The night consumes me like the winter’s snow.
Do you hear the animals prowling in the night, does this bring fear to your empty bones or do you seek the end with joy?
The glass is cold, it sticks to my fingers, a threat that it might chill me right to the core, the night expands even if my eyes don’t see it, the feeling of it comes simply from somewhere inside of me. It’s like familiar static. The snow as thick as a woolen curtain, a wall protecting me from the world... or keeping me away from it, a hunter slowly eating its prey. A small cabin build of four walls and wooden boards. Old, falling apart boards, that keep me on lockdown. What are you running away from, child? The question rings loudly behind my ears, deep in my head. It’s the only other voice that I hear here beyond my own. But then again, I never heard it before, too aware of all the soft sounds that seem like a scream right now. What abomination would my voice be in this hushed prison? When every sound is a dangerous animal, a tiny glass beast.
Fingers tap on the window, it rings like an avalanche, it makes me shiver, there is nothing here but me. Just these wooden boards, it looks like decay. A bed with no sheets, a chair, a crooked table, the snow outside. Who are you? The snowflakes fall, as if birds humming, as is if whisperings of a child, a moment in between. My name is just an untouchable blur. 25 to the left, 36 to the right, now turn around 3 times. I don’t know who I am, no memory of who I was. Nothing to remember, nothing to bleed. Why am I here? I grab my arms and hold on tightly, taking comfort from a blaze that wasn’t made to stand such a cold alone.
Flesh neeďs to keep warm, a prime need for a fire. No chance, child. It’s just you, winter and the rotten wood. A sudden need to destroy everything spreads like flames through my veins, to put this place to the ground, piece by piece, fills me up, destroy it all, mayhem colors your soul. Oh, Grace, you’ve always been a drama queen, you never learn. My body flinches from the nagging voice. Does that taste like a memory, does it feel real enough? I cling to it like my last razor but it slips as if it was never there. The doors won’t open, they’re jammed tight, lost years and the winter chill made them that way... or someone else did.
Wind blows through the cracks and my body shrinks. Feet hit the floor to keep the blood flowing, at least I still had shoes on, good boots for the death games with a strange world. Play with numbers distracted yourself. Brown boots, dirty pair of jeans and blouse meant for running. Zipper scratches my throat, so cold, wind sticks to my bones. How did I get here? My mind is empty, just low murmurs in a crowded space, a low buzzing of days I didn’t recognize.
Just a whisper, yesterday’s hope. But I grab onto it. Who is Liam? What does that name really mean to me?
My shoulders sag, nothing, it means nothing.
Picture by Laura Makabresku