Post by Bastille Amtrum on Aug 2, 2008 22:45:31 GMT -8
((ooc: this is not a definate precursor to ANYTHING!!!! i just wrote this and it sounded a bit nice to me so i thought id post it. it has no definate facts about bastille as of yet))
I knew peopled died, and I knew everyone had to, it was something we all faced, yet it was such a taboo subject. Many times in my life I had wondered what it would be like, to have my existence flitter away from the world, of course I knew I would feel and see nothing, I was just slip and my mind would cease to be, but what would everyone around me think. I had spent my life preparing for death, and now in the most odd of times, when it seemed I was finally appreciating life…death found me.
Forget love, for it had forgotten me…this was way different, and yet for the first time in my life…I felt desperately lonely. However…it was a loneliness that I knew I would until then end. I would die alone, and I longed for that, maybe with existence the burden I had placed on people would simply cease to be….and everything would be ok…
But in that loneliness I realized one thing…I was spending all this time worrying how others would be effected, but I was completely disregarding myself…and suddenly it hurt, it hurt a lot.
Worse then any pain I had ever receive in battle, worse then the 17 bullets fired into my ribcage years ago. Worse then the pain of loosing Leon so many years ago…but it was not the pain of fear…
Or the pain of loneliness that seemed to grip every moment tighter around my neck
It was the pain, that I was out of time…and that in the time I had accomplished on earth, from the moment I was pulled crying from my mothers womb, to the moment I was diagnosed…it was the feeling that I had accomplished nothing…
The feeling, that I wasn’t even worth remembering…
That pain was worse then loneliness partially because it fed upon it like a wasp egg to a trapped spider, I saw the places I wanted to be most, the people I wanted to remember me…in the final moments it was odd
But I didn’t want to be anywhere else then in the arms of my mother.
Not the arms of my foster mother for whom I felt eternally guilty, but arms of my real mother. A comfort id never been given from the woman as bitter as I had become. I had never gotten a chance to know the woman who had given me a chance to live in this world and life…though in a curse place of birth she still carried me and delivered me safely into the world. I wanted to know why….
If I was never to be remembered…why was I even here in the first place…
Like the leaves on a cool autumn morning as they hit the icy stream and head off into the distance never to be seen again…my life would be merely a small touch upon others, who would all but forget me in due time.
But it was odd, after I had strived so that no one would be attached to me as I had been to others. So that they could not find reason to hurt me, but I could so easily hurt them, keep them from being hurt more…I had become a monster of my own accord to get this outcome so why did I care now?
The answer to that…
Well I still don’t understand.
Cool hands probed my neck and shoulders. The doctors had become a familiar place, and I had long since given up my fear and hatred of needles. I was dying anyway, whatever they put in me wouldn’t change that. The grim thought brought a grimace to my lips as I stared at my sore arm. The doctor leaned back at sighed.
“no signs of progression ms. Cunningham, id still give you another year or two before anything to drastic happens…though to much rough housing, or anything to strain you in anyway will defiantly speed up the process…take it easy alright, ill prescribe stronger drugs, these should keep you from waking up every night…”
He said as he brushed a confused hand across his brow. He was wondering why it wasn’t progressing faster and I could clearly read it on his face. It didn’t take my muscle tracing eyes to get that much. No instead I watched him in silence. Then sighed after a moment and stretched. Taking deep breathes was starting to itch.
“well thanks doc,…” I said loudly with exasperation in my voice, id wanted to say something more like ‘but it wont help, incase you haven’t realized it by now, my body hates new drugs so ill be pulling all nighters till I get used to them’
It was true, and I knew why this disease was being suppressed. Not my own will, for even that seemed to be failing me in the last few months since I collapsed on the work floor. No it was my qi, or whatever everyone at school called it. That strange energy enabled me to feel stronger then I should be. But even in time, that would wear out and I would be reduced to a walking corpse. I prayed in small part to graduate at least…I had already quite work because of Homi. Ah yes, Homi….she was waiting anxiously at home and I knew it. Homey Homi….with a tint of maternal in there.
I cruised the streets enjoying the feeling of cold air entering and existing my failing lungs. I felt it as it spread through my body and made it feel youthful. Id taken breathing for granted. The feeling of walking was better, as my muscles flexed over my bone rippling under the skin with each step and yet how fluid my stride seemed to be. It was a shame…I felt so different then I used to be. Funny how death put an instant stopper in ones view of the world and drastically switched it. I found myself taking long walks lately just to continue logging my memory full of memories of just how ever muscle responded to my pace.
