Today, I want to try something different. I want to experience what everybody around me so desperately desires; an opportunity to atone; to start anew.
For a second time this evening, I tie off my arm with a rubber strap and slip a hot needle into the pulsing and bruised vein above my wrist, discharging a burst of pharmaceutical happiness. It warms my body and numbs my brain. The room falls from focus and memories disappear behind a swirling, color-infused veil of denial.
Dropping the needle, I settle into the heat, my heart slows, my arms and eyelids leaden; I am aloft; the melodic strumming of a Rubab fills my head; I am in a land of infinite red and black poppies, swaying to the music in a warm breeze below a ridge of jagged, snow-capped mountains. I am in Heaven.
The rising and falling wail a police siren calling mournfully from the street below my window wakes me; it sounds blue and orange and purple – so beautiful. Another Siren of a different nature is singing somewhere in the room. Her sultry, dark and soulful voice evokes the languid humidity of the American South and the hardship it is known to emboss on the human soul. She sings directly to me, a tale of lost love, of misunderstanding, of a desire for forgiveness. She and I connect, she knows me, and I feel that I know her. She understands my pain.
I light and inhale deeply from a cigarette. The smoke soothes my sore lungs. I inhale again, savoring the spicy flavor and aroma of cloves, holding it and my breath until my body reluctantly forces an exhale; a blue-gray plume escapes and circles my head, a toxic halo that dissipates and drifts out the window toward Heaven. I take another deep drag, repeat the process and toss the burning remains of out of the open window.
Across the room, I catch my reflection, oddly angled and distorted, looking back at me in the glass of a wall-mounted television. My hair is moist and disheveled; lipstick smears my cheek. Wiping my face, I reach for a warm bottle of champagne lying on the floor next to me and take a gulp; its contents foam in my mouth, spilling down my chin.
My Southern Siren has finished her song, her tale of love and pain touches me. She is left unfulfilled; her man has found another lover; she will wait; one day he will return. Her sweet, soulful voice drifts off, leaving me to ponder the question… is happiness derived from another’s suffering a worthwhile experience? A voice from the Hell inside my skull answers, “Time and memory are unreliable.”
I struggle to stand up; the drapery and the wall are my support. My legs ache, my knees feel as though they may give out. The room has begun to whirl and dance; drums beat and voices chant in my head; nausea overtakes me; my body shudders in revolt. Slowly and with determination, I crawl and claw my way back to reality and to the open window, pausing on the ledge, looking out over London.
The city glitters; a purple-pink sunrise reflecting is off modern glass and ancient stone buildings. For a moment I doubt my intent. For a moment. With all the energy I can muster, I fling myself toward freedom, letting go of the ledge, floating like a Caravaggio God in the moist morning air; floating face first into the pavement below; releasing my soul into the abyss; absolving the stain of my sin.
Copyright© 2007 Mark B. Papale All rights reserved
Mark -
This piece is brutally gripping, and the imagery of the heroine high is extremely real — very powerful. An interesting perspective on suicide as a type of renewal, resurrection — if one believes in life after death. Being agnostic, the jury is still out for me.
You are an excellent writer. Your writing has a dark edge, but well crafted. You may shock some of the islanders at first, but I certainly invite you to return, and share your creative visions — and get to know your fellow islanders.
This is fantastically well written……..a dark tale indeed. I particularly like the poetry in
‘I am in a land of infinite red and black poppies, swaying to the music in a warm breeze below a ridge of jagged, snow-capped mountains. I am in Heaven.’
Thank you Rob and Jo for stopping in and commenting!
Rob – Dark and shocking is my thing. I can’t help it. I hope the Islanders won’t be scared away! PS – the jury is still out for me as well.
Jo – I appreciate your comment re: the poetry, especially after reading your poem.
Welcome Mark to the Writers Island. May I offer you some refreshments? Nothing to light though.
Excellent piece here, the grip if addiction’s claws. Benign and tempting until too late. Please write more.
Rose
xo
Thank you Rose, for the warm welcome. I appreciate your visiting and comments.
For what it’s worth I’m a fan of dark and shocking too…..
Jo – it it worth a lot to know! Thanks again.
Hi Mark,
This is an interesting departure. I enjoyed the psychedelic feeling and the despair is overwhelming. Great work as usual.
Hi Keith!
Thanks for the comment and welcome back. This is actually not a true departure. The story is a highly condensed excerpt from a much larger story. I was working from a prompt and this came about.
For a moment I thought the Southern Siren was suicide. Interesting.
Thanks Deb for stopping by and commenting.
This is a gripping piece, dark and eerie. And I’ll assume it’s realism as well. Your writing is incredibly fine, musical, mystical and poetic.
this piece was excellent… you captured the sweet release of the dope… i cant imagine wanting to jump then… but beforehand maybe,,,,,,
Good afternoon and welcome to Tumblewords and Paisley,
Thank you both for your comments and time. I greatly appreciate your stopping by.
