Metsa #Wattys2016

Reflections

I stared up at my ceiling fan, hooked by the steady, predictable dance of its blades. Spinning spinning spinning. Each blade, projecting its own shadow--lighter shades of darkness extending their width, crossing over the room's darkness, attempting to fuse them in one absence of light. I continued to stare, eagle-spread and wide awake, the knowledge that I had class at seven unimportant. One minute toppled over into ten minutes as it felt like my whole world had been destroyed and replaced with a new one before anyone, but I, could notice. I closed my eyes, the blades' shadows, different--more vibrant and alive, a sort of overstretched blast of CGI, sploshed on the most basic mannequins, disproportionately formed, vague human figures abstract, vapory, etching a feeling of uncanny valley that coiled around my synapses, blasting off so many feelings at once, every emotion contained, easily illustrated and readily available, all placed in equal levels; one never overpowering or undermining another. Each separate emotion, waltzing across my vision like psychedelic ballerinas, turning the back of my eyelids into a surreal landscape. I crunched my eyes tighter and they all blended into one, replicating the closed in darkness my eyelids always rendered.

The ceiling fan continued whirling, the low almost inaudible pitch of its spinning seaboards, fully amplified in this state. My body felt like it was moving all on its own without any actual motion taking place.

"Do you think the forest ever gets sad?"

This is what the ceiling fan said to me, its swishing of air grumbles transitioned into language. Every time its blades spun around: Do you think the forest ever gets sad?  Like a metronome, my mind forged a rhythm and attached it to the ceiling fan, tacking on language. I could have stopped listening if I wanted to. Got up and watched TV or did something else to distract my mind, but I knew that simply ignoring it and going to sleep would be impossible. And so, I continued to lay down and listen to the song. Maybe during this time, I fell asleep, but I don't think so.

That face...that face, easily lost among the crowd for how plain it was, stayed burned in my mind like an engraving. Such a simple face. Not pretty. Not ugly. No defining qualities, no luscious eyelashes, no pencil-thin eyebrows, no plump, cherry lips and no cute moles or birthmarks to distinguish it. Her cheekbones set her face at average height, her forehead blended in with the rest of her face, and above all, her lines of symmetry weren't that impressive, the contours like shapeless hills toppling over the next. In the end, her face formed a shape like a fat diamond and a thin rectangle put together; pleasing to look at, but far from being the embodiment of one's dream woman.

Despite this, I found myself unable to concentrate on anything but her face, and the more its image speared its way through my head, the more beautiful it became, the thought of it seeming to manifest into its own entity. I smiled in response as I played our meeting over and over, a chill hurtling through my flesh whenever I envisioned her closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side in a cutesy manner, the shape of her dimples so natural, corresponding perfectly with that small and gentle smile.

It was cute. A warm image that anyone could smile while reflecting upon, but it couldn't compare to the complicated beauty of those eyes...those simple, green eyes. Surely, they were beautiful, I mean I haven't seen a woman's eyes that aren't, but it's not like they were that beautiful. I mean, they're just eyes. Just eyes and nothing more.

How she started to cry...her sadness springing almost instantly lasting but a short flicker before wading back into happiness. How beautiful she transformed in that one, defining moment. 

Her Inner World, what did it harbor? What lived inside it? Was it her or was it someone else? I wanted to know.

Every single aspect of the encounter had some sort of meaning. Somehow, all these stagnant pieces could be pieced together to act as a blueprint for my own existence.

Delusion. Fantasy. Reality. I didn't know what, but maybe it could be all three, simultaneously all at once, it could be all three. Surely there was a way that everything could be true in its own sense. For what is anything really when you break it down? What am I and what is this? Something that actually has a physical existence or just something that is sort of floating...an empty glob of nothing, invisible coordinates boxing in thoughts and ideas, emotions, wants and needs acting as meaningless energy, needlessly hovering above, that which Terry recognized as Terry.

My consciousness dove into that idea while the blaring image of her eyes, whitened by tears, filled my head. My body began levitating, floating through this surreal daydream, the song springing, kneading the entire diameter of my head, like wearing a mask where every string of fabric was woven with a speaker. Do you think the forest ever gets sad? No longer just words, it was something sung and not spoken.

I wanted to fall into her eyes, be swept away by that ocean of tears and understand everything as if I was her.

"Do you think the forest ever gets sad?"

A collage of blues and greens projected onto the back of my eyelids, taking the surreal dream and breaking its colors down to the most basic, simplified spectrum. These were the colors that represented Metsa. Diminished green, faded blue. This represented Metsa's tears, either as a concrete reality or something my mind created. I didn't know which one it was, but either possibility would surely produce the same feeling.

I'm sure that, naturally, the blackness of nothingness replaced everything, but I probably fell asleep before I could see its emergence.

*sidenote* The song "Colored My World Mine" by Eyedea kept coming to mind as I was writing/editing this chapter. Wanted to find a way to mention it in some way in the chapter, but couldn't find a suitable place to fit it in. Definitely though, similar ideas in that song will be explored throughout the landscape of Metsa.