Three weeks ago I hadn’t seen the world this way. So colorful and full of, vigor? Was that the right word? No three weeks ago, even as I saw the small yet overly fancy bar slowly turn dark as I hunched over involuntarily and coughed up what I thought was bile…but later as the darkness continued to close in…turned to be blood, dark and thick. Id blacked out in all the commotion…the red blood tasted sweet….and the warm feeling of the carpet below…all vanished.
Id woken up later to a doctor trying to regain consciousness in me. I tried to break free, with my obvious fear of anything medical. But his face was to traumatized for me to even think about it. I felt fine. He began to try and say things but I couldn’t understand. His muscles moved like someone did at a funeral. With a tight slowness, that would ease when the memories of whatever bothered him so much left him.
His hand took mine in his and I was to confused to take it back. I had been told I could read emotions and situations like no other. That I was extremely wise for my age. Yet the one feeling I could not understand was the sense of loss this doctor seemed to be exerting. He didn’t even know me, then again I would learn that’s one of the better qualities of man kind…to be compassionate to matter what.
I didn’t hear much of what he was saying. He told me I was sick, and that I was probably going to die soon. That my body was showing signs already that it was deteriorating. I immediately found my eyes focused on a world I hadn’t seen.
So this is why cancer patients always took the news to well…because a whole new world was opened up to them, and in some way that made them happy. It showed them who loved them and that the world was warm, that the world would remember them. Mourn them, and that in death they could join in spirit with the world and live forever in a happy dream like state one with the earth. Yet to me, it was like a stone being smashed only to show off a happy world in which I would never be apart of.
Life though I cherished it before, meant so much more. No before I had been level headed about life and death, often preaching about it and loss as though I knew everything about it. I should have, id seen enough people die. Yet now as my own death came to stare me in the face, instead of showing me horrible things that would actually encourage me, it showed me everything that I had long since forgotten.
The blissful innocent feeling of simply existing. It was like that, that I lost all fears I ever had, silly they seemed, and gained only one knew fear. The fear of not being remembered. As I saw funerals come and go many times…I knew over time would forget even as they died out, but even after I died, id probably have no one willing to remember me. Homi maybe, but she knew how to cope with this better then I did. At least it seemed like that.
She came barging in scream “I FUCKING WARNED HER TO STOP, I FUCKING WARNED HER” and all I could do was smile and wave like I always did with a bored expression on my face. It felt natural to be around Homi. She was so…easy to be with. The friend you could always trust. But that was because we had met the most odd of ways. And in all that we did not trust each other, it was different, like an annoyance of loneliness. No that wasn’t right, we simply kept each other sain. That was all.
She shouted at me for an hour about smoking and looking what it had don’t to me and I had to point out several times I was fine and that this was nothing. However she seemed to angry at me that after a long while I started to worry. Because she seemed so hurt to see me in here…There was one person who would remember me when I died, and that made me so happy. I cant describe the happiness that overwhelmed my body at that moment when she started clutching to me and crying.
However I pushed her away and smirked telling her everything would be ok.
But would it?
The doctor today said I had two years…possibly three if I kept up good health. The disease would stop spreading and getting worse as long as there was nothing to fuel it, and my immune system was stronger then anything he had ever seen before. That made me happy. But I was back to my thought wave as I continued to memorize the way the air moved over my bare arms.
So why did this feeling keep nagging at me. I had found the person to remember me after I go, I knew some people like my foster mother and foster father might appear, but all in due time they would forget as would Homi. And I would cease to exist. That was is, and that was all I needed. Yet this feeling was getting in the way of my serene bliss. This over whelming wisdom that seemed to overcome me as I became more at piece with my appending doom, was not enough to deflect this odd pain.
So it wasn’t wanting to be remembered…it was something else.
The feeling of wanting to be held by my real mother filled me again and I constipated it. Going to see her and resolve the whole matter formally before I go…but suddenly it didn’t seem compelling. She seemed so young to be now, so arrogant and immature.
The loneliness began to creep up again.
As did the wind, and suddenly the autumn morning look colder and bleaker then it had been. And suddenly I was alone.
Yet it was pretty and my cheeks burned from my warm jacket. I smiled. If death could be this, me walking and thinking, walking and thinking and nothing else by the endless road and scenery. It hit me again, the thought that I had not accomplished anything…but that was not the same feeling. This was different. A feeling more powerful…yet striving out to the cloudy echo’s to either side of me on the park.
No one stood beside me, and the longing feeling that the feeling itself gave out was suddenly to me, like a lone wolf howling at the moon in anguish.
To be together…
No, id forgotten love, for it had defiantly forgotten me….
And then a song hit me. A small tiny childhood song, that made my heart feel warm and fuzzy as if I was standing near a child hood imaginary friend who was all to myself. I would learn this song a lot.
