literature

The geography of a mind

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Literature Text

I sat and drowned in my oceanic symphonies with a calm demeanor; how could it get any better? Or for that matter, worse? Drowning can go two ways, arms up flailing and mouth screeching; or in a whisper, an inaudible goodbye so that I'd never be found again. Maybe it's better off that way. Maybe someone would find me, whirling in the salty sea; maybe, if my wildest dreams fell into reality.

After a while the oceans dried up and instead I found my new abode in an immeasurable desert, and oh so deserted it was. The oceans felt no need to rage anymore, for there was never and never would be anyone to calm such raging seas. An unthought-of notion claimed that the aquatic dreams were too quiet to be heard, possibly. As a falling tree in an infinite forest, no one was close enough to hear my screams. Was I too quiet to be heard? Alone as always I was; just without the water.

For this was the vast expanse of my mind; tired, forlorn, confused, washed up and tossed out like the trash I was. I swayed between the wild seas and the empty wastelands in a sporadic dance of emotions I didn't want to feel; tidal waves taking over my soul and after such were done, washing up on a desolate land of pity where I spent my time waiting for the next tsunami of anguish.  

The void my life you now see, though it may sound hopeless and painful, is much better than the fate I would face on the other side of the plain. The side of which the black clouds lowly hangs over like a mobile on an infant's bassinet, drawing one like me in a very childlike way. The fate of which was worse than anything. But that was only once.

Only once had I wandered into the dank spot. I'd been lost and dazed, a lot more so than was usual, and the clouds ate me up more viciously than the sea had ever done. In the clouds there was a pure darkness, an absolute misery residing within that blackness that could not be tamed or controlled. Obscure hands reached out and scraped me with burning fingernails while cruel whispers conjoined together and became a ferocious roar in my ear. There was no landscape, no feel; I stood on, and breathed in, pure depression.  The whispers overcame me. I was cocooned by this feeling. I was a spider's prey, fearfully waiting for the end, immobilized by and wrapped in melancholy. It ripped me to shreds, filled me with self-pity, anger, sadness, and so many more. I only lost my way that once.

After wandering more hopelessly than I ever had, longer than I ever had, in that unforgiving blackness, a shot of light pushed through the darkness. At first, I was completely blinded.  I pondered momentarily what newfound trickery the depression had thrown at me; sure that the beam of light was only a train come to run me over. Surely.

Or was it?

I encountered hope personified. It was like a lighthouse for a sailing ship gone off course; my reassuring pat on the back that everything would, eventually, be okay.

I followed the light devotedly. The claws and whispers of the dark tried to pull me back, but I was relentless in my purpose. I still hurt, still bled, but I ignored it determinedly. Whether the light took me back to the oceans or the wastelands or someplace entirely different, I did not care. I was getting out of here, and that was all that mattered.  

Standing at the edge of the gloom I'd be lost in for so long felt so empowering that I was almost overwhelmed. Hope and happiness were feelings that overtook one's entire body, two feelings brought to me by utter chance in the darkest of days that lead me out of the night. Two feelings I hadn't felt in the longest time. I shook tremendously and cried; not enough to bring an ocean, not because of pain, just overcome by bliss.

I stepped out of the shadows, I let go of that wretched despair, and the dark disappeared; in its place, a peaceful, picturesque meadow took shape. There were no beams of light, but a full-on sun in a blue sky. No empty wasteland, no raging sea, only soft emerald grass.     

Simply, peace.
Is that a light at the far end of the tunnel, or just a train?
Lift your arms, only heaven knows where the danger grows;
and it's safe to say there's a bright light up ahead and help is on the way.

Oh, Owl City. ♥

Writing prompt entry for :iconlive-love-write:; topic this week was "Whispers in the dark."

I've been stuck in shadows way too many times.

I dunno if I like this of not. I just suck royally at endings.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed. :heart:

(Does the title work well with the piece? I wrote this at random and titles have never been my forte.)
© 2011 - 2024 EtchedinDreams
Comments10
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0hgravity's avatar
wow this is really great piece!
Great imagery and flow. I also like the general concept of the mind.
I do have to agree that the beginning is much stronger than the end but the end is still very good and fitting.