Another masterfully written piece, sir!
I applaud you! (Applauds).
Milord, I am deeply honoured by your compliments. I’ll try to lighten things up around here shortly.
Welcome Mark! This piece was absolutely riveting. I like how the ending leaves the reader without tidy neat ends that explain everything and tell the reader how to feel about what has happened. I think far to many of us are afraid of the dark.
The piece i wrote is not quite this dark, but certainly not in the realm of “fluffy” I have begun passwording my poetry – if you would like to read my piece you can email me at kimberley-s@wildmail.com and I will give you the password.
Again, Welcome!
Thank you Kimberly. I am glad you enjoyed the structure of the story and that you are not afraid of the dark!
Hello again Mark!
I told you I’d be back after reading ‘Bear with Meat.’
I continue to be blown away, not only by your writing style but by the dark facet of the mind that can export its thoughts so well into words. I sincerely hope that you never repress this side of you, because you do bring so much pleasure to others, myself included.
I would have to agree with everything Mark Kistner had to say about your brilliant writing and look forward to more dark thoughts coming our way.
~ Swan
One complaint. Too short!
I would like to see why the narrator even cares about erasing his or her ’sin’. It seems to me that, given the present attitude towards, or complete ignorance of, any sort of religion, one would expect the narrator not to care about the topic of sin. The fact that he or she does arouses great curiosity. Please, sir, may I have some more?
Hi Swan – thank you so much for coming back and for leaving such a wonderful comment. There is no chance I am going to leave the dark side – it is part of the fabric that makes up my fractured mind.
Rob – there are 380 more pages to this story! I presented this scene as a a condensed shorty – the main character is quite interested in religion and in fact, he trying to reconnect with it. Once I have edited it down, I’ll start the heartbreaking process of shopping it around.
Looking forward to it.
Thanks, Rob. One sold, 999,999 to go!
Now this is fun for the entire family! Just kidding. But Mark, seriously, this is fabulous. You are a master storyteller. Your use of atmosphere and exquisite detail makes this a very strong piece.
Dearest Ms. Tasmina,
Thank you for stopping in. Perhaps I should turn this into a childrens book…
Pitch Perfect Mark…this one was pitch perfect.
anita marie
Pitch perfect into the pavement. Say that quickly, five times! Thanks, Anita. As always, I am happy to see you.
So seductive and consuming, Mark. Sometimes the juxtapositions that give me pause are the ones that snare me tightest into the story. For instance, I assumed I knew the singer if not the song until her voice prompted the question:
“is happiness derived from another’s suffering a worthwhile experience?”
A universal and eternal question, yes, but not the one that would have followed the song–for me. So that difference led me further into the character and then resonated with the idea of atonement, which had already acquired an unexpected contour when posed as a resolution followed by intravenous drug use. So much layering here and such resounding counterpoints.
And in such short space, you do it yet again when the unmerciful if inescapable question is answered by a:
“A voice from Hell inside my skull…”
But instead of this Hell following the evilness within the question, your devil proposes a maddening but widely accepted truth:
‘ “Time and memory are unreliable.” ‘
With all that I can’t say I was able to anticipate the end exactly, but it does feel inevitable.
Such subtle and intricate technique conveying so much power, provoking so much feeling–your “Resurrection” demands complex and haunting thought. This story will stay with me. Thanks for telling it.
Thank you, Kathleen!
Your comments are so appreciated. The song section of this story gave me trouble – I had to include it, ( I was listening to Billie Holiday at the time) but I didn’t want it to be cliche or sappy. I still think it can use some work, but I am pleased that you view the current version as unexpected – goal achieved.
Thanks for coming back.
OH – I think I’ll use your “testimonial” on the dust-jacket of my book.
Wonderfully written..although it made me want to throw up…(I’m in recovery so forgive me!) felt I was there…your words are very seductive and paint a vivid scene.!
Thank you for bearing with the story and for commenting. I wish you luck in your recovery.
Loved it, it’s so gripping and it feels so real. The ending is just heavenly.
Thank you, Manictastic
First visit of mine and I thought it was great. As I read I had someone in mind only to find that they beat me here. I am now a reader.
DS
Hello and welcome Death Sweep,
It is always good to have new readers. Thanks for stopping in.
I really enjoyed reading that, thank you.
Thank you Kerry. I hope you’ll come back soon.
That was very well written. You are clearly a person with a skill that is getting ready to be quite something. I’m not going to flatter you and say you are perfect but you do seem to be better than I seem to be to me…
All in all you raise the bar considerably for the fiction writers community. Well done.
Thank you, Matt. I appreciate your stopping in and comments. (wire transfer will be completed soon.)
Interesting post Mark.
Not my favorite topic, but gracefully written.
~Oswegan
Thanks again. I appreciate the comment.
darkness is the way of the universe
all light and hope fails
depression is beauty at it’s most powerful and expressive form