The Past

 

       I am suddenly coughing with blood, lashing out with uncontrollable anger, I am sneezing with a sickness that I could not tell you what. I am begging for mercy, I am pleading for more, scraping the walls, I must find the door. The one that promises to hand me love, but I am wrapped with souls that do not belong to me, I am standing dangerously close, into becoming nothing but a speck of dust. I cannot keep track of days or nights; I have lost time; I have forgotten the meaning or that it simply exists. I wash and bathe, I cook and clean, I give, and I pour, but I do not speak.

    Two summers have passed me by, no one has noticed the shift in myself or the itch of my skin. No one has noticed the strangely quiet behavior or the unexpected loud outburst. I had a heart that was pure and unbreakable, that has now abruptly chipped and shattered, I have pale white skin, but doctors will document that I am still breathing. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here. I am scratching my head until there is no hair left. I am chattering my bones until they are weak with bruises that are unseen. I am laughing at the walls; the patterns amuse me. As luck would so have it, I have stumbled upon the one withholding the keys, he is waiting for me.

     It was a gloomy grey, five o’ clock night, JOE'S COFFEE shop was ringing silent, with thirty minutes left to enjoy the steaming smells that soothed my thirst. Although I presumed alive, I was a sitting corpse, but the coffee excited my belly. A man's voice was strong enough to wake my body from the pull of the darkness. This voice was raspy and deep, it sang with harmony and slapped the chills in my face, I suddenly realized how powerless I felt, how useless I had become. Through his eyes that looked like portals, I am blinded with flashbacks, I have seen all that I am and all that were before me. His scrawny hands held to me, they were deceivable, because he was pulling me out of the dead forest from where my spirit that I was trapped in. He was yanking my roots from the ground, my body shook, I was faint as I was pale, I was plunged to the stomach and spirals locked my skin and squeezed my chest, my mouth was dry as it hung open, veins bulged across my forehead, and I was speechless though I dare to speak. Help has finally breached.

      The grey-haired man smelled of cigarettes and honey biscuits. He was average height, but you could not tell due to his minor hunch, he was covered in wrinkles, he was assumed to be weak with his limp and his circular thick, wide glasses. He slipped a note on the crimson wood bar with an address to where we should meet.

     Minutes have carried on, as I have been jolted awake with a strong male voice, he was collecting my coffee cup and the saucer. Open hours passed, machines were shutting down, chairs were meeting the tables, countertops were wiping down, and once again I have lost time through my sleep. My legs are wobbling as I am standing to the floor, I grab my belongings and head for the door, when the large man stops me with a note that belonged to me. My mind has forgotten, I am completely blank, I do not recall what has happened or who I have seen.  

     I am struggling to find my way and it has gone unnoticeable for the two summers, I have been blind to the hands on the clock.

The world continues to revolve, I am an auto pilot, cooking and cleaning, cooking and cleaning, but I cannot see. I blink at the dark tv, and I haven’t a hunger to eat. My fist is banging on my noggin to remember the thing that I need to not forget, what was it? The place? My phone is ringing, I glance at it, pitch black. I am crouching into the cornered space, where was I going?

      I am briefly awakened by the scrawny man who has me covered, he is pouring medicine, I am paralyzed on top of a hard table.

He is whispering so fast inside of a language I do not understand, pouring powder over my body as if to pull me out of some kind of dark spell. When he helps me rise, I feel like a robot, my head is dinging, and my arms are sore from holding on. Dust begins to fall from the ceiling, earthquakes shake the ground from beneath. I have braced myself for the shift but there isn’t one. I am still here, just as before, I am me again. 

 

 

-Micah Vincent