Xara Ellipsis
As I slowly meander back into my dormitory, dark and demonic thoughts begin to take control.
This is medias res, I think. Passing from one scene to the next in a frenzy of pensive management and terror, this really was the extraction of linguistic play being carried out by the lycanthropic volcano pouring lava on ineffable pianos played by my mental labyrinth.
Smirking, I start teasing myself even more with an infinity of eruptions of senseless words and sentences mixed with allophones and fricatives; all that I know, dear Reader.
You would never understand how much pleasure I extricate from such behaviour and genius being lost...translated in Latin in such a sensible manner I couldn't even describe it to you!
Did you know that in Greek the question mark is marked by the semi colon;
Indeed. It was a question. I tricked you once more, my friend. How do you feel? I suppose you sense sadness upon you.
This is all a game, do you not remember? A labyrinth in itself, a concept ever so difficult to grasp yet one of the highlights of simplicity as a man-made notion.
I lay down in my subtle, humble crib, pull the duvet over my shoulders and try to attenuate my dark thoughts.
Thinking...thinking...-like a tap sinking. That could be a good rhyme, don't you think? Such a lonesome sentence could seem so little-of high insignificance and ersatz-and still, it could be the primary essence of something cathartic.
Alright, I'm presuming you no longer wish for me to be using such words. Why ever not? They're beautiful, healthy to use and keep your mind from the snares of rust.
Pressing onward, I attempt to relax, my mind a continual supply of vociferous thunderclouds.
This is illness. You think having a cold will ruin a few of your precious somatic cells? And I would know, somatic derives from Greek, 'soma'-body. Do you have one? A real one? Look at yourself. Simply take one glance at your feet, then, moving upward, risk watching your legs, burning up-
"Miss Ellis," vocalized a familiar male human, entering my private quarters without knocking.
Like a crow, Jason aimlessly hopped towards my bed.
"Morning, governor," I replied with a gentle hint of sarcasm floating in my voice.
"How are we feeling today?" he asked.
How thoughtful of him, I wondered to myself.
"Confused," I said.
He frowned.
"I'm feeling confused. I was wandering...around the hospital and got lost," I explained in detail.
"I see..." he nodded. "Anything else?" he asked, sitting on the edge of my bed, which, with his hasty entrance, suddenly felt cold to be wrapped in.
"Well," I began, pretending to feel upset somehow, trying to gain his sympathy, "there is nothing else, I suppose. I miss my home; my cat, my aquarium-speaking of the latter, where is it now?"
"Everything's alright, dear," he said soothingly.
Suddenly, he pulled out a needle.
"Perhaps it's time for a rest," he said.
"Meaning?" I asked, foreboding on the horizon.
He sighed. "Some things are best said 'unsaid'," he air quoted.
"And unseen," I added questioningly.
He nodded, then proceeded to injecting me with some seemingly familiar liquid. I was suspicious for some reason, even though for the last four weeks or so I had been subject to daily injections in order to keep my body in a peaceful state.
It works, mostly, not that I like it, Sir/Madam, but you can guess what I mean.
Only that it wasn't the typical medicine to calm my disturbed thought process; a drug to sedate me.
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Despair
Never in control. Barely laying down-hardly standing. Tiredness overwhelms, ravenous veins tear the roots from their origins.
Breath of life escapes. The pronoun 'I' ceases to exist. Yet, when one thinks, one exists, correct?
Still, here one remains. Barely respiring, paralyzed and alone, one may squint into the darkness to discover they are not at all alone. A heavy weight begins to press down on the soma, rasping and gasping for air.
Searing pain fills the lower body. Legs boiling with burning blood pouring southwards like molten rock, spiced herbs releasing themselves from their homes and stuffing one's deep.
What sort of a life is this? What is the point of any living being's existence? Such agony takes place beneath one's belly button that the mind is screaming and begging for the mouth to let out a testimony of such tribulation.
The weight grows and the movements augment. Up and down, to and fro, faster and in continual accession. Sweat mixed with blood discharges from all parts of the body, forehead to stomach to feet.
Light dims. Blood ceases to circulate as fast as earlier. Mind whirs and whines. Dogs bark and growl and tear lungs apart within the depths of the labyrinth.
This is hell, a pure inferno. No hope is to be found in such obsolete waters.
Stripping me down, in all senses, why doesn't the other simply snip open one's spinal cord and colour the nerves with all colours of Heaven?
That way no one can find out that tears are streaming down one's emaciated cheeks.
What would Xara do? Tear the lungs. Xara will tear the Lungs out of another.
YOU ARE READING
I; Labyrinth
Science Fiction'There's a strange sensation of the absence of essences. There's nothing.' In the year 3032 a.D within the walls of the Minnesotan city 'Yesté' live three of the world's most revolutionary people innate with what is known as the 'tenth intell...
