Absence of Dreams

Dette er en lille novelle jeg skrev for et par år tilbage i et forsøg på at begynde at skrive igen. Første og eneste stykke skrevent prosa jeg rent faktisk har færdiggjort efter, jeg gik ud af gymnasiet. Tankevækkende, når jeg engang ville være forfatter...

I never sleep anymore. The sun is my prisonguard and the moon my judge. Every night the darkness closes in on me, covers me like a blanket and threatens to suffocate me in its damp coldness. It knows it can't, but that won't stop it from trying. It won't let me rest. It wasn't always so - I do remember a time when things were different; I slept soundly once. Now the darkness won't let me.
The darkness ought to be my friend, ought to conceal me, protect me - and for a while it did. It was the darkness that brought me back from the desolate place. So many things urged me to cling to my other existence and those things held me back and prevented me from growing to my full potential. But the shadows are seductive – they can lure you in. It'll happen so slowly that you won't even notice it until they are no longer merely being cast, but have a life of their own, completely free of the shackles that bound them to the light. And that's when they become dangerous. When the darkness is your friend and the shadows your lover, the paths all lead to the same place.
At first it was a relief; a relief from the pain and suffering. Everything you could ever wish for came true. It was want, take, have. For a while it was the closest thing you could ever come to bliss. Every night was a new adventure and the power was a drug. But as is the case with any other drug, the power declines when the high subsides.
And then it was pain. Imagine the worst pain possible – then double it. Feel it tear at your flesh and rip into your muscles. Imagine the searing pain shoot through your skull. See the black spots, dancing in front of your eyes. It was like that. It was mind-numbing and as the mind lost control the instincts took over. And they were still taking orders from the old song of want, take, have. Only the objective had changed.
After relieving myself of the pain, that's when the suffering began and it was just as mind-numbing as the pain. Anger and guilt ruled every thought, every action. The darkness was nolonger my friend. But as the pain again began to swell, building in intensity, reaching the same level as suffering and self-loathing and then surpassing it, previous convictions were lost. Life was blood and blood was life. Nothing more to it. Sustaining life meant taking life. Nothing more to it.
Things were easy from that point on. I prowled the streets at night, flirting with the shadows in the moonlight - and concealed by the darkness, I rediscovered my future and I embraced it, swallowed it down along with the sweet, intoxicating wine. A droplet of the thick liquid nestled in the corner of my mouth before making a trail down my chin – and what would have disgusted me just days before suddenly made me giggle. I wiped the blood off with the back of my hand, not caring about the red smear it left across my face. Life was blood and blood was life.
And that's how I lived for a while. But it's a hopeless cause to outrun yourself. No matter how fast you run or for how long, your true self will always catch up you. And mine did too.
As I said, I never sleep anymore. My past deeds haunt me to the point where neither day nor night can provide any solace. In the daytime the sun holds me a captive of my dwelling, and in the night the darkness calls to me, beckons me to once again join the forces. As I sit here now I can hear it whisper; sweet words and promises. When that doesn't work, the sugar turns into salt and the promises become threats. It tries to kill me with its hinted suggestions – but to no avail. The darkness can never kill me because I am already dead.