Loss of Consciousness

by dschapman

Descensions; I, in my finest, alive for a minute, a part of the world; as I, in my pure determination, climbed so high, unfaltering, wind to my back and the sun in my eyes; tempers shifted and the objects aged, lost in quantum fluctuation; time passes, columns falter; elephants crumbling, the ivory sinks into the sand, sand vanishes; the shame comes back; white eyes become whiter; the buoyancy slips, something trembles; tremors – instinctive – impersonal; discrepancy; aching limbs; I faltered, while they fathered boys, and I in my loneliness longed for them, I stretched and I slept and I failed to deliver. Time rewound; I fell down with it. Where once I was waking I now barely sleep, and with these shells in my hand I feel hated. I clasped a man with feathered hands and I cried for him. There are heroes here upon this earth, heroic men – I’ve met them, and they’ve died. I’ve seen them dead on cement floors. I’ve seen the curtains drawing close; someone pushed me, and I drowned. Under the waves, here in this static oblivion, I forget how to move, how to speak, how to empathize. Worms interrupt my descent, they are writhing, I am watching them writhe. I have been here before, submerged beyond all alteration. Minds have slipped in drier waves, I do not have a chance at surviving this. Men have died from lesser wounds.

It has been months since I’ve written a word and there are months to come before I try to. It has been months, now, many months, since things were very different; things were very different, then. Since then, everything seems to have slipped from me. My estate has dwindled, my means disappearing right into thin air; my cars have been sold, and my last one has fallen apart on me; there was an accident, and someone crushed the driver’s side. Worse than the cars and the money, however, is the loneliness. It has been months since even last I saw a woman; years since… As steadily, years pass more quickly, until they hardly pass at all…

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