Even as I walk through these familiar corridors, I see a few unfamiliar corners and nooks that I have not visited, or escaped my notice every now and again. There are those doors that I open often and others not. There are those I keep open because the passages are used so often. And there are those that I have yet to open even once. I am afraid of some of them. Though some of them disinterest me too. Some I feel I never have to open. The funny thing though is that with all of them the more time that passes, the more I become fearful of opening them, afraid of what I might or might not confront.
Silly boy, a soft menacing raspy voice whispers in my ear, what makes you think this flimsy door can keep me in? And what makes you think I haven't been out? What makes you think I have not entered your room and held your neck in my jaws, feeling the warmth pulsating through your veins, had you one bite from death? The door is an illusion, my boy.
That's what I hear in the intense silence that envelopes me every time I stand in front of those doors I haven't opened as I contemplate whether to open them. There is never anybody in the long corridors to my left or right.
Behind one once, I heard a raging yell roar over the thudding sound of something being beaten when occasionally a whimper may bubble up only to disintegrate upon surfacing. Behind another, I heard measured deliberate footsteps which never seemed to stop or turn away because the volume of footsteps did not decrease no matter how many steps were taken. Behind another, I heard a loud heartbeat beating amidst Beethoven's Fifth.
Who or what are these and how did they get in? What are they doing in my house?
Or do I need to imagine them?
Silly boy, a soft menacing raspy voice whispers in my ear, what makes you think this flimsy door can keep me in? And what makes you think I haven't been out? What makes you think I have not entered your room and held your neck in my jaws, feeling the warmth pulsating through your veins, had you one bite from death? The door is an illusion, my boy.
That's what I hear in the intense silence that envelopes me every time I stand in front of those doors I haven't opened as I contemplate whether to open them. There is never anybody in the long corridors to my left or right.
Behind one once, I heard a raging yell roar over the thudding sound of something being beaten when occasionally a whimper may bubble up only to disintegrate upon surfacing. Behind another, I heard measured deliberate footsteps which never seemed to stop or turn away because the volume of footsteps did not decrease no matter how many steps were taken. Behind another, I heard a loud heartbeat beating amidst Beethoven's Fifth.
Who or what are these and how did they get in? What are they doing in my house?
Or do I need to imagine them?
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1 comment:
This is bloody awesome man! This is what I had wanted to write in the last 3 decades or so but have never found the ability to do so. Damn!
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