Sounds of the Incomplete

Footfalls

There’s no one to talk to when you live alone. Most of the time, I welcome the solitude. Unfortunately for me, too much time by myself can be detrimental to my sanity. Nevertheless, I enjoy the sanctuary that I have created.

     A lost soul should stay lost, and I don’t want to be found.

     As the years went by, I have never forgiven myself for my sins. I am here in this cabin in the mountains for that reason, and I promised not to leave it until I let my sins go.

     I’ve been here for two years.

     I rose early, and the morning began like any other. On my way to the restroom, I paused to throw a few logs on the fire. The cinders snapped with new life, and after seeing the flames dance with renewed vigor, I moved to the bathroom for my morning routine of a shower and shave. I noticed that this morning was colder than usual so I turned on the hot water and let it heat up before I undressed.

     “I bet it snowed again,” I said to no one.

     Yep, I bet it did.

     Grateful for the water scalding my skin, I thought of times when I didn’t have the luxury of hot water. I thought about the times that I couldn’t let go.

     “When will the memories leave me be?”

     When you let them, I thought.

     “I don’t want to. I’m not ready to.”

     Not yet?

     “Not yet.”

     Then you’ll die here as alone as you felt when you arrived.

     I stepped out of the shower, and knew the fire was roaring. The room was much warmer than it had been before. I reached for my towel that hung on the rack, and dried myself off. I moved to the main room of the cabin, and walked toward one of the windows. The sun reflected off the newly fallen snow, and nearly blinded me. As I neared it, the reflection wasn’t as intense, and I saw them again. In the snow, there were footfalls of someone who had walked up to my window from the tree line, but there were no tracks leading away.

     “You again,” I said aloud. “I’m not ready yet. Not yet.”

     I waited for a response, and was left disappointed. This was the fourth time I had seen those footprints, and each time, I was left without a response or explanation. During the first incident, I grabbed my rifle, and yelled as I circled around my cabin. Someone would have to deliberately make their way here to come across it. There are no paths that led here. When I returned from my search, I found a small piece of paper that read:

     “Soon.”

     The message was signed with the letter “D,” and I was bewildered. I threw the piece of paper into the fire, but the next morning it turned up on my table. The thought that the letter “D” could stand for Death immediately came to mind, and I hoped I was wrong. I have done too many things in my life to want to see what was waiting for me on the other side. What bothered me most was if it was really something supernatural, why would it come to me?

     Because you have done more harm than good with your life.

     “I have tried to make up for what has happened,” I replied.

     Have you really? If that’s the case, why can’t you forgive yourself?

     “It’s not easy. The war was decades ago, and I’ve carried it with me for so long.”

     “Who are you talking to?” a voice behind me said.

     In a blur, I faced the direction the voice came from. Still standing in my towel, I saw a man in a black suit sitting at my table. I could see that he was tall, of slender build, and his eyes seemed as stygian as his hair. There was an ominous air permeating from him, and for the first time since the war, I felt fear.

     “Will you answer, or are you just going to stand there in a towel?”

     Without saying a word, I moved to my dresser, and took clothes out. Still in shock, I made my way to the bathroom, and did my best to gather my composure as I dressed. When I returned, he made a motion for me to sit and said, “Hello. Today is the day you will die, but first we will talk.”

     “About?” I replied as I sat. I felt that he was there to kill me, but he didn’t seem sinister past his appearance. I had always wanted to know when I was going to die, but now that I knew, I felt that I was coming undone. I wanted to know who he really was, and did my best to hide my fear.

     “You, of course,” he said to me. “Do you, perchance, have coffee?”

     “Mister, I am an old man. I have coffee.”

     I moved from the table, and started the percolator. When it began its cycle I asked, “So, I’m going to die today?”

     He uncrossed his legs and replied, “Yes, yes, but that’s neither here nor now. Coffee first, I am chilled to the bone!” and he began to laugh villainously.

     “What’s so funny?” I asked as I was wondering what would be the cause of my death.

     “Chilled to the bone? Death? Skeleton in a cloak?” he said, looking at me as if I should have seen the pun when he first said it.

     I couldn’t believe it. Sitting at my table was the grim reaper himself! I was shocked and overwhelmed, but I asked him a question in hope that I had misunderstood.

     “What do you mean by ‘Death’?” I asked. “You mean as in my death?”

     “You all die. It happens sooner or later, but no, that’s not what I meant.”

     There it was. There was the confirmation, and I had no doubt that Death was at my table. The suit, the hair, the eyes; they all just made sense, and especially how he just appeared in my cabin. Death had finally come for me.

     “Some of us speed up the process,” I said thinking of the war.

     “Indeed, and that’s why I am here.”

     As I poured the cups, I pondered what he had just said. 

     Was I going to speed up my own death? Is he really the Death?

     “Yes, that’s right. You are, and I am,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.

     “You can read my mind?” I said with my fear renewed.

     “You tend to think out loud. You’ve been living alone for too long.”

     I handed him the cup, and my fingers brushed his. I have never felt cold like that before. It was as if all warmth had left me, and if there was still any doubt that he was Death, it was gone. As I retook my seat, I felt warmth return to me from the inside out.

