the unreachable | #8
The urge to jump. To run. To dance. All the external inferno fuelling a dream, a sense of satisfaction that is simply unreachable.
Or is it?
The urge to scream. To shout. To tell. All the internal inferno fuelling a dream, a sense of satisfaction that is simply unreachable.
It is.
A tap of a finger. A twitch of a muscle. A kick of a leg. A nod of a head. So much he wants to do, so little he thinks he can.
A seed implanted in his mind from birth, which has only grown to a massive tree with roots which span across his entire being with every text and every word that was ever fed to him.
He struggles night in and night out, scratching his head and pulling at the strands of hair. He is going crazy. He thinks hard. A seemingly free mind, with free choices, doesn’t seem so free anymore.
He is slumped against a wall, embedded with writings of the ones who did and the ones who didn’t. This is the path he has decided to go down. No more. ‘Enough is enough’, he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.
He had to go to great lengths to get them. These tiny little beings sitting in a ziplock bag. Embedded in it is a word comprising of three letters in the alphabet. A knife to his throat and a violent bash just for ten of these.
He gingerly opens the bag and pours them out. One by one they fall on his palm. He is trembling.
“Hey there little buddy, you’re my friend right? I know you are. Promise me you will never leave me alright?” He smiles as he whispers to his friends on his palm. “You dare to leave me? Betray me? I thought you loved me! I thought I had somebody in this world! You disgust me”, he screams at them at the top of his voice. A few lazy eyes look at his direction, but they pay no attention as they, too, are like him.
A man in his fifties rolls a bottle of mineral water towards him. He looks up, and the man nods. He understands.
Almost systematically, he pops all ten of his friends into his mouth and uncaps the bottle to gulp down the water. He swallows them all.
Well done buddy. Can you now run? or jump? maybe even dance? Scream all you want. You won’t disturb anyone. Nothing can stop you now. Invincible. That’s what you are.
He turns to face the wall of dreams. He reads:
I want to jump. To run. To dance. I want to scream. To shout. To tell. I want it. I want it all.
The urge to jump. To run. To dance. All the external inferno fuelling a dream, a sense of satisfaction that is simply unreachable.
Or is it?
The urge to scream. To shout. To tell. All the internal inferno fuelling a dream, a sense of satisfaction that is simply unreachable.
It isn’t.
His eyes shut gradually.
He takes his last breath — a sigh of relief.
#8 – tu me manques.
