Memories of the Deceased: Part 1

Darkness

A cold wind enveloped the cityscape. The world had found its eternal dusk; I had gone too far to find myself in darkness, and lacked the knowledge and method to find a technique to utilize to get me out of this hole, perhaps this whole, as in whole entirety. Creation. Worthlessness. Spaced out thoughts. Need a boost.

The moon shimmers brilliantly on my darkened flesh, a mess of the needle marks as I futilely attempted to be rid of the light of this world.

I had nearly succeeded; only to relapse into the realm of the living, bask in the torment that is this world. If only I could find a vein to stick myself, I could finally exit this world and enter into a realm of shadowy bliss. I could feel a change in the pace of the world. I felt a change in the pace of the world. I would feel a change in the pace of the world. I was going to finally succeed. I finally succeed. I had finally succeeded.

I look about to see—nothing. The world became a blur of lines to me. These lines had to mean something. They had to have their worth. Was I to snort them? Again, my mind finds its way into the gutter, dwells on addiction, stresses recovery, and merely enjoys the changing pace of things. Like myself, my mind is an animal. It has much difficulty sitting still, just as I do.

The moon glowed disturbingly deep red, crimson ooze that seemed to find its way onto the surface of my eye. Evil wanted to enter me; it wanted to become me. This, I would simply not allow. I slammed my head upon the pavement. Harder, and harder, and harder. I needed to get out of this world now. I needed to escape in order to prevent me from doing injury to myself or any of this world’s creatures. No, I was not injuring myself. I was liberating myself. I am liberating myself. I am liberated.

Light

An invigorating early summer breeze brought hope to the valley. The sun shimmered, reflecting off my spoon, forcing me to divert my gaze. Good times were coming to this town. Better times were surely just beyond that. Family and friends kept things in line. Balance. Order.

I look about to see the freshly cut lawn; it was an image of perfection embedded on my brain. It was complete perfection for a world in perfect order. Flowers blossomed brilliantly in this blessed world left entirely unblemished.

I was certain to greet my neighbor, who was ecstatic to see me in good health and getting along with this world. My prosperity was his prosperity he would always inform me. My suffering was his suffering. My neutrality was his neutrality. My thoughts were his thoughts. So long as they were happy thoughts, I would attest to this being most certainly true.

This world simply could not let me down. Any obstacle it would throw at me I would most certainly overcome. To a neighborhood dispute, the nonviolent solution was the only solution. This world, even with its brightness, still had its dark patches. To this extent, I would certainly serve as this world’s mediator. Given the sick and the dying, I would dispense only kind words. I wanted to motivate these folks to recover.

I continued to tend to my garden, keeping the plants perfectly watered. These were full-time duties that I had taken on. These were not missions for the weak. At the same time, these missions did not require the strong either. They merely required a diligent soul. The tomatoes appeared to be thriving. This had to be a sign of good things to come.

Darkness

Through the darkness, light still managed to shine its way through. No. I wanted the fucking darkness. I needed the fucking darkness. I needed the addiction. I most certainly needed to shoot up again. Perhaps I was at the point where a little cross-tolerance wouldn’t hurt. I could booze up at the same time, and these two downs would combine to hopefully bring about the ever-elusive darkness.

Success! The bleeding moon was back. The blood blanket covering my body and the spaces near my body was to die for. So I could have always died. No, I must not die. I looked at my hand. It was crawling with maggots. These maggots had bigger fangs than I ever imagined maggots to have, and the bite they had stung so greatly, and found a way to invite excess crimson to ooze from my own being now. I would have to swat these fucking cretins from my body. Swatting was not effective. The only way to get at these things was to pick. I picked to pick just like an addict; not really to be a dick, but whom the fuck cares about this shit?

The darkness cared. It was inviting. Its mystery was intriguing. Its relief was invigorating. Its elusiveness was irritating. The elusion was certainly allusion to the trouble to come in pursuing darkness and living with darkness. It had a nasty habit of showing up in full swing just before it departed.

To fall off, the darkness departed. To get on, the darkness was invited. With each departure, the urge to reinitiate invitation was becoming greater and greater. Perhaps I could finally become an addict.

Perhaps I already had become an addict. No matter, darkness was what was required to get through the days. Darkness was the only thing that could protect me. Darkness hopefully would not find a way to lead to my downfall.