Foreword

"Fyodor's idea of composing his biography in the shape of a ring, closed with the clasp of an apocryphal sonnet (so that the result would be not the form of a book, which by its finiteness is opposed to the circular nature of everything in existence, but a continuously curving, and thus infinite sentence.)..."

'The Gift' by Vladimir Nabokov

            The following piece was written in the form of a short story.  It is a work of interpretive literature, written not merely for the enjoyment of the reader, but also as a guide through one's own mind, in order to better understand the memories of life.  The purpose of such fiction is to enlighten the reader, expand their imagination around a world that, though foreign to them, is an aspect all too real to some.  Thereby broadening empathy between the real and the unreal of perceiving life viewed through a kaleidoscope.  While at the same time, assimilating an imagination without limits, of those lucky enough to be deemed “crazy”.

            The storyline centers on a single main character, following the circumstances after a life-changing event.  The main character’s “friend” is the only other active voice in this story, fulfilling the role as the protagonist in this conflict of “man versus himself”.  The Introduction was used to set up the main character with not only a direct presentation of his attributes/conditions, but also his most recent circumstances in the present.  It is to be noted that there is only one physical character in this story, with two distinct voices and the setting of the story takes place inside his head.

            The rest of the work itself is divided up into sections; where, conceptually, each part is representative of a new entry into a journal.  This was to give the reader the sense of a flow of time or a progression towards something when there is no actual time being recorded, only new entries being made.  The Introduction also acts as a brief, vague summary for the reader of the events that had just transpired to the character, put together between Sections I – XI, all the while re-establishing clarity for the reader as it leads into the last section of the story, Section XII.

            The style of the narrative is broken down into two parts, each representative of a different voice.  The first voice, the main character, is written using surrealistic prose.  In order to better demonstrate his state of mind, abstract words conveying an idea seemed best suited as his voice.  The second style employed is made up of straight and direct dialogue and prose.  This is used as a contradiction to the first voice, in order to keep the reader grounded and following the storyline, as well as enforcing the ideas conveyed by the surrealistic prose.

            Lastly, we come to a brief summary of the storyline.  The narrative illustrates the aftermath and the account of a tragic love leading up to the nervous breakdown of a schizophrenic.  From here, the story develops the main character as he tries to recall the events leading up to his fall and what he must do in order to reclaim his irregular normal life.  All with the help of his disassociated identity.  It is a tale about time, anomalous love, betrayal, and renewal.  This story best demonstrates how the path to love is always fraught with peril and self discovery; an undiscriminating quest that binds those few, who sometimes have to work a little harder in order to obtain it, into questioning what is real and what isn't.  Ultimately, it is the workings of the heart that will lead a person to their ending, if it’s true to form and not merely the creation of the mind.  That is the poet's way.

Neal Willis Syrette

Contents

1.     Introduction

2.     Section I - "Congratulations to the one who came into being before coming into being,...these stones will serve you."

3.     Section II - "Love your friends like your own soul, protect them like the pupil of your eye."

4.     Section III - "If flesh came into being because of spirit, that is a marvel, but if spirit came into being because of the body, that is a marvel of marvels.

      Yet I marvel at how this great wealth has come to dwell in this poverty."

5.     Section IV - "There is light within a person of light, and it shines on the whole world.  If it does not shine, it is dark."

6.     Section V - "For this reason I say, if one is whole, one will be filled with light, but if one is divided, one will be filled with darkness."

7.     Section VI - "If two make peace with each other in a single house, they will say to the mountain, 'Move from here!' and it will move."

8.     Section VII - "How miserable is the body that depends on a body, and how miserable is the soul that depends on these two."

9.     Section VIII - "One can't enter a strong person's house and take it by force without tying his hands.  Then one can loot his house."

10.   Section IX - "As for you, then, be on guard against the world.  Prepare yourselves with great strength, so the robbers can't find a way to get to you, for the trouble you expect will come."

11.   Section X - "Whoever has something in hand will be given more, and whoever has nothing will be deprived of even the little they have."

12.   Section XI - "If a blind person leads a blind person, both of them will fall into a hole."

13.   Section XII - “Congratulations to the one who stands at the beginning: that one will know the end and will not taste death.”

Introduction

A lone, filtered voice becomes temporarily active, walks up to the podium of the sub-conscious world.

