Friday, September 22, 2006

Reprise - A Visit to the Past

I want to reprise the beginning of my story, "What Dreams May Come" for those of you who haven't read it. Part two will come on a post next week with part three to follow. So, without further ado, my first story on The O. Enjoy! What Dreams May Come Awash in the down-pour of a rainy afternoon, I walked to the place. Unsure of what I would find, or how I would feel when I got there, I continued. Uncertainty clouded my mind as I approached the first of ten markers along the path. These were a reminder known only to me. Arrested by the knowledge of why they were placed there, I struggled to keep them out of my field of vision. I walked on growing weary of fighting my fears for the past few years. I needed to make peace with the ghosts of the past. To put an end to what was the darkest period in my life. A time that I or my mind won't release. At least not until my sins are cleansed. Marker two Damn, I hate these things. I find myself slowly remembering those days. There's nothing fond about them. What I did, who I was, and what I became as a result of my indiscretions. Some people have quite a few skeletons in there closets. Mine is more like a graveyard; too numerous to count, too many to mention. Marker three My pace is steady. My breathing is normal. My mind is cluttered. Why must I replay those events over and over again? The ground is slick and wet, just like that day. It was raining then, too. A bit harder, though. My feet were soaked and there was so much rain. No traction. No grip. Why was I here? To commune with the past or was it to drive out its demons. I had to go. Whether I wanted to or not, I had to. Marker four Drops cascade down my face as I move on. Eyes to the ground, never looking up. I don't like those damn things, not one bit. I swear, every time I think it’s safe to look up, I see another marker. It's almost instinctive. It's like my mind knows they're coming and my eyes want to check. They have significants. For me, at least. Only for me. Marker five Half way there. Man, I'm exhausted. I should've brought some food or even a little water. I had forgotten how long a walk this was. It was a lot shorter back then. Only twelve paces. That's all it took. I stop and tilt my head back. I open my mouth and hold out my arms as if to surrender to the storm. The water is refreshing to my tongue. It creeps down my chin and past my collar, onto my warm chest. The cold stings at first, but then the drop evaporates. I wish these thoughts would disappear; like that rain drop. Then again, this drop was pure. These thoughts and memories, not even close. They wash like tar. Scrubbing and scrubbing yet, I am covered in its inky, sticky, blackness. No escape, lest I use a harsher method. That's just up ahead. Five down, five to go. Damn, I hate those things. Marker six Still moving. Still thinking. Still dreading. The solitary white posts were placed just to the right side of the road. They stand eerily illuminated in the pale light of the afternoon. The rain has finally let up into a light drizzle. It seems as though it’s following me. Never giving me a moment’s peace. Serving as a constant reminder of the past. Some say that rain is cleansing; as for me, all it does is cloud and pour. Marker seven Up ahead I see a familiar sight. A sight I've never forgotten. The sight of a dead oak tree with hardly any leaves. I can still see the claw marks. God, they were beautiful hands. I could feel them running through my hair; they were so soft and delicate. I stop to shake off the memory as if it were clinging to the back of my head. Stop it. Leave me alone. I have to make it. I have to go. I walk on, leaving the tree behind me. It makes me sick to look at it. I wipe the rain from my face and there just up ahead, I see it. A pale white post. They're irritating to me now. Marker eight I trudge along the path as I feel the whip of my boot lace against my ankle. I walk to the marker post and set my foot upon it to tie my boot. Then it hits me. A million thoughts of what could have been flood my mind. I'm helpless to stop them as they over-take me. I see love and warmth, happiness and mercy. I see a long, fulfilled life with no regrets, only fond heart-felt memories. Memories of friends and families. Good times and celebrations. Oh God, how I long for this. How I desire this conclusion. I awake from what seemed like hours, on my back. Rain and mud, cascading from my face and hands. I stare into the sky, mildly conscious. I'm a mess. Filthy both inside and out. I slowly sit up and look around to get my bearings only to see the marker post directly in front of me. Its clean, white presence fills me with anger. The rain begins to pour down. I climb to my feet and start up again. Just two more. Only two. Marker nine I feel cold and empty. I want to turn around and go home. I have a fire place and hot tea. I could be there. I want to be there right now. Don't be a coward. I'm not yellow. Never have been and I certainly don't plan on starting. My steps are steady and defiant. I'll show you. Whatever.

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