Dire Torment

Chapter one: Chronicles of dire torment

For longer than I am aware of I have searched the earth for your essence. The passing of time seamless. I hope that maybe, just maybe, the gods grant me more time than this mortal body can accord. Deep down I know the probability of that is an absolute negative but still, I search. Both in the realms of the living and the dead, I search. And the journey has not been derived of heinous scars but still, I seek.

Underneath the shadows of the earth I uncovered nights of devilish nightmares. In the night my mind is the resting place of the damned to play their most haunted games. I cry and beg in my sleep for their departure but they reach out and console, “For you cannot find happiness, perhaps find solace in torment, rather than be empty?” and with those words I give up the fight. I let myself see it all, the horrors, the darkness, the chaos and for just a little while this emptiness is filled.

And when morning cowers in after the darkness, I wake up drenched in sweat as cold as my heart. As the heavy panting clears the usual realizations begin to flood mind and heart. The silence, the small bed, the one glass of wine and the one pair of shoes on the floor are all evidence and reminders of a futile existence. The curtain drapes need not be pulled for the sun scorches eyes that have abandoned the light and chosen to scour the darkness for a time too long.

The horrors of the night soon wear off and I’m back to just a walking body, seeking that which is beyond reach. The numbness takes over as is the order of the day. Off I trod, into that world full of optimists so blind to its retched nature but their sense of purpose deserves admiration and reward. I think to myself that maybe just maybe that which I seek is not my salvation but rather the journey of seeking itself? Perhaps there lies peace and fulfillment in the search for one’s purpose?

I muse over such an interesting proposal then quickly shun the idea. For the journey itself is a raging stormy sea, wrecking my ship only to leave me stranded on desolate islands. Countless times I survive, savage and rebuild the broken pieces of my frail ship. Off to sea I go, the winds pick up, the waves surge and navigation becomes a chore rather than an adventure. And when the sun sets upon the rising tides, from the bottomless belly of the deep dark ocean, the monsters awaken to collect what is theirs. The sea becomes a roaring demon. My ship becomes but a mere pinball in this game of wrath.

I hold on for as long as I can. The salty waters sting my wounded limbs but my grip remains firm. Soon my vessel is ripped apart and down below I descend. I call out to the gods of mortals to grant me mercy, to grant me more time to seek your presence but most of all, to help me survive. The desire for survival is so hardwired in my instincts that it surpasses my need to find you and perhaps my need to drown in sorrow and move on to a “better world” as they say. Again I awaken stranded on yet another faceless island to pick up the same old broken pieces. Oh the cost of survival!

Such is a tale as old as time; living becoming nothing but survival. All energy is dedicated to just that, at the cost of living a full life. The search for purpose is abandoned and replaced with an empty dark void. We become but busy bodies scampering the earth, doing any and all for survival. Fulfillment becomes but a worn out luxury for the few. And yet we seek, but we mostly just survive.