            "Love has become nothing more than an illusion.  Once, seemingly so real to my eyes and yet now I wonder... had I envisaged a muse made up of nothing more than hopeful dreams?  I struggle with this thought daily, only to be further burdened with each new recollection of the past.  You see to deny love an existence would be to deny life, that is the poet's way.  What would be the point of living as a brain without a heart?  Still, I’m a little shaky about this one; these days I tend to have a different perspective on life.  It’s a bit darker than what it once was; a mind clouded over by a sense of loss, even if it might not have been real.  Sometimes, I find it hard to face the day; kept out of its reach, yet longing for its light touch of warmth.  On those days, fear and paranoia encage my body indoors.  It becomes excessively difficult to gain back control over my own wandering mind.  To be able to sort out friend with foe, sun and moon.  I only long to be what I once was, an everyday person with some semblance of normalcy.  To be able to once again enjoy life, as it really should be, free; yet, it is this thought alone that keeps me trying.  This thought among many prodding me along, being told to me by still another constant voice in my head, which in a way, also lends its support to what is normal.  Like a partition of a system, the quarantine to what is and to what one has become.  Where are my manners!  I should probably introduce myself...  My name is Nolan Willis.  I guess clinically, they would best describe me as a schizophrenic, coupled with a disassociated identity disorder, well, sort of.

            The extent of my current troubles was brought about by a simple “nervous breakdown”.  Obviously the attack was brought on by stress, but what was ultimately the cause of the overwhelming stress to my person?  This still remains a scattered puzzle; pieces of clues cast adrift on a sea of sorrowful emotions and glimpses of insightful recognition.  Was it really an unattainable love that finally got me or was it facing the reality that what I loved was nothing more than a hallucination?  I’m sure it wasn’t solely brought on by my work life, but I will be the first to admit I generally don’t take very good care of my health.  If left to myself, I tend to forget the easiest things in life, like eating and sleeping, sometimes with compulsive, repetitive tendencies towards overworking, and excessive drinking in moderation.  Though hardwired into grey matter, some of these tendencies have made me very good at what I do, professionally speaking.  I’m still unsure about a lot of the spotty details myself; it’s hard to trust what you don’t fully remember.  So, at least for now, I can do nothing more than follow along and maybe in time things will be made clearer, settled even.  I will say this though: time certainly makes life a paradigm with a person in my condition; the human mind works at the speed of thought but will only physically travel at a steady crawl.  Confused, mending wounds have a tendency to shirk away from time, but then again, one hopes that so do lies.

            Time?  Time.  Hmmm, yes, a non-spatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession from the past through to the future to form a nexus in between the two, the present; a node wherein one is equal to infinity, an equation satisfying both chaos and order, the everything and nothing.

            Ah!  Here I am going off on a tangent.  My attention tends to drift off sometimes, becomes refocused.  Haven’t you ever gotten lost in a thought before or even danced with a dream that was superimposed over reality?  I should apologize for this, though to be fair, it is bound to happen again.  I can’t really help it nor do I want to.  This is who I am and I'm not looking to change myself into something I am not.  In the past, I’ve always overshadowed it from others, adapt to the situation, as would a chameleon.  Its not that I was ashamed of my condition, it is just that I had found that people tend to lack perceptibility; so why bother telling them.  Especially since one is never bound by the same laws of what is and what isn't.  As a fault, if any, I think it is my pride that keeps me from impeding others with my problems, well that, and the obvious lack of trust.  You know, I’ve never really been one to ask for help; there has always been something to prove.  I think, if there is one thing I can learn from this one particular experience, it is to no longer make any excuses or inventions for who I am.  Actually, I'm sure of it since I really can’t afford to anymore.  Truthfully, I’m just not the same person I use to be, or maybe I am more than I'd be willing to admit.  I am a victim to a truly broken head, more so than normal.

            In order to give someone an overtly simplified understanding of my condition, I can sum it up with these few words, “I am crazy but I’m not insane.”  So few actually care to see the difference between the two.  My mind perceives the world differently than another would; this in turn affects how I think but not ultimately how I should act.  For the most part, I greatly understand my condition and this in turn helps me to know how to cope with it.  This fact alone is what helps me choose not to live in that or any other reality.  Of course, as merely a rule, this doesn't limit me from learning anything in foresaid reality.  Think of it as a distorted conception of mind over matter (the matter being the brain).  That simple.

