My mind flutters with thousands of ideas for books. In order to hold myself accountable, I am taking time to organize my ideas and try to set goals. If you have followed me over the years, you can attest that I have horrible follow through. I am working on this aspect of my life.
One of my book ideas – is still a secret, but I would like to share with you a piece I wrote not long ago while I was, (and continue), to finish this masterpiece.
Enjoy and if you feel the need, place a comment below. I look forward to your feedback.
I can’t piece together all the things that have happened to me in a single setting. However, I remember them all. It’s a sort of jumble. But that wouldn’t be the correct description. It would be a dark room. It’s cold, slightly damp – just as most scary places are described. But that wouldn’t be right either. It’s darker, hot, and my skin is cold from the sweat. My nerves on fire. I’m blinded. I strain to focus. My hands search for something familiar. Perhaps I can find a wall, a door – anything. I can’t. My feet keep moving forward and I lose my balance. I lose everything. I fall into a hole, though I am not sure. My senses are out of control. They are on high alert, but sounding off all at once – like a machine losing control.
I fall. It seems I will fall forever. I hope to be scratched by a limb, a pipe – anything, just so I know where I am. The speed increases, and I spin into the darkness. I am never in control. I am only given the illusion of control.
I cry. I try to scream, but the speed of falling reached into my lungs and snatched the air. I grab my arms. My nails dig into my skin and I hope for pain. I dig deeper and feel nothing. I can only feel the cool blood drip down my fingers. It’s relaxing in its own demonic way. The fall, the confusion, seem to fade; it seems to become a second worry, as if it isn’t really happening. It’s the focus on the blood and the wonder if I can produce more. The need becomes strong. I am determined to produce more blood, something to make the fall disappear.
Nothing more produces. My will is discouraged by my need for survival. I see a pin drop of light. My speed decreases. My senses are more under control. The tears dry. My mind quiets. The light returns. I fall with a soft thud and I can feel the ground. But it isn’t the ground. It is the cold tile floor in my bathroom. My tears have soaked my skin; it lays around my feet. I search for blood. There’s none to be found. I notice I am grabbing my wrist – not a scratch.
I take a walk. My emotions, my mind, my memories, are now my own, until the next time.