     “Sorry about that,” he said to me.

     Sitting across from me was Death, and as I watched him hold a cup of coffee with both hands, I could only think of how I was not going to be alive tomorrow. Fear grew within me, and I couldn’t help sounding like I was pleading when I broke the silence.

     “Not yet. I’m not ready yet.”

     “I know,” he replied. “That’s why I am here.”

     I remained quiet.

     “I’m not the one who is going to kill you tonight,” he said cryptically.

     “Who’s going to kill me?” and as I waited for his response, I could feel my nerves unfurl themselves.

     His dark eyes bored into me, and I could feel him feeding on the agony that his hesitation was causing me. He looked down into his cup, and slowly brought it to his lips. I was coming undone as he sipped his coffee, and tilting the cup away from his mouth, he finally said, “You are. You are going to get drunk tonight, and kill yourself.”

     I immediately sprang from my chair, and ran to the cupboard above the sink. I opened both doors, and reached for the bottles of whiskey I kept. Before I could break the seals off their caps and pour them down the sink, he stopped me.

     “Getting rid of that wonderful vintage will not stop your demons from consuming you.

     I turned my neck, and the fear I felt must have been obvious.

     “The phrase, ‘skeleton in the closet’ was because of me, you know. I used to project myself as a skeleton in a cloak, and people feared me,” he said.

     I took what he said in, and I thought of Death in that image. I thought of him sitting there in a cloak with a scythe propped up against the wall. The idea sent chills through me.

Death continued, “They feared death because of the unknown aspect of it, and they believed I hid in wait. The meaning eventually evolved into secrets that you keep.”

     Standing there frozen, thoughts raced through my head about the skeletons in my own closet, and how I keep them hidden away so they don’t destroy me.

     “One thing that you all forget is that you keep a skeleton inside of you at all times,” and he motioned me to sit once again.

     “I can’t get drunk and kill myself if there isn’t anything to get drunk with,” I finally said.

     “Will that fix anything? Will you not still be plagued by the disease you carry?”

     “What disease?! I’m sick too!?” I exclaimed.

     He took a sip of his coffee, sat his cup back on the table, and said, “You are sick with regret. That disease has spread, and is very close to consuming you completely. You are not doing anything to combat what has been killing you for years.”

     He was right; I have never faced the pain of my past. I had only run away from it, and it took Death to tell me before I would finally believe it. I had lost my family because of my unwillingness to acknowledge that I needed help. I ran away from them, and they left me for it. To my family, I was already dead.

     “No, you are not dead just yet,” Death said, interrupting my thoughts. “But by twilight, I will decide if I will kill you myself. Convince me you are worthy of life and I may spare you,” and he gave me a sinister look.

     I wanted to live, and I desired what I once had. My eyes were finally open to what was really important to me, and the fear that once gripped me of Death’s presence had subsided. I felt courage growing inside of me, and I was determined to live.

     “I was afraid of the dark until it embraced me,” I whispered to myself.

     Now, convince it to let you go.

Message in a Bottle

Floating upon this sea of tears, fears, and yesteryears, I tore the sails from the mast. I don’t want to find my way back to shore because there, I will find you.

Thoughts race through my head as the gusts raise the seagulls to new heights, and I simply float on in this vastness. The atmosphere becomes thick with the heat, and I feel like the air is running out.

The nights are wonderful though, and I hope you find this message. I imagine you reading this as you sit upon the warm beach and the sea licking your toes. I’m sure, if this letter does find you, that it will find you well. I’m sure of it, because you are without me.

Anonymous asked: Directly behind the aortic arch rests a story that is four years old-- a pool full of sea, salty air and seagulls.

Message in a Bottle

allefory:

A mind that fears no one is the most dangerous of all. But a heart that fears no one is only a danger to itself.

(Source: lovestrucktroubadour)

More Than Once

Love me more than once,
and I’ll love you for a lifetime.
I will cross over, under, or atop
oceans for that starlit caress.

Speak softly to me, and slowly,
so that I may study each syllable.
Love me more than once,
and bring serenity to this mess.

Let me explore your mind
and discover secrets of your body.
Let me love you more than once,
and hear the words that I digress.

Let us join in the night
and bring on the dawn.
I could show you my world
and put your body to the test.

Shades of Night

Your eyes are a perfect shade of night.
They are a cool, calm, and a serene.
Starlit and vast.

My eyes are a blinding shade of darkness
with an amber hue.
A deep overcast.

The lightning dances in the heavenly sky.
Loud, fierce, and
threatening me with rain.

Thoughts of you collide and the sky nearly breaks.
It looks like tonight’s weather will be;
cloudy, with a chance of pain.

Kingdom of Fire

Let me dance around in my kingdom of fire,
and when the music speeds up its tempo, come and join me.

Let us create a heat barely bearable with the friction of our bodies,
and let those who witness see our fire burning bright.

Let the floor glow hot where our feet touch
and cool again when we lift our feet from it.

When the song is over and the room stops spinning,
let us catch our breaths and dance again to a new song.

Thank you kindly dear giver of the blue tags.