            Even from my earliest days, I had found that it is easier in life to keep everything simple.  Like honesty, which is a pretty simple concept, straightforward even.  Yet I have observed that most people have the hardest time struggling with it; some don't.  To succeed in life, it is dire to be honest with oneself.  Logic dictates that this would be the easiest start; one is born with it.   Somewhere, we lost our way, so now you can see how my life got so engrossed in complication.  So this point is the now, where I stand, the day before New Years, staring over and beyond the precipice.  Starting tomorrow, I’m going to be taking my first leap out of the safety of my head, to once again walk amongst the trappings of the real world.  Left all on my own, for a full year’s length.  It’s a scary thought to ponder, but then again, what isn’t?  I understand the purpose of it that it has to be done for my own stalled emotional and social development. Still, such knowledge does not make it any easier to deal with.  I’m just not sure if I’m really ready for the long road ahead…"

I

"Congratulations to the one who came into being before coming into being,...these stones will serve you."

            Within the deepest shadows of the mind, there exist a place unknown to the realm of consciousness, and turbid to the subconscious mind.  Here there are no troubles, only a bare existence shaped with imagination.  With regression acting as a final sanctuary from the loss of all humanly control.  Life is left to the mettles of Discord, the harbinger of anxiety, to put into place an all-encompassing wall to stave off the inevitable death.  Perhaps even to act as a tomb to encase one against the hardships of life; the choice is always solely up to the occupant.  It is their mind to command, their life to lead; or not to lead, if they are so apt to choose.

            A voice of thoughts, estranged from the passage of time, finally re-emerges from within the darkness.

            Where am I?      Where am I.    A name, any something, only shadows come to the front.  Shadows and hurt.  A bright agitated feeing pulled across a thin dream.  Twisted too tightly, turned upside down to the conscious realm of fear.  Memories of nothing, the hazy darkness, fragments that appear too real to an inspired smile, yet so faint and fading.  Holding on to the shady veil of a liquid ink-sky covering the existence of a slim shaped reality.  Going up or is not having?  Disoriented confusion.  Think.  Think.  Here left with an instant lack of how over abundantly unclear aggregation of thoughts could be?  Answers, seemingly adrift images to the distance of the moment, floating untraced through the mire.  Hidden in the monotonous folds of chaos, each transcending dominating order or just missing in the deformed interpreter.  What happened?  What happened.  Grounded and quickly sinking from a flight out of the now sunken depression.  Hurt and pain.  Anger.  Agitation, perturbations of feeling red, blue, each left regulating my nature, echoing dissonance in these confines.  Hmmm, concentrate on a free-floating designation.      There, a tiny flash of familiarity, try informal utilization of perceptions not viewed through the offerings of the real world.  Illusive grasp upon so distantly close, Flash. Black, orange, cat, cool sweetness in the air, disguise?  Pull another, Flash. In the garden, green, brown, yellows and reds, the warmth of smells entice, working hard at not revelling.  Soon there by the ocean, blue, green, tasting brine, cooling sea spray echoing gulls.  Misplaced fun.  Melted, muddled memories or is this truly reality?  The likeness of seen images forsaken to mocking fantasy.  How has life come to joke relative to victimizing cruelty, uncertainty to the ironic laughter?  Companions with a beaten toiling in doom; Hopelessness is my untimely demise or pending my salvation.  No streets are in sight of escape, just broken legs, leaving one avenue.  There is only imperious sadness.  Will is tapped and draining away.  Should the beginning end through dread of survival?

            Such melancholy sentiment rouses a different voice from out of the conscious part of the mind.

            “No, it shouldn’t.  Such an act would destroy us both and I’m not quite ready to give up on life that easily.  Fuck sakes, am I ever relieved to see you again.  I was starting to think that you wouldn’t be coming back.  It really had me worried.  I’ve never been alone before, not like this.  It was all I could do to fend off this feeling of panic.  I wasn’t made to be alone, that goes against my whole purpose for being.  Where in the hell have you been for the past month?  I must have searched every nook and crevice for you, but each time I always came up empty.  I’d shout out your name and only my echoes would resonate back to me.  I was starting to think this was the end.  Then, for no apparent reason, this feeling of complete and utter despair suddenly overwhelmed me.  For this reason, I knew you had finally returned.  Ha-ha!  What do you make of that?  Hey!  What’s the matter with you?”

            “Phantom!  Who are you?  Is it Damocles comes to taunt me?  Shifting pressures emulating the temper shaking of stress?  You, the self-imposed director of make-belief and dreams, plaguing my blinded waking eyes.  Conspicuously, a hush-hush noise pushing onward towards another onslaught of disillusions coming.  Let your tongue run, shoo the cat.  Puzzling curiosity burns me heavily in confusion.  Speak.  Speak now.”

            “Shit!”  I know this can’t be good.  I should have figured something like this would have happened.  Well, at least he’s back.  All right I can handle this, just one tiny step at a time.  Still, it’s hard to tell how much damage was done to him?  He seems so... unfocused?  Where does this leave us?   “ I am your friend.  Do you know who you are?”