“all around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel…”
I hummed perfectly on tune. I loved that about me….my voice was still normal and I could still sing and hum. It was in that moment…though I still felt alone…that I realized there was a totally different meaning to exactly why the monkey chased the darn weasel.
I knew peopled died, and I knew everyone had to, it was something we all faced, yet it was such a taboo subject. Many times in my life I had wondered what it would be like, to have my existence flitter away from the world, of course I knew I would feel and see nothing, I was just slip and my mind would cease to be, but what would everyone around me think. I had spent my life preparing for death, and now in the most odd of times, when it seemed I was finally appreciating life…death found me.
Forget love, for it had forgotten me…this was way different, and yet for the first time in my life…I felt desperately lonely. However…it was a loneliness that I knew I would until then end. I would die alone, and I longed for that, maybe with existence the burden I had placed on people would simply cease to be….and everything would be ok…
But in that loneliness I realized one thing…I was spending all this time worrying how others would be effected, but I was completely disregarding myself…and suddenly it hurt, it hurt a lot.
Worse then any pain I had ever receive in battle, worse then the 17 bullets fired into my ribcage years ago. Worse then the pain of loosing Leon so many years ago…but it was not the pain of fear…
Or the pain of loneliness that seemed to grip every moment tighter around my neck
It was the pain, that I was out of time…and that in the time I had accomplished on earth, from the moment I was pulled crying from my mothers womb, to the moment I was diagnosed…it was the feeling that I had accomplished nothing…
The feeling, that I wasn’t even worth remembering…
That pain was worse then loneliness partially because it fed upon it like a wasp egg to a trapped spider, I saw the places I wanted to be most, the people I wanted to remember me…in the final moments it was odd
But I didn’t want to be anywhere else then in the arms of my mother.
Not the arms of my foster mother for whom I felt eternally guilty, but arms of my real mother. A comfort id never been given from the woman as bitter as I had become. I had never gotten a chance to know the woman who had given me a chance to live in this world and life…though in a curse place of birth she still carried me and delivered me safely into the world. I wanted to know why….
If I was never to be remembered…why was I even here in the first place…
Like the leaves on a cool autumn morning as they hit the icy stream and head off into the distance never to be seen again…my life would be merely a small touch upon others, who would all but forget me in due time.
But it was odd, after I had strived so that no one would be attached to me as I had been to others. So that they could not find reason to hurt me, but I could so easily hurt them, keep them from being hurt more…I had become a monster of my own accord to get this outcome so why did I care now?
The answer to that…
Well I still don’t understand.
Cool hands probed my neck and shoulders. The doctors had become a familiar place, and I had long since given up my fear and hatred of needles. I was dying anyway, whatever they put in me wouldn’t change that. The grim thought brought a grimace to my lips as I stared at my sore arm. The doctor leaned back at sighed.
“no signs of progression ms. Cunningham, id still give you another year or two before anything to drastic happens…though to much rough housing, or anything to strain you in anyway will defiantly speed up the process…take it easy alright, ill prescribe stronger drugs, these should keep you from waking up every night…”
He said as he brushed a confused hand across his brow. He was wondering why it wasn’t progressing faster and I could clearly read it on his face. It didn’t take my muscle tracing eyes to get that much. No instead I watched him in silence. Then sighed after a moment and stretched. Taking deep breathes was starting to itch.
“well thanks doc,…” I said loudly with exasperation in my voice, id wanted to say something more like ‘but it wont help, incase you haven’t realized it by now, my body hates new drugs so ill be pulling all nighters till I get used to them’
It was true, and I knew why this disease was being suppressed. Not my own will, for even that seemed to be failing me in the last few months since I collapsed on the work floor. No it was my qi, or whatever everyone at school called it. That strange energy enabled me to feel stronger then I should be. But even in time, that would wear out and I would be reduced to a walking corpse. I prayed in small part to graduate at least…I had already quite work because of Homi. Ah yes, Homi….she was waiting anxiously at home and I knew it. Homey Homi….with a tint of maternal in there.
I cruised the streets enjoying the feeling of cold air entering and existing my failing lungs. I felt it as it spread through my body and made it feel youthful. Id taken breathing for granted. The feeling of walking was better, as my muscles flexed over my bone rippling under the skin with each step and yet how fluid my stride seemed to be. It was a shame…I felt so different then I used to be. Funny how death put an instant stopper in ones view of the world and drastically switched it. I found myself taking long walks lately just to continue logging my memory full of memories of just how ever muscle responded to my pace.
Three weeks ago I hadn’t seen the world this way. So colorful and full of, vigor? Was that the right word? No three weeks ago, even as I saw the small yet overly fancy bar slowly turn dark as I hunched over involuntarily and coughed up what I thought was bile…but later as the darkness continued to close in…turned to be blood, dark and thick. Id blacked out in all the commotion…the red blood tasted sweet….and the warm feeling of the carpet below…all vanished.
