The Day Before. (Undergoing Re-Writing as 01/11/22) (Sequences 1-4 finished)

Sequence Ten.

Sequence Ten.

Miseries, oh miseries. Mysteries, oh histories. I open my eyes, full of woe one last time. I find my way and I continue on, not wasting time. My hands follow an invisible  line I cannot see, but feel in my mind - like that fight that I felt, what feels like so long ago—like it is happening again now. But I follow along, reaching out to feel what feels like a doorknob—I think. I now see a house. This house I remember, but I think I deny.

A line to a path? A path to a sign? What sign may be this... Does it take me back to this hole in time? Was it a lie that I learned of, simply lost in my mind—left behind found in due time?

I open the door to this house. It is completely dark, except for the line. It stretches, invisibly ahead and in front of me as it disappears in time. This time, it stays there. I start forward and toward, closer and closer. I reach for the line. The line is attached to me, it's pulling me tight.

Behind this line, sits a man. A man at a desk, in a light—writing vigorously on paper writing lines and lines. My vision blurs and I shake inside. Forever that night, that grizzly sight now lost in time, like this line, and everything before it—invisible forever and gone of sight. I see...

I move the man, I thrown him off of his chair. He fades away. I lean over and I look at the paper. It... it... The man reappears and pushes me down, I slowly wake up again, and he stands above me pointing at me. "STOP!" he yells as I lean in closer to read what he had written.

"STOP!" I scream back to him as I look... he's writing again. He's writing everything that I am thinking. He's wrote where I've been, and wrote what I've done. My heart starts to beat as I grab him, stunned. He stares at me, and I stare at him. I can't believe. He is me. THE TREE, THE BIRD, THAT NIGHT—"WHAT HAPPENED!?" I scream.

Everything disappears.

No.

Breathe...

Help me.

Breathe...

Breathe...

Drink.

Drink.

Drink

Drink

Fire. Hot. Burns.

Trapped.

Metal burning. Hot. Hot. I can't move. I feel like I'm stuck. Help me. Blood everywhere. Oh my god—friend.

END

Blake Matthew Tompkins (Alex Sharpe)

Text © Alex Sharpe 2018

The right of Alex Sharpe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him is in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1998

This book is a work of fiction, and the names, dates, characters and events, places and incidents, described within are entirely fictional and any resemblance to actual events, actual persons, living or dead, even living dead or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor parts thereof, may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any for or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher or publishers agent, assigns, or authorized representative.