            “No, just a skeleton, left full on the emptiness of the sky, pointing in the opposite direction to sensibilities, each buried under the table.  Your troubled mask covers a concealed face; purposely radiating a feigning smiles of sorts.  Standing paused, you hide trouble well.  Aha!  You are Arethusa’s lover; present in lieu of lonely darkness.  Sigh.  Untrue to the near-sighted distant memories of warming enlightenment, most of them; unheard in quantity enough to disallow the blue, chilling song of decease.”

            “Please, lets try to not think about that alternative.  Hope has not left you yet.”  Hmmm, I can see a spark of something in you.  I’m just a little unsure of what that might be.  I don’t think you’re as far gone as I had initially thought.  “Can you try to remember your name for me?”

            “Never, windows are scarce; closed off to the planet sights or the vivid sounds.  This voiding space of anything and everything, leaves the imaginations clean of memories.  This rich chaos so neatly organized.  Odd to ask and even to wonder, so uneven.  Left toting impatient and aggravations.  Questions?  Question.”

            “Fair enough.  All right, your name is Nolan.  Nolan Willis.  Does that shake anything loose?”

            “Hmmm, Nolan.  Nolan, knowledge so obtuse with the blinking name, yet preclusions frown upon distant tears that trickle down shaken flesh; previewed existence ringing out loud.  So acutely angled, sharp and keen.  This is me!  I am Nolan!  Cutting into me aloud, but where does this leave you?”

            “Well, that’s a little more complex to explain at the present time.  Let’s just say that I’m a “friend” and leave it at that for now.  We’ve known each other for a long while.  I only want to help you remember who you are.  Your situation in life is, well unique and like a puzzle piece, I fit into it somewhere.”

            “Recognition lies on the horizon somewhat clear but distant, perhaps in wait.  Coiled around a blade of grass, a tree of families, patience to spring upon me.  Permissiveness and understanding are both there, surrounded by trust for purposes unknown to me.  Exhaling all of my fears of you away.  My name is Nolan.  What will you be called?”

            “I don’t remember having a name; you had never given me one.  I eventually questioned whether this was your way of retaining control over me.  Perhaps, as a bit of insurance against me from striking out and starting a life of my own.  I was created to protect you after all.”

            “How is it so, sounding words left to wallow in a query?  Chains and cages left banging around you, feeling untrue, perhaps owning nothing.  Least of which slaves, here confusion mingles with the explanation as to why.  Pick a sound; such breathy winds do not whisper nothing into the air.  Ponder.  Be it still... ”

            “Let me ponder on this one for a bit.  I’ve got to go.  Someone needs to man the ship so to speak.  Otherwise, we'll veer off course and people will talk.  Besides, I was in the middle of something when you came back.  I really should get back to it.  Focus on any other details that you can remember.  We’ll talk again later.  We'll get through this, I promise.”

            Though once again united in form, a single voice becomes consciously active in the reality of day to day, while the other, waits in behind.

II

"Love your friends like your own soul, protect them like the pupil of your eye."

            Recollections of the past, slivers of enlightenment toss about, rattling, shattered pieces ricochet.  Anger and hurt.  Why?  Why.  Seeking, searching, flipping memories in darken, cloudy skies.  Where is it?  Where is it.  Doom encroaches, slapping heartstrings, embracing a shadow, robed in nothing in order to keep warm.  So cold.  Moments, moments, too far from now, sooner, searching.  Stone, brick, layers, building up from the ground, a mother, a father, hands are cupped, “there you are.  I see you!”  Childish.  No. Further, go further, Blur of moving colours. White, red, blue, green.  Stop!  Schoolyards, papers and crayons, ABC’s, no, no, Frustration.  Continuation, lengthy flip, flips.  Aha!  Cutting sharp, a commonality of dress always fittingly done, and pressing.  Finery equal to a new jacket, white; must have been cold outside, surrounded by warmth, smells.  Hmmm, there must be more to it.  Flash.  There, there, gone blankness filled in with inky black.  All gone, fazing memories blocked from the mind’s eye.  No, please!  Why?  Why.  Crash.  Where? Where.  Follow, follow.... fall.

            "Nolan!  Is everything all right?  What the hell are you trying to do in here?  This space is already a mess.  Tearing this place further apart is not helping our present situation.  As is, it's a hard enough task of running the day-to-day functions of living left all to myself.  I'm stretched too thin; I can't deal with that and your angry madness at the same time.  Please.  If you can, try and visualize the concept of a wreck.  This is the shape we're in at the moment.  Time, at present is an enemy."