Id woken up later to a doctor trying to regain consciousness in me. I tried to break free, with my obvious fear of anything medical. But his face was to traumatized for me to even think about it. I felt fine. He began to try and say things but I couldn’t understand. His muscles moved like someone did at a funeral. With a tight slowness, that would ease when the memories of whatever bothered him so much left him.
His hand took mine in his and I was to confused to take it back. I had been told I could read emotions and situations like no other. That I was extremely wise for my age. Yet the one feeling I could not understand was the sense of loss this doctor seemed to be exerting. He didn’t even know me, then again I would learn that’s one of the better qualities of man kind…to be compassionate to matter what.
I didn’t hear much of what he was saying. He told me I was sick, and that I was probably going to die soon. That my body was showing signs already that it was deteriorating. I immediately found my eyes focused on a world I hadn’t seen.
So this is why cancer patients always took the news to well…because a whole new world was opened up to them, and in some way that made them happy. It showed them who loved them and that the world was warm, that the world would remember them. Mourn them, and that in death they could join in spirit with the world and live forever in a happy dream like state one with the earth. Yet to me, it was like a stone being smashed only to show off a happy world in which I would never be apart of.
Life though I cherished it before, meant so much more. No before I had been level headed about life and death, often preaching about it and loss as though I knew everything about it. I should have, id seen enough people die. Yet now as my own death came to stare me in the face, instead of showing me horrible things that would actually encourage me, it showed me everything that I had long since forgotten.
The blissful innocent feeling of simply existing. It was like that, that I lost all fears I ever had, silly they seemed, and gained only one knew fear. The fear of not being remembered. As I saw funerals come and go many times…I knew over time would forget even as they died out, but even after I died, id probably have no one willing to remember me. Homi maybe, but she knew how to cope with this better then I did. At least it seemed like that.
She came barging in scream “I FUCKING WARNED HER TO STOP, I FUCKING WARNED HER” and all I could do was smile and wave like I always did with a bored expression on my face. It felt natural to be around Homi. She was so…easy to be with. The friend you could always trust. But that was because we had met the most odd of ways. And in all that we did not trust each other, it was different, like an annoyance of loneliness. No that wasn’t right, we simply kept each other sain. That was all.
She shouted at me for an hour about smoking and looking what it had don’t to me and I had to point out several times I was fine and that this was nothing. However she seemed to angry at me that after a long while I started to worry. Because she seemed so hurt to see me in here…There was one person who would remember me when I died, and that made me so happy. I cant describe the happiness that overwhelmed my body at that moment when she started clutching to me and crying.
However I pushed her away and smirked telling her everything would be ok.
But would it?
The doctor today said I had two years…possibly three if I kept up good health. The disease would stop spreading and getting worse as long as there was nothing to fuel it, and my immune system was stronger then anything he had ever seen before. That made me happy. But I was back to my thought wave as I continued to memorize the way the air moved over my bare arms.
So why did this feeling keep nagging at me. I had found the person to remember me after I go, I knew some people like my foster mother and foster father might appear, but all in due time they would forget as would Homi. And I would cease to exist. That was is, and that was all I needed. Yet this feeling was getting in the way of my serene bliss. This over whelming wisdom that seemed to overcome me as I became more at piece with my appending doom, was not enough to deflect this odd pain.
So it wasn’t wanting to be remembered…it was something else.
The feeling of wanting to be held by my real mother filled me again and I constipated it. Going to see her and resolve the whole matter formally before I go…but suddenly it didn’t seem compelling. She seemed so young to be now, so arrogant and immature.
The loneliness began to creep up again.
As did the wind, and suddenly the autumn morning look colder and bleaker then it had been. And suddenly I was alone.
Yet it was pretty and my cheeks burned from my warm jacket. I smiled. If death could be this, me walking and thinking, walking and thinking and nothing else by the endless road and scenery. It hit me again, the thought that I had not accomplished anything…but that was not the same feeling. This was different. A feeling more powerful…yet striving out to the cloudy echo’s to either side of me on the park.
No one stood beside me, and the longing feeling that the feeling itself gave out was suddenly to me, like a lone wolf howling at the moon in anguish.
To be together…
No, id forgotten love, for it had defiantly forgotten me….
And then a song hit me. A small tiny childhood song, that made my heart feel warm and fuzzy as if I was standing near a child hood imaginary friend who was all to myself. I would learn this song a lot.
“all around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel…”
I hummed perfectly on tune. I loved that about me….my voice was still normal and I could still sing and hum. It was in that moment…though I still felt alone…that I realized there was a totally different meaning to exactly why the monkey chased the darn weasel.
