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27 February 2008

11. Untitled 1

I mean, I’m just me. I’m just nothing very much. But I’m nothing bad. I shouldn’t get all of this. I don’t deserve any of it. Do I? I know what it feels like to be me and it doesn’t cause anyone any harm. It’s just stuff and nonsense and gobbledegook and mess, but that’s where it ends. There isn’t really anything much in me that gnarls and bites or lashes out or schemes or any of that horrid old stuff that people seem to be full of.

And I’m out of time and out of place and I shouldn’t be in any of these places, or any of these circumstances. Yet, damn it, here I am! This isn’t my home. I also know that that place over the sea isn’t my home. I don’t know where it is.

I suppose it’s in here, in these words – but this is all askew and screwed-up and nothing that anyone can relate to or understand. Even to me it seems confused and out of step with everything around me. It seems so right but so utterly wrong at the same time. Identity. God, life’s so much easier if you don’t want one, or have much of one! If you just want to fit-in and not stand-out. But if you want to be yourself then that’s all you’ll find. Find yourself and all you’ll find is you, and you’ll hear every thought echoing down through the great caverns inside of you. Once it’s there, you’ll never fill it in, never forget it or step away from it. The world will always look far away and people will always sound dim and distant, and every time they speak you’ll find yourself stretching to hear and to understand. And there will always be an echo to every thought and every feeling and every hope and every intention.

All I want is someone with some vision for me, some belief in me, and some desire at least for some belief in themselves. Damn this stinking 21st century world with its lack of anything! What does it have? Bits of this and that, all fragmented and unrelated, all distracting and bombarding but without any meaning.

So I’m here. And all I feel absolutely heightened is my loneliness.

Why would Philip do that to me? Why would he?

Look at those trees out there in the dark and the way they take everything that every climate has to throw at them. They stand firm, they waver but they don’t fall.

Stand firm, Stephanie, stand firm. The wind can’t blow forever, can it?

Want to read more? Read the whole story by clicking on the first blog called Prelude and start clicking forwards using the tabs above the title. 

06:30 Posted in Part One: The Story So Far | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this | Tags: ghost story, horror story, haunted house, scotland, astronaut, space