            Time is meaningless here, non-existent."  Smile.  "Donkeys fly to the moon, papers layered in a brown sack.  Always doing the backstroke in time.  See them winking as timeless as the stars, twice as real.   Imagination, wink, wink."

            "Ha-ha!  I guess imagination would be timeless.  You have a very unusual way of looking at things.  Thanks; it has been awhile since I had something to laugh at.  I really needed that.  Gees, there are memories strewn all over the place.  Did you find something of note?  What are you looking for anyways?"

            "Dreams, a memory of a dream.  Once, here drifting by me, a fragmented image, opaque held up to a recognizing light, it floated in.  A face misplaced from a memory.  A warming smile given over to beauty, captured, enthralled in the throws of a muse.  Now just pictures empty of any radiant light.  These points erased from the plane.  Who is she?"

            "Huh?... her, I don't have a name to give you.  I didn't think you would remember her.  She was probably a hallucination brought on by the stress.  I'm not even sure myself.  Some of our memories are partially gone.  Our life is an utter mess at the moment.  I'm doing everything I can but I'm just barely hanging on by a thread myself.  I've spent my entire existence protecting you.  I maybe better suited for handling conflict but I'm not invulnerable.  This one situation that transpired was completely new to me.  I mean I didn't even see it coming.  I can't say I enjoyed the transition very much.                  Ah, Don't think too much on this, it will only lead to more trouble.  I'll explain what I can, when I can."

            "Trouble is lonely, degenerated concave descending, weeping, like mud, close to the ocean, with one lost, but who?  Who.  Explanations echo senses, sonar in the gloom.  Hurt.      Flash and sear, flash and sear....end."

            "I-uh... what I can, when I can.  We will get through this, right?  I mean you are not going to give up on yourself?  All I ask for is a little patience, for a friend.       

I've got to go, things need to be done.  You should rest for a while, ease your mind.  I will check back with you later."

            A voice blends in with the light, as would a shadow, leaving behind a now quieted, disimpassioned inflection.

III

"If the flesh came into being because of spirt, that is a marvel, but spirit came into being because of the body, that is a marvel of marvels.

Yet I marvel at how this great wealth has come to dwell in this poverty."

           

            So many scenes, memories of a few, scattered,       frivolous.  Too many memories.  Too many, frolicking currents of the lazy haze grown thick surrounds my being, dull and unrelenting.  Dull and unrelenting; tiredness, a mass too many.   Still, resolve sweltering under the glass... never close to a clue, a challenge of fortune, spare me change.  Cast aloft out into the barren, squandered wasteland,  victimized by grounding convulsions in need of answers.  Resolve.  I know they are here.  Burial, tomb, cache...  cast adrift under the sands.  Guarded by a map.

Where is he?  Where is he. 

            A dutyful refracted image remerges from the confines of reality...

            "You rang? Keep in mind we're very busy at the moment."

            "Tell me a story!"

            "A what?  Are you kidding? Or are you once again having fun at my expense and the expense of my limited time to converse with you?"

            "Tell me a story."

            "A story?  Hmmm...."

            "Please. Frown."

            "Alright. Here, piece through this one here.  This is a memory of the first time we met.  Now leave me alone."

            The image of lights dimming down syncronized with the drawing up of the imagined curtains; the fading usher slowly backs into the hushing, quiet life once more.

            A series of images lock into place.  Click.  Whirr.  Red, green, christmas has backed away from the present day, withered and desicated, a fire hazard of a falling dormant holiday. White, crispness surrounds the outer realm of snow and ice.  Snow but mainly ice.  Heated tempers bring about the cold; tempered, encasing the outside world in a growing, living crystal.  An ever expanding watery tomb brought to life with even the slightest breath of moisture, lining the trees, buildings, anything in reach.  Pressures snap, unable to carry the weight.  A man, confronts a women, with emotions unabashed, a story seemingly undecisive to observing characters.  Emote. Disapproval. Unrelent,  disapproval.  Exodus, after some travel a man is finally left to himself, to his confines of thought, but not alone...

            "What are you doing?  Who are you? What's going on here?  I know you, but this is not possible.  Just leave me alone.  I love her.  Yes I do. I do so!  Who are you?  What is this, what is going on here?  I don't see how this is a concern of yours.  This is my life and I will live it the way I so choose.  Where are you?  Show yourself!  I know you are here, I can feel your presence here...

What did you do to her?"

            "What I must..."

            "Who are you?  Why am I not afraid of you... your implications?  I've truely lost it haven't I.  I'm not afraid of you.  Show yourself."

