He sat, head in hands, heavy as stone. His eyes looked without seeing, the glitter of the night ocean lost before his mind; the wind, picking up as the moon rose, mute to his ears. Nor did he feel the goose pimples on his arms. The balance of one's life, what is taken and what is given, a question without an impartial answer. Worthy, what did that mean. To be worthy, the question felt as horn on horn, one falling upon the other, neither giving way, haunches sprung, necks swung, two rams banging heads.
And there was that sound again. Bruit was the technical term. Turbulent flow. No stethoscope necessary. Would they know? Would they care? He stood, expanded his chest and listened. No denying the sensation. Divine justice perhaps. But then, the question returned. Worthy? One would have to be worthy for the divine to give a frail. Kyra had said something similar. Staring into death, she saw a great nothingness. And it dawned on her, that all her beliefs could be nothing but lies. Worthy of what? Worthy to what?
Whether the ocean was listening or beckoning he could not tell. His eyes felt dry in the salt air, the flesh of his orbs paper thin, the light dimming from within. Numbness sat in his fingertips like lead weights, only his hair moving, dancing in the breeze, highlighted with moonlight. He took a step toward the edge of the outcrop, toes like claws grasping rock like bird. Could he fly or would he drop. Accident or intentional. Wouldn't be his frailing problem to solve. His shirt billowed like a kite and his legs appeared as a diver, arms outstretched, chest bowed out. As toe kissed rock goodbye, he expected regret and smiled. Even in his final act, he would be denied.
Soundtrack: Tarja Turunen's Oasis
11 comments:
Perfect. Not wanted, not desired, not easy, but perfect.
Three parts loved best of all:
The moon has risen and he remains.
Only his hair moves.
Would they know? Would they care?
Having seen the look that Em bestowed upon him, who could blame him for thinking those thoughts, who would blame him otherwise, chances are most of us have questioned in this manner our place in the world, our importance, our relationships and in how far those that surround us would carry on without us, questioning the extent to which we are loved and following the want of confirmation, the need of assurance, the question of whether there is justification for wanting it, whether it is deserved. Continuing on what was written in comment to the post below this one, he had managed to close the lid on the box, to let events passed fade at least on the surface into the background, living this way he was with Em and despite her assurances, despite the many times that she has leaned her forehead to his, told him that she wanted all of him, massaged her heart with his, despite all that they have shared through the last many months, time and again they have seemed so fragile and at the same time one has felt quite sure that come what may, they would remain. Wishful thinking perhaps, that thought reigns each time that physical distance is created. Few things are sure things and that Em and Trev will survive is not one, regardless of how pleasant a thought that is. It's the same here, as the chapter ends, wishful thinking or instinct I know not, will only know as the story develops, that Trev has to greater extent had his fill, that nothing could hurt him in this irrevocable manner, even he, just cannot be. Can, but cannot. Perhaps he shall be denied still further. Hope.
This is a perfect story chapter. It is so perfect. I love it. The depth. The insight. The visuals. The aloneness. The questions. It is a supreme piece of writing, causing an ache to matter, to be one questioned about, so that assurance could be given, better yet an Alice in Wonderland deal, to be able to jump in, hold him back, hold him, oh to be an omniscient presence, what I would do instead is put my finger in Em's back and direct her to this spot as quickly as possible, to work her magic once again. His time will come, to work it back, may be a long while down the road, but the gratifyingly rose-tinted happy ending happened already when they came together, and so, like Von seeing his son, though I feel ashamed for comparing that scene to what I am feeling as a simple reader having read, I can live with whatever happens next, for there were moments, moments when they were happy. Together.
Enough nonsense, :-), Poppet, you write divinely. Shirts billowing of course, but the ocean lost before his mind more so. To be short, and hoping, believing, you know what I mean by that. This piece as so many before it, to read is like your hand reaching out, grabbing the heart and plunging it within the sadness, the gladness, the beauty of your writing, content, form. The National Art Gallery for favourite places hasn't a patch on tgeorge12345. Perfect image to go with a perfect chapter. Heart and mind captured within, so much so, I wonder will it ever be mine again.
Suicide makes me sad.....
Annie, me too. I've always believed suicide, in almost all cases, is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Trev seems to have so many issues I can't get through the layers to understand what is really happening. Instead of knowing, I simply 'feel' him, if that makes any sense and I write from that emotion and let logic and reason fall where they may.
Well, Sunshine, not so sure I would go quite that far. :-D
I really have no idea where a chapter like this comes from. It started with a single idea, namely of him sitting on the outcrop, his head in his hands, neck muscles limp as only despair can make limp, and his head feeling heavy as stone in his hands and he is aware of the heaviness, tries to lift his head but his neck muscles won't hold its weight. That was it--so I wrote the first sentence and like rain, the rest just came down.
