IV port. A cloud of warm cotton caresses his mind and body, and
he nods off into oblivion. Hours pass in this twilight world,
and then he notices very familiar voices. He shakes his head to
ward off the opiod fog, and opens his heavy eyes. Two people,
a man and a woman, stand anxiously at the foot of his hospital
bed. The woman sees his open eyes, and leaps across the room to
grab his hand. The man follows close behind her. She speaks in
a clear, lovely voice. Branson, Branson, Oh my god we are so
happy you are alive. When you left the bar that night.... Oh
Branson, what happened to you?
I don't remember. I don't remember anything. I recognize
you two, but I don't know your names.
Oh, well, I am Lacey, and this is Claudio. We work with you
at a bar slash concert venue in KC. Last time we saw you, you
were totally wasted and leaving the bar with some chick who kind
of looked like.... She breaks off here, a look of apprehension
in her eyes. Ummm, Branson... Do you remember Amelia?"
Amelia. Amelia. "Oh god." thought Branson, "I know that
name." A huge icy rush of pain floods his body. He is choking
on a lump the size of a fist, a tiny pathetic fist weakly
attempting to beat back the memories. Oh, how he wished he
could have her back. Oh, how he wished he could just forget.
Sven pats him on the chest, and turns to leave. Branson does
not speak. Lacey mournfully glances at him, and chokingly
says "She was so beautiful, it was such a tragedy when she
killed herself. You've been so depressed lately, drinking
more than even the old Vietnam vets who come in at 9am.
Branson digests this information for a few seconds, then saysI-I-I...I'm afraid I'm going to need some time to think about this.
Lacey replies Of course Bran, of course. We have left our
contact info with the front desk, and we will come pick you up
when they release you. Goodbye, Branson. Don't forget how much
we love you.Branson weakly waves a half-
hearted goodbye in their general direction. Once again, the
mysterious net of sleep wraps itself around his mind. The
hypnagogic images flash past his closed eyes, shades of red
and blue melding together into a jewelled blanket that takes
over his field of vision. And then, nothingness.
He is in an open field, on an autumn morning. Frosty dew
glistens on the blades of grass like a million tiny beacons.
He sees a far away figure approaching. He knows in his heart,
that Amelia has come back for him at last. As she draws
closer, he is filled with a mixed sense of dread and hope.
She walks right up to him and stands inches from his face.
He reaches up and lovingly traces her features with his hand.
Those eyes, like a tunnel into some long-lost world where
everything is perfect. Those lips, smiling and frowning at
the same time, nature's perfect duality. That gorgeous blonde
hair, a river of lights. He notices she is becoming
translucent. His heart sinks, realizing this is but the dream
of a fevered man. The sunrise lit field fades.
Branson is jarred awake by the voice of his doctor. "Son,
you've got a visitor. A young lady." "Ok, Doc, show her in."
In walked a tall, imposing dark-haired woman. She kept her
eyes to the ground, as if timid or afraid. "Hello Branson, I
have missed you." He cannot see her face, her night-black
hair sheltering it from the light. Her voice resonates within
him, an intense sense of familiarity. "Who are you?" he asks.
"My name is Ailema. You probably don't remember me, but trust
me, we know each other." "Why do you seem so familiar?" "Look
into my eyes, Branson, and you will remember." She raises her
head and brushes back her ebony locks. Her eyes stare into
his. Oh, those eyes. Like a tunnel into some long-lost world
where everything is perfect. He feels himself falling apart.
He remembers, he remembers.
Branson is in his living room with his wife, Amelia. She is
crying and smiling at the same time. "Oh, what a walking
contradiction you are, dear. What crazy plan have you come up
with now? This won't be like the time we tried that
Babylonian sex ritual and I was unconscious for 3 hours,
right?" "No, Branson. I am serious this time. I have found
the reason why I'm so supposedly crazy. I share a twin soul
with another woman. If I destroy this body, my soul will no
longer be divided between us. I can start all over, Branson,
and you can too! You have a twin soul, we must find him."
"Honey, please stop with this. We need to get you help."
"No, Branson! I'm not crazy! We can erase our past mistakes
and begin anew, in new bodies!" "Amelia, please! Just calm
down." "I'm leaving, Bran. I will come back for you when you
are ready."
Branson Moore is in a dark, smoky nightclub. A band with 3
guitar players and a full string section is creating a
glorious noise on the stage. The deep-throated roar of the
singer touches him in a long-forgotten, primal place. A
lovely young woman with black hair and sunglasses approaches
him. "Hey there cutie, wanna dance? I might even let you take
me home if you're lucky" "No thanks. Your cute and all, but I
am not in any kind of emotional shape to be going home with
anyone." "Oh, what's wrong, did the poor baby get dumped by a
mean old crazy lady?" "If you must know, my wife committed
suicide not too long ago. I wouldn't be at this show, but I
work here." "Hmmph. You are Branson Moore then, right?"
Taken aback, he replies "Uh, uh yes. How the heck did you
know that?" "I know you Bran, better than you know yourself,
in fact, you might say, I know Amelia very well too." The
mention of her name breaks something inside of him. A moan
of eternal pain wracks its way out of his chest. "Why did you
have to bring her up? I just wanted to forget. I just wanted
to forget!" The girl removes her sunglasses. Her eyes
glisten, a tunnel into a utopian existence. Branson stares
into them, transfixed. Beneath the surface of the paradise in
her eyes, he can see the evidence of a great and bridgeless
abyss, empty and dead but full of a sinister, serpentine, yet
comforting movement. "Well, come with me then. I'll show you
how to forget, or I might just show you how to remember."
