Stream of Consciousness (Jan 2006)

Mar 10, 2008 - 22:53 PM PST
Green and red complement each other so. The green leaves tower above, the red blood lies below. Life is like a war, there are always casualties along the way. People are left behind, for better or for worse. Life goes on regardless. What if this is what death feels like? To be unable to move or act, to be frozen, staring up at the sky. But I know I’m not dead because I tremble in the cold air, the wound stings, and the blood is still fresh. What if the earth swallowed me now? What if I disappeared just as quickly as the instant it took to bring me into the world? The years of my life erased out of everyone’s minds in the blink of an eye. I twitch as I hyperventilate. Gasping for breath my body contorts but little air flows into my lungs. I do not know if I shiver because of the cold, or the panic attack. Never the less my teeth chatter so loud that I can no longer hear myself think or comprehend the world around me. I drift away into a nothingness of black as the sound engulfs my mind and body. I start to wonder what is real and what is in my mind. I flow in and out of memories, floating farther away from the porch where I lie. I keep crying to be taken away, to be taken home. I don’t know where home is but I have faith that it exists. But once again my body jerks awake, gasping for air or warmth; I still don’t know which one. Perhaps it is gasping for life. I hear a bird howling what I assume to be its usual call. To me, it sounds like the noise made by a dying cat. The only response is from the Canadian geese. Their harsh tones piece through the still evening. What if this is what Angels sound like when they descend to take you away? Perhaps their voices are harsh because they are jealous of the sadness we are able to experience that eludes them in heaven. The twilight has faded into night; therefore I can no longer clearly make out one leaf from another. Instead, they all appear to be joined as one whole leaf with little holes running through it as if a bug had chewed a path. My body jolts upright because my mind believes the giant leaf is falling on top of me in hopes of suffocation. I don’t know why this frightens me if I am so eager for death? Or perhaps it is not death I am seeking, merely escape. I start to wonder how much longer it would take for hypothermia to set in; do I even know what hypothermia is? They say it always gets worse before it gets better. That rests under the assumption that once rock bottom is hit, it will get better. Then again, they also say that it could always be worse. So if it can always get worse, what makes us believe it will ever get better? Such quandaries perplex my little mind. Visions of ravens and romantic nightmares flow through this troubled mind. It is just another verse of Maria replaying in my head, yet it takes me away. I’m losing my grip on so called reality. I’m losing feeling in my toes, my hands, my wrist, my heart. The cold has set in and mixed with my tears I am transformed into nothing but bitter ice.

Stream of Consciousness (Jan 2006)

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1 Comments

Mar 11, 2008 - 09:03 AM

Wordlings on
Aha, but someone is reading! I really enjoyed this, I think you should really work this stream-of-consciousness angle. Of course I would think that, but...well, I think you'd be pleased with the results. :)