This, to be honest, is kind of weird and you may not understand purely because it is the beginning of a project i hope to carry on with over a period ot time. I hope you like it. I'd love some help with it though so please, i don't mind what your idea is, tell me!!! Oooo critism is good too! enjoy x mim
More added today! (17/12/04)
All I can see is the ceiling, but my mind’s eye peers further. Through brick and mortar, through the frames to what surrounds it. Above and below is just a boundless extremity of space filled with monstrosities, painful to the senses, as well as unimaginable beauty which lives deep inside us all.
And each and every thing visible has something hidden in it, whether its an engagement ring or the cure for cancer, its hidden nonetheless. The inhabitants surrounding, seeing, touching, hearing, sometimes even sensing, these things aren’t really that different from their scenery.
Everyone has a story to tell, a hidden dream or a dark secret, which could send their pretty little world crashing to the ground and shattering their once fragile existence into a million irreplaceable pieces.
Each person has a vault, a chamber in their heart, full of thoughts, emotions, deeds, acts and wishes that they have the one and only key to. And no matter how much you try and loosen their grip on this unique key you will never be able to even glimpse it, let alone touch it. They hold onto that key tightly in their clenched fist. And no matter how much they grasp harder, letting it dig into their palm, no matter how long they watch the tiny rivers of blood trickle over their knuckles, not once, no, never will they release that key from their fist like consciousness.
But. What if their grip did loosen? What if we could gain access to those most secret and precious thoughts? What would we find? We could unleash the curse of Pandora’s box and then we’d curl up into a corner and hide from the once hidden, but now unleashed things.
You’d realise why they were hidden in the first place and you’d wish to God that you left the key where it belongs.
*
He lay on the all too familiar couch and just gazed at the darkness threatening to take over. He could see it everywhere providing a morbid decoration for the world he saw.
The door opened, startling Him out of his thoughts, and there It stood. All white coat, unblinking eyes and clipboard. He flinched as the eyes stared through him, practically severing him in half. He tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid eyecontact – but those eyes! There was just something about them. They were compelling eyes. They were magnets, drawing all to their unfaltering gaze.
Each step It took increased the fear rising in him. It made every hair stand up defensively, it put every nerve on edge. After an eternity of seconds It reached the desk and stood in superior silence peering into the very essence of His soul.
Pictures flicked through Its eyes – children on a swing, ice-cream on the floor, blood covered knives, rows upon rows of coffins, tears falling to the ground in almighty droplets, satanic smiles – each one more disturbing and heart renching than the other. Each image heightened the fear yet knowledge of the coat that stood before Him.
In the background, a strong but subtle beat resounded as the room, once spacious, seemed to contract, altering from large to minute in milliseconds. The heat, which had never presented itself before that moment, increased tenfold, causing small droplets to appear on His forehead and trickle down His nose into His mouth, reminding Him that at least his taste buds were working correctly.
You think He would be used to this by now – two years of three times a week, one hour at a time, £150 a go. But Oh no – not him, He was different. While everyone else grew stronger and more confident after each session, He drew more into himself, even more secluded, hiding away and delving into his thoughts – creating worry-free insecurity.
Returning from his confused state of mind to the room in which he lay, Its presence was felt more so. He cautiously turned his head to the side to find the coat poised comfortably on the hard, leather exterior of the armchair staring intently with eyes that scared the hell out of him. It took a long, deep breath, exhaled and began.
“Tell me your story”. It murmured in a monotone, barely audible unless in close proximity. And He was close – almost too close. He could feel Its’ breath on his hands – warm yet eerily cold – as It wormed its’ way through his body, delving into every pore.
“I can’t tell you, You’d never understand.” His story was a dark and dreary one. A story - a creator of fears. It was a story that felt like a presence, the story is the movement you glimpse in the dark, the object you close your eyes tight to. But when you are enveloped in the ‘safety’ of darkness the danger and fear becomes more apparent. His story was that.
If He told the Story He’d never be able to close his eyes again for the overwhelming terror of seeing it al replay, seeing the images which threatened to haunt His days as well as His night.
“It’s easier than you think, open yourself to me. I won’t judge you, I’ll just listen.”
‘How would you know?’ He thought. ‘Easier said than done’ resounded in his head.
But wasn’t this session about facing up to the unknown? Trying new things, facing up to your past… and inevitably your Demons.
I NEED HELP! Can you think of a better title suited to the story? If you do please either post it below or Send it to me in a P.M. Thanx x
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