Waiting

An elusive memory that had always found its way into the back of my mind, catching me completely unawares, had turned my stomach from the knotted corpse of its former self into the disaster forcibly regurgitating itself simply to comply with the nausea following. An empty stomach had a very simple flaw to it, one that could be compared to the human mind. With nothing left in it to fill it with basic needs, in the case of the mind compassion and purpose itself being these basic needs, the stomach will begin to eat its and tear itself apart to consume the nutrients necessary to stay alive. And so the human brain fails to find its motivation for the mundane, it also fails to maintain its grasp on reality. Its need to keep some sort of life within a poorly functioning system toppling over itself.

This memory, however, was very real. Replaying and reminding me that the truth cannot be found from my own eyes, but rather from the hidden context of the past. But how can we see the past, save what we saw with our own eyes, and after time even that becomes distorted. Does that make the past exclusive? Perhaps, or perhaps the truth lies within the memory, and the fact that the only way we could revisit the truth is to find that memory and seize it. With our life.

This memory, this past resemblance to the life that is now within my possession, is constant. The change is so minimal its virtually reliving it in a present tense except this time I wear a blue shirt or my hair is longer, to match my current self. Yet always the blood spattered the same way. They never said so, but I believe the essence of a human, its soul, resides in every part of them, especially their blood. As blood is pumped throughout the entirety of the body to maintain optimal functionality, so must the soul. For when I felt the blood touch my skin, I could hear the sizzle, the burns of energy as its soul dissipated.

When the air had finally filled with the quieting essence of a man I could hear my own soul screaming through the silence. It yelled and tore through the air with the animosity of a thousand collapsing stars. The afterthought remained only an echo of the corrosive inebriation and the spark of adrenaline. More, it screamed, take it all! It’s yours! MORE! Every syllable had been pressed with intensity that could only make me cringe in pain. The voices grew too loud. Nothing held them back. Nothing made me feel more alive than to wait to die.