            "Hee-he-he.  Semblance of finding something rather, dislocated.  Giggle.  Here I am.  See, see.  Better?  Questions, questions.  An image coated in the shine, but so reflective to the true meaning.  Rather dull even.  Are you even listening?  Drum, drum, tap, tap... sounding the empy sorrow.  Helloo."

            "What did you do to Erin?"

            "What I must.  What I must.  She does not carry us into what is to come, not even the now.  Hmmm, maybe yesterday... too soon, too soon, left with uncertainty on this one."

            "I don't understand what you're saying.  Who are you anyway?  What has made you this way, or even why are you here?  Why are you tormenting me.  I know only sorrow and loneliness.  She was creature comfort.  I need her.  Without her, I hurt, is that what you want?"

            "My parents I think, mother, father... such answered questions.  Weary. Weary.  She is not for you.  Listen. Listen.  There are no ears here, hmm, nothing to be broken.  I sent her away from us.  Away.  Away again.  Two times the trouble, repeating.  Hear, here...  Sympathy.  Pain will wither away, if given the chance... Better fortunes will be on the horizon, buried.  We are one.  I am with you, you are me.  Hear.  Time will tell its story, mystery released.  Be patient, fleeting, floating are the explainations my friend. Comfort."

            "I love her."

            "No."

            "But I love her..."

            "NO!"

            Self-dicovery races forward, spurred on by reflecting questions.   The waking mind chokes on the taste of the bitter confusion, slowly digesting it.  Acceptance of his long shadow.  Outside the sub-concious mind, outside the confines of sheltered comfort, warmth, the icestorm rages on, furied with more sorrow; lashing out its grief on the unsuspecting city with a frozen whip.  Click. Click. Click.  A meeting indeed... incorrect in form.  Untrue to a point.  Half sided to remember.  Huh, some map.  Poor guy.  Reflective.  Hmmm, what else is on?

IV

"There is a light within a person of light, it shines on the whole world.  If it does not shine, it is dark."

            A trickle of tepid, recent memories bubble and froth to the surface of the mind, eddying.  Mesmorizing, drawing one down into its depths, of rememberance, turbulence...  A girl,  pretty, nice figure.  The is no immediate recollection of this one,  only guarded, cautioned memories.  Sort. Sort.  The scenes filter past.  Here,  like a ghost repeating itself,  again, there again... drowned in regret, seemingly dead and lifeless.  Hmmm, feelings as well?  Struck.  Thump.  Thump.  Attachment!  Who is she?  Puzzling, such scattered pieces lost, cast adrift in a whirlpool; do I plunge in?  Questions?  Questions.  Nothing fits, no harness to protect me.  Put in place, set onto our path for no end; darkness and murky, I can not see to the bottom...

            Who is she?  Who is she.

            Recollections and answers, left awash in the mist, forms dew around a single, floating maple leaf; tears in a meadow.  A condensating fog, centers itself, solidifies to form a voice.

            "Who is she?  Who is she."

            "You really don't remember her do you?  Such a pity, this one was truely beautiful... a flower of such beauty; grown through such adversity.  Such a pity..."

            "Well, there is no recognition on my part, strange, stranger still.  Puzzle. Shift.  Redrawn attention, answer."

            "Do YOU even know what LOVE is??  You say that you look for it constantly, but when it's finally standing there in front of you, you send it away.  Anyway you can.  I don't know what to do anymore.  I really don't.  I can't take what you are doing to me anymore!"

            "You are hurt.  Hurt. Remorse.  i am trying.   Cradled in the body, outside flutters across mystery, there, not there.  Trust."

            "Sigh.    Her name was Jennifer, well, Jenny as well.  She was like us.  Perfection in her broken imperfection.  I loved her deeply.  Have you ever felt that someone was truely meant for you?  Finally, someone that would understand us, what we endure; one person, two lives day to day.  Unshackled from the loneliness.  Everyone happy."

            "Jenny... Blank."

            "I know you had feelings for her.  You can't lie to me.  She's the reason why we had a nervous breakdown.  You fought it, killed it with your madness and this is what happened to us.  You caused this!  She brought you back out into the real world, made you want to venture from these confines.  I've seen it, welcomed it even.  Only to watch you crush it under foot.  This is your fault!  All of this!  You're the reason we can't remember her...

I can't talk with you anymore.  You've made a mess of our life.  Now, I think we should leave this city.  We're starving here.  We need to head back home; back to somewhere safe."

            "Safety? Safety... back into the rapids. Sadness."

