Saturday, January 29, 2005
Narrative Melancholy
"He took a shower that day, hoping to wash away that day's miseries. The night winds weren't cool as they ought to be and this just exasperated him more. The week wasn't kind as that day.
Failure seems to creep into his every affair. Ranging from grades and even to people, it seemed his luck was running dry. He was a happy person, as people remembered; devil may care and never a doubt. But no one did understand his plights; a plastic smile with plastic expressions is what they all see. Too bad really.
He turns the water on, and the sound of its gushes echo in the tiled surroundings of his bath. He undresses and the first splash of cold water seemed like a slap across his reddening cheek. The chill causes him to shiver but he doesn't move. He stands still, head down, and let the waters run down his hair. The drops of water run a simple pitter-patter melody, like a simple dismantlement. At this shower, he takes off the plastic fascade.
He closes his eyes, it makes it easier, and he begins to cry. No one knows he is missing direction. No one knows he has yet to find purpose, masquerading himself as a vagabond yet a wanderer in reality. A wanderer where his path goes wide and undending, like his indecisions. He walks paths with no signs and yet the people who met him on the way see him as a great adventurer but truth be told, his adventure is a fruitless one; a beginning, an end, with nothing in between.
It bears down heavy on him. He is troubled by his own fate, about the unknown that lies before him because all he sees is the darkness looming over the horizon. Death was a more loving mistress. He raises his head and lets the water hit his face directly. The water stings his eyes but the tears were already rushing -and mixing- with the shower.
Slowly, he turns the dial for the heat and his demeanor changes, into that of frustration. He spreads his arms over the wall of the shower and lets out a series of curses. They were swears for teachers, strangers and misfortunes but more over, he curses himself. He pounds on the walls, prying them for supposed answers but they were silent. They say walls have eyes or ears, too bad they didn't have answers. They just see him, -pounding- -swearing- -crying- but they were nothing. As he thought of himself -nothing-
What would await him outside was an unlit room. He could take out his miseries in the cleansing waters but they can never wash anything inside. The water can only cleanse so much. No amount of water, soap or shampoo can wash away what's going on inside. He steps out slowly but not after pushing the shower to full power, sending a powerful jet crashing into his head. He needed that. He dried himself and check in the mirror, none the wiser. No one was at home. He was alone. With nothing, -nothing-"
-Isaac
Riding the Lightning
7:18 PM
