Lost Tales of F.K

Normality

"You know the feeling of being run into the ground, but you keep spurring yourself on?"

"No, I can't say I'm familiar with that particular feeling of pushing yourself beyond your limit. If you mean plain exhaustion, then yes I am."

She had not looked at me once during the entire conversation, her focus was entirely elsewhere. She twirled the wine glass in her hand before taking a sip. The dim candlelight made the wine gleam like a finely polished ruby, creating a light crimson hue to her complexion.

A long silence hung in the air. My mind kept thinking of the race horse being spurred on, a fraction of life remained in its body. I found it strange that the horse did not resist its fate. Why would it not just fling the jockey from its back? Did it feel satisfaction from being controlled? Or did it merely give up on trying to fight a power it had no chance against?

"There you go doing it again Frank."

I glanced up at her. Her bright hazel eyes locked with mine; the first time tonight. She brushed strands of her raven black hair out of her face and tucked it behind her left ear. She looked at me expectantly. I should have said something. Opened up my mouth and kept the conversation going. I should have ... but I didn't.

A deep sigh escaped her mouth, probably more audible than she wanted.

"Look, I know you write as a way to deal with your issues, but you have to realise that it's negatively affecting your life."

I remained silent and avoided eye contact with her. I knew she wanted a response from me, yet I also knew I didn't have the answer she wanted.

Another deep sigh from her.

I clenched my fists, I knew what was coming.

"I can't do this anymore Frank. I can't wait forever either. It's over. I hope things work out for you, and you realise what you need to do before it destroys you."

Say something before she leaves. You can't just let it end like this. She's your only light source in this eternal darkness. Just do the right thing for once!

But I didn't. I watched her walk out the door, as the flame of the candle flickered for the last time before going out.

The nights were not kind to me. I've started to fear sleep, too much time for my mind to wander. It never helped before, but I pour another glass of whiskey. I begun to long for the burning sensation the whiskey brought; my stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten yet, but I don't care.

"She's right you know. Stop putting strain on yourself, focus on your day job."

I pour another glass.

"You spend so much time writing, but is it really helping? This is how you deal with your past, but don't you think you can't overcome it because you keep writing about it?"

Shut up.

"You trying to rid yourself of your issues by locking yourself in a room with it. Just unlock the door and leave."

Just shut up.

"The knife you're looking at won't help you. I'll always be with you, it's what we both want. So don't worry, I'll be right besides you, even when you're laying in a grave six feet under."

A dull pain coursed through my hand. Shattered glass covered the floor in front of me. I looked at my reflection in the crimson stained glass shards.

"I know..." I told my reflection.

•

"Hey Frank, good work buddy. You keep this up and you'll be promoted in no time."

Harry patted me on the back, his trademark toothy grin was spread across his face. It had been two months since I last picked up a pen and wrote something. Sure my nights were still restless, but I found it easier to distract myself in work. I should have felt elated by the recognition, after all it was something I had yearned for for a very long time. Yet all I felt was emptiness. A void that grew by the day, devouring all in it's path.

"I'll always be with you." the voice whispered in my head.

The voice was right. Writing was a way for me to deal with my issues, but the more I wrote about my issues, the more I brought them to the surface of my mind. I thought if I let go of my problems and moved past them I would feel better, be better ... it's all wishful thinking at the end of the day.

I dialed her number that night. I never quite understood why I did it. She clearly ended our relationship, yet it felt like only she would understand what I had to say.

"Hey, sorry I can't make it to the phone right now. But you know what to do right? *Beep*"

"... You were right that night. Writing does negatively affect my life, so I stopped writing; focused on my day job, might even get a promotion soon.

"It's tough you know. The negativity in my life is gone, yet I've never felt more devoid of life. You think that once you get in the routine of normality, that things will automatically go right; but normality doesn't work that way. People like to think that there's a standard, but it's impossible because humans are unique. We are all broken, but we are meant to be. Finding unity; purpose; love, it wouldn't mean a thing if we were perfect. We find ways to deal with these problems and events, simply because we must."

I knew she would never respond, and I was okay with that. All I needed was a pen, paper and my broken mind. I sat in complete silence as my thoughts ran wild. I thought about normality and what it meant.

"And so, what conclusion have you come to?"

"It's a cycle that never ends. Remaining stagnant while in motion. These words might not make sense, but insanity is part confusion."

A smile spread across my face. My reflection smiled back. We raised our whiskey filled glasses before downing it. I was content...