            Decisions,  still no answers.  Attention becomes redrawn as a frown and sorrow. Once again, peering into the depths of the turbulent, liquid night; searching, no sun to shine, no stars to guide.  Cast away.  He plunges in and gets swallowed up by memories' swift current.

Left alone, a dissipating voice, once again evapourates from the sub-conscious mind to the stark, harsh reality of life; daylight replaced by a dark, cloudy sky and heavy rain.  

V

"For this reason I say, if one is whole, one will be filled with light, but if one is divided, one will be filled with darkness."

              Fragments.  Mere fragments.  A shore of memories, phantoms dispersed from the past; violently embedded into the flesh.  The detonated grains, remnants of her. An infinitesimal handful of specks, bits undiscernable to any sort of eye.  Slipping, falling, cascading between the long fingers of a tempered glass.  Carefully and meticulously laboured on, plucked from the receding tide.  Portions of what was lost, raked into a pile; an unsortable mass.  Reflection.  Hmmm,  like sand, where does one begin and where does one end to form a whole; a castle?  Less than nothing solid to stand upon; so quick to sink into its depths.  Query.  How does one polish what one can not compile?  An un-image of glass and stone. Ponder.  Imagination... Yes!  Clarity.  Cast it with the macines of madness; tempered in imagination.  Reimagine, remember, relive through a different life of illusion and halucination.   Existing materials will slowly make brand new memories of what had already been done... Proud.  This idea seems just crazy enough to work.  

              A handful of magic sand, cast aloft into the storming mind, becomes so easily carried away by the currents.  Dancing sparks begin to crackle, charge headlong into the fragments.  Chance seeding chaos, a re-awakened life takes, and begins to grow anew.  Real and unreal as one, nurturing with time. 

              So much work to do.  Slowly appeasing reason, tending it; overburdened with dreams and sifting time.  Sigh.  At least, maybe now the Sandman will talk with me again; I tire of the empty dark...

VI

"If two make peace with each other in a single house, they will say to the mountain, 'Move from here!' and it will move."

              Glimpses, a vein of trace imaginings plied over a mental framework; malleable and delicate.  Worked, and worked again until a self-realized image is predominately clearer to the mind's discriminating monacled eye.  Testimate to the dedication of an artisan, patient with the tools thrown at him.  Crude mouldings and impure mineral; labourously mined from out of the void.  Flash.  Of rememberance,  scenes play out inconspicously to time. A sparkling gem set admist raw ore.  Flash.   A ring, sounding out. There, another!  Success!  Flash.  A blur of light and faceted colours, embedded in the rock.  Flash.  Flip, flip, flip, flip.  Still.  Will this be treasure enough?  Tributary; paid out in King's ransom to doves.  Still...

              The sound of curiousity, biting into intrigue, enough to sway the passerby from his travels in the realm of outside and once again enter the interior of the mined.

              "Ah, well, hello there... Giggle.  You there.  Standing so shy, sheepish; stepping on your tongue?      No?

Hmph, suit yourself then, I am already aglow in finery."              

              "What are you doing in here?  I just now had the strangest... thought?  It was almost a memory."

              "Addressed in some newly aquired accessories.  Sigh. Sadly, roughly cut, an unedited quarry; these sendimentary need to be hewn to fit.  See? See."

              Flash.  ...a coffee maker just within reach of her.  Perfect opportunity to talk to her.  All the orders are up or done.  The hands of the clock are sounding out that it is just after two.  Time enough to leave the line for a refill.  Start heading around to the other side of the line... the dishsink... server station almost in reach.  Arggh, No.  "I don't know where you knife guard went.  Check over by my station.  Not there?  Then I don't know.  Excuse me."  Idiot.  Only a few other servers doing up sets.  The coffee smells good.  Mouth is dry. Sugar, cream.  "Someone here smells really good."  Smile. an opening.  "Is that you Jen?  You smell really good.  What kind of perfume are you wearing?"...

              "Gasp. Wh-where did you find this one?  I thought all the memories of her were lost."

