Dastrix Slogan
Bluelighter
She was a sad girl, not in way that you could measure the sadness on her face, but the closer you got the more the sadness became evident, like a picture weaved from wool whose edges became harder the nearer you looked. Smiles become jagged dots in disjointed patterns.
My first Christmas alone in my entire life and I did not understand the damage being done, being alone on Christmas day, stale pies and an empty flat cold comfort to family and feast which I had become accustomed to for the last 20 years. It was in her that I found my sadness echoed, two tuning forks resonating the same low sad frequency. So I closed my eyes, held her tight, and fell.
My ship went over without me even knowing, my mind was lost to the sad song of the siren, lost to misery, holding onto it for dear life fearing that I should be left with nothing should it go too. To be full with sadness, rather than stale pies. As falls go, the higher you are the harder you will hit. And hit the bottom I did. The suddenness of it all was overwhelming, the darkness surrounded me, and the cruel irony was that eventually even the sadness was taken from me. Having nothing and was nothing. Nothing alone in the dark, lying naked in the black swamp of a tortured soul. My mind a small child burning its fingers on its cold steel cage, as it screamed as the lights went out. Screamed for my mouth that had grown itself shut. Screamed as I shut my eyes and lay still. Lay so very still as things unnamed and unmentionable slid their way over an under me, thick dark worms without heads, just throats and teeth and tentacles with hooks hissed and wheezed, weaving me down into their seething mass.
To this day I might have still been there, might still have been the bizarre man-puppet whose mouth said one thing and whose eyes screamed another. But I opened my eyes, and there at the bottom of my black hole I saw an opening so far away it was hardly the nail on my small finger, I saw the sky, filled with dark clouds and cold rain beating down cruelly.
But it was not black. It was not nothing. And in the years that I had spent it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even the depths where I lay did not have enough darkness to put out the small faint grey light. So I climbed. And I would like to tell you that everything dark slithered away as if allergic to the light, but it was not the case. They lashed and pulled and bit, bit back at the same wounds while they were still raw, but I could not go back. Even after I reached the top, I still would find myself trying to climb out for a long time to come, but that didn't distract from the triumph of reaching the surface. And yes, as clichéd as it may seem, I eventually felt the sun on my face, once again.
Now I have stopped my feverish climbing, like one who runs in fear and reaches safe harbour but can only continue running for fear alone. I have Christmas every year with my family, and try and stay away from pies. But every now and again, the experience will shake me and I will wake in the night with the ghosts grabbing at me from my sleep trying to pull me back, and nothing once again longs for sadness. It is then that I cry. But I have never seen anyone cry so much that their cheeks are rutted by their tears, so I will cry and have it done and live another day, and accept it as part of my life. And be grateful that compared to the whole, it forms such a very small, small part indeed.
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Thank You
My first Christmas alone in my entire life and I did not understand the damage being done, being alone on Christmas day, stale pies and an empty flat cold comfort to family and feast which I had become accustomed to for the last 20 years. It was in her that I found my sadness echoed, two tuning forks resonating the same low sad frequency. So I closed my eyes, held her tight, and fell.
My ship went over without me even knowing, my mind was lost to the sad song of the siren, lost to misery, holding onto it for dear life fearing that I should be left with nothing should it go too. To be full with sadness, rather than stale pies. As falls go, the higher you are the harder you will hit. And hit the bottom I did. The suddenness of it all was overwhelming, the darkness surrounded me, and the cruel irony was that eventually even the sadness was taken from me. Having nothing and was nothing. Nothing alone in the dark, lying naked in the black swamp of a tortured soul. My mind a small child burning its fingers on its cold steel cage, as it screamed as the lights went out. Screamed for my mouth that had grown itself shut. Screamed as I shut my eyes and lay still. Lay so very still as things unnamed and unmentionable slid their way over an under me, thick dark worms without heads, just throats and teeth and tentacles with hooks hissed and wheezed, weaving me down into their seething mass.
To this day I might have still been there, might still have been the bizarre man-puppet whose mouth said one thing and whose eyes screamed another. But I opened my eyes, and there at the bottom of my black hole I saw an opening so far away it was hardly the nail on my small finger, I saw the sky, filled with dark clouds and cold rain beating down cruelly.
But it was not black. It was not nothing. And in the years that I had spent it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even the depths where I lay did not have enough darkness to put out the small faint grey light. So I climbed. And I would like to tell you that everything dark slithered away as if allergic to the light, but it was not the case. They lashed and pulled and bit, bit back at the same wounds while they were still raw, but I could not go back. Even after I reached the top, I still would find myself trying to climb out for a long time to come, but that didn't distract from the triumph of reaching the surface. And yes, as clichéd as it may seem, I eventually felt the sun on my face, once again.
Now I have stopped my feverish climbing, like one who runs in fear and reaches safe harbour but can only continue running for fear alone. I have Christmas every year with my family, and try and stay away from pies. But every now and again, the experience will shake me and I will wake in the night with the ghosts grabbing at me from my sleep trying to pull me back, and nothing once again longs for sadness. It is then that I cry. But I have never seen anyone cry so much that their cheeks are rutted by their tears, so I will cry and have it done and live another day, and accept it as part of my life. And be grateful that compared to the whole, it forms such a very small, small part indeed.
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Thank You
Smiley