We walked down the dark staircase using our phones to shine the shadows away as we stepped further down the rabbit hole.
Each step down felt as forsakenness. It felt as if a small piece of our cracked souls was left behind never to be accounted for, ever again. Like the dying leaves are carried away by the icy winds just before mother winter covers it all in unforgiving white.
We were getting lost and we knew it. We were losing ourselves and we didn't stop.
We had always chased the rush and the adrenaline. The rock and roll and the booze, but tonight, tonight we were going down a one-way road. Never to see the light again. Never to feel anything anymore.
The air was stale and it reeked of panic and dread. It was like being 12 again. The noise inside my head would manifest from time to time reminding me of what I feared was real. The screams and tears from downstairs. The flames in the fireplace cracking in a menacing way making the shadows dance in such a threatening fashion.
I remember shouting: Stop!!! But I was never loud nor strong enough to make it stop. And eventually, I would cry myself to sleep after the muffled screams died away. I was always an insignificant little boy who could not protect his own.
The staircase began winding until it curled up into a neverending downward spiral. The descent was steeper and the darkness was abysmal. The need for us to use our hands, left or right, to touch the walls as a guidance maneuver had proved effective. I could hear my companions muttering prayers. It was the most extreme thing we had done as a group. Sinking into hell willingly.
I was carrying my father's legs. Even as an adult carrying a drunken friend would have proven difficult. I was only 12. My mother held the other end of the bargain by carrying his passed out torso. I never asked anything. I just did what my mother told me to do.
Her mascara was a mix of tears running down her face. The fiery blaze from the livingroom ominously lit our way.
We carried the dead weight for about fifty meters until we reached the garage. My mother let go of her pat of the body and ran towards the car and nervously tried opening the car door. I looked back, still holding his legs and feet about 60 cm. above the ground. I looked back and I saw the darkness of the night engulfing my childhood home in shadows, memories that would haunt me down for the years to come, and things that we should have done years earlier.
The trunk of the car popped open and my mother signaled me to help her move my father's body into it. It was a big struggle for both of us.
Once he was positioned inside, she looked at me as if she was thanking me. She was no longer crying, so I smiled at her.
My mother closed the trunk and got on the driver's seat. I went back inside and found my way into my bed, I knew we would all sleep well that night.
My mother's car engine started revving and all I could think was how far away she would go for him to never come back again. I slept all through the night. No nightmares under my bed, not that night.
The air began feeling less dead and our phones' torches began to lose their effectivity as they were dying in the dawning light of the place we had arrived to.
There were no more steps to be walked down. There was no dread. No sorrow. No more fever.
We walked on a straight path for a while. Every step we took brought more light to our journey. We began to recognize each other again. Our weaknesses found their armor once again in the light, we began walking tall and proud again. We would smile at each other as our wounded eyes connected.
The path began narrowing and our bodies started to pack against the others' and finally, we were before the doors of our destiny.
Someone's index finger pushed the doorbell. Someone at the other side buzzed us in. And as the doors open we knew it had been worth it.
Each step down felt as forsakenness. It felt as if a small piece of our cracked souls was left behind never to be accounted for, ever again. Like the dying leaves are carried away by the icy winds just before mother winter covers it all in unforgiving white.
We were getting lost and we knew it. We were losing ourselves and we didn't stop.
We had always chased the rush and the adrenaline. The rock and roll and the booze, but tonight, tonight we were going down a one-way road. Never to see the light again. Never to feel anything anymore.
The air was stale and it reeked of panic and dread. It was like being 12 again. The noise inside my head would manifest from time to time reminding me of what I feared was real. The screams and tears from downstairs. The flames in the fireplace cracking in a menacing way making the shadows dance in such a threatening fashion.
I remember shouting: Stop!!! But I was never loud nor strong enough to make it stop. And eventually, I would cry myself to sleep after the muffled screams died away. I was always an insignificant little boy who could not protect his own.
The staircase began winding until it curled up into a neverending downward spiral. The descent was steeper and the darkness was abysmal. The need for us to use our hands, left or right, to touch the walls as a guidance maneuver had proved effective. I could hear my companions muttering prayers. It was the most extreme thing we had done as a group. Sinking into hell willingly.
I was carrying my father's legs. Even as an adult carrying a drunken friend would have proven difficult. I was only 12. My mother held the other end of the bargain by carrying his passed out torso. I never asked anything. I just did what my mother told me to do.
Her mascara was a mix of tears running down her face. The fiery blaze from the livingroom ominously lit our way.
We carried the dead weight for about fifty meters until we reached the garage. My mother let go of her pat of the body and ran towards the car and nervously tried opening the car door. I looked back, still holding his legs and feet about 60 cm. above the ground. I looked back and I saw the darkness of the night engulfing my childhood home in shadows, memories that would haunt me down for the years to come, and things that we should have done years earlier.
The trunk of the car popped open and my mother signaled me to help her move my father's body into it. It was a big struggle for both of us.
Once he was positioned inside, she looked at me as if she was thanking me. She was no longer crying, so I smiled at her.
My mother closed the trunk and got on the driver's seat. I went back inside and found my way into my bed, I knew we would all sleep well that night.
My mother's car engine started revving and all I could think was how far away she would go for him to never come back again. I slept all through the night. No nightmares under my bed, not that night.
The air began feeling less dead and our phones' torches began to lose their effectivity as they were dying in the dawning light of the place we had arrived to.
There were no more steps to be walked down. There was no dread. No sorrow. No more fever.
We walked on a straight path for a while. Every step we took brought more light to our journey. We began to recognize each other again. Our weaknesses found their armor once again in the light, we began walking tall and proud again. We would smile at each other as our wounded eyes connected.
The path began narrowing and our bodies started to pack against the others' and finally, we were before the doors of our destiny.
Someone's index finger pushed the doorbell. Someone at the other side buzzed us in. And as the doors open we knew it had been worth it.
Hrms Etc
13.10.2019
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