              Flash.  ...ah, she's here.  "Hey Jen, what's going on?   I just finished my shift, thought I would have a drink at the bar with Malloy before heading home.  Where are you guys coming from?  Really, a psychic fair?  Hahaha.  I don't know, I like to think I determine my own future.  Let me see your reading..." Figures, health, wealth, happiness, family, children. "So was your psychic right about your future?  Why don't you want children."  Blur, fade.  Flash.  "My fortune?  Uh, yeah, sure, if  you want, here's my hand..." She's standing so close to me.  My heart is really racing.  Her hands are soft.  Please don't sweat hand.  Look at the contours of her face, lovely, into her eyes.  Gazing.  She's smiling. "What else does it say?"  Stall, this moment needs to last.  Wait, whoa. 'You're going to find love with someone you can't live without and she is going to feel the same about you.  But you have to tell her.  You need to tell her.  And then a time will come when you'll be apart, and she won't care if she lives or dies and neither will you...'  Again.  'You're going to find love with someone you can't live without and she is going to feel the same about you.  But you have to tell her.  You need to tell her.  And then a time will come when you'll be apart, and she won't care if she lives or dies and neither will you...'   Over and over.  What does this mean?  'You're going to find love with someone you can't live without and she is going to feel the same about you.  But you have to tell her.  You need to tell her.  And then a time will come when you'll be apart, and she won't care if she lives or dies and neither will you...'  This is too long of an awkward pause.  She's staring.  Pull your hand away.  What does this mean?  "I-uh,  I believe you..."   Blank.

              "I did. Something. Struggle. Too abrupt, importance, reason... Grasp.  Lost.  Crumbling in my hands, reason..." Frustration.

              "I'm sure it will come back to you, give it time.  Don't get worked up over it.  I'm just amazed these images are back, but they seem somehow... hollow... for some reason.  Like I shouldn't trust them.  I can't shake this feeling."

              "Yes, sadly, re-imaginings, less ghost story more poltergueist; harmful at times."

              "I'm not following you.  What did you do?  How are these real?  These images seem pretty accurate to me,  I mean, I can't physically remember this happening, but it seems... I know these events happened.  How do I explain it?"

              "Explain? Explain.  Laughter.  I understand; such is my course.  Yes, a re-telling of sorts; unreal.   Dug up from the clay and dirt; chiseled from out of the mouth of madness.  Illusion brought back to life.  Rememberance comes from the parallel of what never was.  Figmentation, timeless, slow in coming; though persistant."

              "That's really clever. Brilliant even. But how do we know this really happened then?  Or for any of these memories for that matter?"

              "Feel.  Tsk, Tsk.  Sigh. Tragic. Tragedy, a body shelters more than just grey mass.  Feel and know what is true, inside.  Matter.  Here.  Lastly, still one more."

              Flash. ...not really sure what to say to her.  "Do you want to walk for a bit?  Uh, yeah, sorry, I just wanted to talk to you.  Tell you something.  Let's head towards the school there." Blur.   "...here, over here." Safety from prying eyes.  " These bushes here will offer us some cover."  So childish.  I've never trusted anyone like her before.  "Hee-he, yeah its like a fort in here.  What?  Yeah, I'm not really sure where to start. I don't know what it is, but I trust you Jen, completely.  I wanted to tell you..."  Blur. ...story of her mother.  Growing up like that.  Its nice that she trusts me too.  Poor Jenny.  "I had no idea, I'm sorry that happened to you.  How you protected your younger sister? You really do love your mother after all of that."  Aching heart.  I feel for her.  She's looking for a fairytale; Prince Charming.  I am completely lost in her eyes, seeking sympathy, understanding.  Locked.  Smile.  So is she... Blur.  "...a cure for all disease.  I don't fully understand it but it came to me all in a flash.  Something I had been working on for years.  All because of you.  Remember when I got up from the couch in a hurry that other night and left.  I figured out what it was, sort of.  From what I managed to piece together, one part has to do with biology... and the other has to do with physics?... its weird, I don't know what that..."  Blur.  ...whoa, what the?  There it is again, a piercing look of hatred.  Now, love?  Is she like me?...

              "Your cure.  Do you still have it?  I mean, can we re-imagine it or whatever, back into existence.  Is there any more to this memory?"

              "No. Echoes out.  Ponders. Hmmm, maybe, physics rings aloud in the shower; an unlimited power source."

              "Really?  Are you sure?  Can we get more memories.  Dig, dig..."

              "None for now. Figmentation, timeless, slow in coming; though persistant. Waiting, barracks, towers, structures of precious stone; building a defence."

              "Well what can I do to help?  I'm sorry I yelled at you before.  Our body is still under a lot of strain, still on the mend.  I guess I overreacted.  You can't imagine what it is like to lose something so precious.  Alright then, let's get back to it.  Off to work we go!"

              "Work? Work.  Shrug.

              Rising above the horizon; two so small in stature, dwarfed by a mountain of activity.  Building a defence and the lost science. Resolve.  Pick or spade, hearts or aces; suitable fortunes waiting to be made and retold.  My kingdom for five more like him.  Reflective; giggle.  I wonder if he knows how to whistle?