posted on May, 15 2009 @ 01:40 PM
A Girl, a Door and a Drawer.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
The darkness before the dawn was losing its stubborn fight against the coming of day. Tentative birds made hesitant incursions into the
silence…after all, who among us likes to shout into the void? To break a silence and be met with silence somehow incurs the sensation that the void
is gazing back. Is it the courageous or the fearful bird that pierces the dead of night and aligns itself with the rising sun? Is it the same bird
that nightly presses itself deep down into nest or roost, as if the weight of night compels it to? Where is your courage then, brave little bird?
Within that still night, as the darkness retreats with false bravado and unspoken threats, a house stands in its own shadow. Some darkened houses seem
to occupy more space than simple bricks and mortar would have us suppose. They wait solemnly, with an air of what? Expectancy? Patience? We can’t
know, but as we walk past under orange lights, an ill-formed awareness skitters around our senses and our lonely footsteps seem to quicken. A hollow
laughter pokes fun at childish imagination. Like the Traveller, knock-knocking on the moonlit door, we feel the silence surge in behind us as we pass
Within the darkened house and up the darkened stairs is a bedroom. Inside lies a girl enveloped in the twilight, drifting morass that separates the
sleeping from the wakened. The place where dreams still hold sovereignty and the waking world draws us back. The Sandman’s dust falls powerless
against the mattress and she begins to stir. The brave birds begin their chorus and a room that was as dark as the shadows on a black horse resolves
itself once more. The dawn arrives slowly and settles in with cheerful self-assurance.
The bedclothes move once and then again, she turns once this way and then rolls over, drifting in and out of sleep. The birds outside increase their
songs as the fat old sun peeks lazily, magnanimously across the land. Lying there, still in the drowsy no-mans land, a different noise joins the
cacophony of the dawn chorus. She twitches and then is still. A quiet, beating sound is barely audible, yet insistent. As her attention is focused on
the soft thuds, the sounds of life beyond the curtains fade away to a muffled abstraction. Inside her gloomy room, the shadows hide secrets. They seem
to lie in wait for something…
She steels herself and drags damp hair from her face, moves her dry lips as she tugs a couple of strands from her mouth. Her breath is short. Her
heart beats with more urgency than the strange thumping sound inside the dark room. Thud. Thud. Thud. Unwilling to open her eyes, she gasps as her
breath is caught short and scared tears glisten against dark eyelashes.
An uncontrolled cry escapes as her bedroom door rattles and a loud knocking shatters the moment. With a jolt, her eyes flash open and she turns with a
terrible dread towards the bedroom door. The only sound now is the roaring thump of a heart in fear.
“Jess! Are you up sweetie? It’s time for school. You can’t stay in there forever, love.” Her mother stops knocking and tries the handle. The
door remains locked. Her tone becomes softer, almost pleading. “Please Jess? I don’t know what to do. Let me in. Tell me what we’ve done wrong.
What can I do?” Jess opens her mouth to reply, but her breath catches deep down and it hurts in a strange way she can’t explain. A thousand words
lose their form in her mind, expression dances away from her tongue and sneers at her…remains out of reach.
Again, louder, her mother knocks on the door and remains still. Silence seems to seep from behind the door and for long seconds, she feels frozen.
Guilt and annoyance play mischief in her mind until she takes a deep breath and taps gently against the door. She leans her forehead against a poster
on Jess’ door and feels its coolness. “Please Jess. Speak to me. I’m worried.”
Inside the room, she throws the bedclothes back and sits up violently. Once more she moves her mouth to speak, to explain...the noises at night, the
sobs in the darkness. The ceaseless thuds that seem to creep from the shadows. Dark eyes flash brightly and tears roll thickly down her cheek. Fists
clutch the sheets blindly and she turns to the door to speak, but a racking sob chokes them from ever seeing life. “I love you Mum,” she gasps
quietly. With terrible suddenness, she swallows a bitter sob and cries out, “Leave me alone! Go away!”
Outside, her mother turns slowly and walks away without a glance, shoulders trembling.
Jess remains upright in bed, staring at the top drawer of her bedside cabinet. Sunlight eases in and spreads from the edges of pink curtains. It
creeps silently along the carpet, and feels its way over the stuffed bears and remnants of childhood’s end. All that can be heard in the room is a
piteous, breathless crying.
Have you ever imagined what it would be like to die? To drown? To be caught beneath ice, and feel the last of your air burning in your chest? What
beat would your panic and desperation sound like to those above the ice? Would it be as terrible to their ears as to yours? We will hopefully never
know, but Jess knows…
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Reaching for the top of the sheets she draws their warmth over her knees and up beneath her chin, wrapping them around like a cocoon. Clutching her
legs and holding back the tears, she remains like that as the dreadful sound of tapping returns. Unable to ignore the awful, intermittent
thud…thud…thud, she rolls over on her side and simply listens in horror. Only the echoes of crying interrupts the remorseless beat of the dreadful
The world outside continues in its petty pace and the sun shines down benignly as cars pass by in their self-important urgency. The birds have become
complacent as midday passes and now they only sing when they feel like it. Fear or courage is for other birds now. Dusk is for cowards and darkness
holds the dreamers. They fly and dart from one branch to another, chattering for the joy of hearing themselves. Life has been described as a tale told
by an idiot and signifying nothing. Perhaps. An idiot is guileless and when the sun shines brightly, innocence gains favour…
[edit on 15-5-2009 by Kandinsky]