The last line is purposefully ambiguous. Exactly what he was denied, and it may be more than one thing, we'll have to wait for a future chapter.
On a backstory note, I'd been wanting to work the word "Bruit' into the story for some time, so to be able to do so here, with a medical student, made me very happy. I find it interesting he can sense the obstruction in his heart and know what it is. If he survives the fall into the ocean, it is only a matter of time before the heart issue becomes significant. Remind me in several months that I wrote that. :-D
You might also noticed I again used what appear to be questions as statements and I would ask the reader to ponder what the difference is. How that subtle bit of grammar alters mood and depth and helps us see into Trev's mind.
When I look at his questioning of his worth and I wonder on what point Em confronted him (perhaps his two different versions of his father, too different to be reconciled) I can't help but believe her query and possible accusation struck at the heart of his anguish, for how else can one explain such a rash reaction. Seems out of proportion otherwise. Then again, this is Trev, and we know what he has been through, or at least some of it.
As always, thank you for the gift you bestow upon me with comments like flowers, raining from your fingers and I stick out my tongue and drink you in. :-D
this was painfully sad. very well written, but painfully sad to read.
Meleah, I'm not a huge plot person and when I am writing a chapter, the last thing on my mind is plot and story, so to see you and Annie go straight to 'made me sad' is fascinating to me, in part because it never occurred to me this chapter could be seen as sad (maybe because I know Trev survives).
When I'm writing a chapter like this one, some part of me is needing to express itself, and the expressing feels good, the dropping of resistance, letting the momentary energy flow without judging or labeling it, but just watching, observing it, all of it, both the good and bad as we might package our emotions. I like them all.
Rereading this chapter, I see only with the eyes of an editor. I see transitions that are rough, the turbulence of sentences needing reworking, metaphors out of place or just missing the mark, or, and I love to unabashedly do this, mix them like cans of different colored paint for the sheer joy of flinging them around. I see the spots where poetry fails me, where the word choice is weak, where the writing becomes visible and I anguish over where my skills are at the moment and I wonder how much longer it will take to get better. That is what I see. So, when the feedback is "makes me sad" I'm just smiling, knowing that what I read and what others read might as well be different languages. :-D
Thanks for stopping by. Hope you have a fabulous Friday. :-)
Belief is always theoretical & therefore lies.The moment you realize they are not true, is the moment most tortuous. You come to know, that whatever you have known & invested your entire life believing is false. Then you have to shed them again. Like i always say, it is not like shedding off of clothes, but like peeling off of your skin.
Mona, I'm working hard to empty my cup. Do pretty good at night but then I wake up and the damn thing is full again. Chop wood, carry water. You'd think I'd learn by now. :-D
"And it dawned on her, that all her beliefs could be nothing but lies."
As FULL as that chapter was, that phrase stuck out. It hits at the heart of Faith. Knowing that because there is no tangible proof exactly, it could possibly not be true. Then you have to weigh the options... Is what I believe to be true and allow to guide my life.... is it worthy even if it is false? What have I lost or gained by my beliefs?
Trev is in a dark spot right now. That last sentence... how to interpret that.
Ah HAH! I stopped and read comments before I completed my own and now I KNOW how to interpret it. But living with a failure of this sort. Trev's story in The Story seems to have gotten even more complex.
You know? I love the comments that Mona leaves. They are like.... I don't know. Warm and fluid... she would know exactly how to say what I am trying to say, but with her eloquence.
Almost caught up now!! And The Story has been SO good.
Jen
Jen, when I teach workshops on attitude, I always use the clichéd example of a glass half-full. However, I put a slight twist on the metaphor. I acknowledge that half-empty and half-full are both right answers, both the truth as we process it, both equally valid. My point is to get beyond what we think is 'truth' and ask the broader question, which view is more skillful to hold (as opposed to which is the right answer or which is true). I feel the same way about beliefs. A belief is something, by its very nature, can never be known absolutely just as a shadow can never know the light. So as we look and examine our beliefs, I believe the more important question is, how helpful, skillful, useful, etc., is it to hold these beliefs. Do they add to peace and joy and love and compassion or do they create disharmony and hatred and division and war?
My two cents before my second cup of coffee. :-D
Your two cents carry a pretty high conversion value. Worth quite a lot more than a mere two cents.
My son is "working out". He has stuffed a back pack full of books and he is walking around outside. I'm going to watch the show - he makes me big goofy GRIN sometimes!
Jen
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