Enjoy, mes amis!
Rapture
By C. W. Kunkel
I am free!
That deep, dark clutch in the pit of my stomach is released. For days, months, even years it has dwelled in the lowest parts of my soul; eating away at me like a worm mulching a dead carcass. It would wake me in the depths of the night with sweating, heavy breathing, and sickness sweeping over my body, not only affecting myself but my loved ones, tearing at their hearts. It had to be stopped.
Now it is all over.
A smile creeps across my boney face. I feel refreshed, better than I have felt for as long as I can remember. A drop of rain caresses my face, and then another. Soon more raindrops begin to dance upon my body. Are they gleeful too? They must be. Never before has the rain been so relaxing.
I slowly open my eyes; a flood of light pours into them. But there is no sun to be seen - why isn’t Sun out to celebrate with me? He must be tired after a long week’s work and needs a rest; I will forgive him this time. I attempt to stand, but realize that I am holding my breath. I gasp for breath as I fall back down to my side, glancing at the beaten buildings around myself. I slowly remember how to breathe, pulling the sickly oxygen into myself, and then releasing it... In and release…
I finally steady myself and come up to my feet. The delightful euphoria sears through me once again. I parade and dance down the cobblestones, even twirl around a lamppost for added effect. I hear a bird chirping his splendid tune and I attempt to mimic. Although I fail at the bird’s beautiful song, I’m absolutely delighted that he, too, is celebrating.
I continue to dance merrily until I come across a group of people huddled in a circle. Men, women, and even a couple of children packed together like a can of sardines. There is little movement; perhaps they are together for warmth. A low hum of chatter emanates from them. I stop my leisurely lollygagging to examine these odd fellows. An aura of despair surrounds them; many with pathetic, drooping backs and solemnly soaked hair.
Why aren’t they celebrating?
They should be joyful, rejoicing for my glee. Yet still they remain in their circle as if worshipping something. Their eyes only leave the ground to glance at one another’s. Whatever it may be is distracting them from jubilance. I must see what it is. I must see this abomination.
I walk towards the group and they begin to huddle closer together. The wind howls down the street and up my spine. I shiver as I approach the huddlers. I politely ask them to move, but no one listens. After none of the crowd answers me the second time, I become disgruntled. I tap a scrawny-looking man on the shoulders; he doesn’t budge. Fury begins to heat my head.
I tug on his jacket and yank on his arm. I kick at his heels and bite at his ear. I pull, twist, push, strain, and toil, until I subject myself to just pummeling his back. He hasn’t moved an inch. All of my efforts cease and I plummet to the ground. I grasp his leg and begin to sob quietly. No wonder they will not join in joy with me, I am pathetic. The man glances down with a questioning look for an instant and then resumes the ritual of the group.
I release his leg and lay on the cold cobble road. The rain begins to dance much harder upon me, as if punishing me for my self-pity. I glance through the feet of the crowd and notice a pair unlike the rest. A pair of loafers point towards the sky as if the owner is lying down. It must be the man that the congregation is worshipping. A pool of crimson rain begins to seep from the worshipped man.
I watch as the dark water slowly weaves through the crowd’s feet, flowing like a river of molasses. I continue to watch in mystique as the river continues to travel towards me. Too weak to move, I allow the water to pool around my face. It is warm. The warmth flows throughout my body; I no longer feel the chill of the wind or the dancing of the rain. I place my hand in the puddle and hold it up. My hand is painted a blood red. Blood.
I lurch backwards, away from the horror. Murder! They killed that man. I take many fast breaths, the world starts spinning, and a wave of sickness hits me. I attempt to run but I cannot keep steady and continuously fall to the ground. They must know that I have realized what has happened, I must escape! Imagining my body being brutally torn apart by the mob, I try again to run but my limbs give away and I skid along the ground. My face burns with pain. I accept my fate.
No one comes.
I glance back to the crowd that remains in place. They continue to stare at the ground. Hatred begins to overpower my fear. I despise all of them, all of the godforsaken members of the group. What had this man done to them? What was so dastardly that he must be struck down in the street? More and more questions scream through my mind, each impossible for myself to answer.
The questions finally cease when a man in a blue uniform emerges from a nearby building waving a cane and shouting curses. The crowd begins to separate, their shoes tenacious with dried blood. The man approaches and catches a glimpse of the victim. He steadies his pace until he is an arm’s distance from the crowd and stops. Slowly, he shakes his head in disapproval.
I realize that this is my chance to see what has happened to this man. If the gaggle were going to kill me, they would have done so by now. With much effort, I crawl over to the crowd where the man in blue stands. He pays no heed to me, instead watches the lifeless body with a blank expression. I am at his feet when I get a glance at the worshipped body.
Lying in the pool of blood is a forlorn man. His hazed eyes are sunken drearily into his head, wrinkles painted across his brow, and wiry patches of silver hair speckle his head. The arms and legs seem mangled; his left collarbone is protruding from the skin. His weathered face is facing my own. I see years of sorrow in his gray eyes, and I pity him.
“Suicide,” whispers the scrawny man to the person in blue. Instantly my fear and suspicion towards the group dissipates.
I continue to watch the lifeless figure with great sorrow. His face seems familiar, as if he were a close friend. Perhaps I knew this man, but for some reason I cannot remember anything previous to this event. I try my best, but no memories of this man come. Perhaps he is no one… Something about him calls out to me though.
Without reason, I grasp his hand. It is cold. It is devoid of life. Yet warmth emanates from my heart as I hold this man’s hand. I embrace him, putting his forehead to my cheek. Suddenly this man means the world to me. I scream to the cloudy sky as if it were responsible for this man’s death. I continue to embrace the man until a group of men place him onto a wheeled bed and push him into a white vehicle. The crowd begins to leave as the vehicle coughs black fumes and disappears into the horizon.
My mind is blank. I enter the nearest building and walk up what seems like an endless flight of stairs. Each of my steps are slow and drawn out, void of any meaning. The world around me is insignificant, a useless obstacle to my destination - wherever that may be. The stairs finally end and I am brought to a door left ajar. With little effort I push open the door and enter the world.
The window is open causing a slight chill to the air. The room is dim, and dank smells seep from every corner. Only a small, lit candle on a nightstand prevents the room from being fully engulfed by the frozen darkness. Within the candle’s faded light is a piece of parchment. I cautiously walk over and pick it up. The writing is neat and perfected.
To the remnants of my life,
I have seen the world inside and out, ventured its roads many times, each as useless as the last. What am I to the world? I am but an inexperienced actor disappointing the play we call Life. There is a deep, dark clutch in the pit of my stomach. It needs to be released! For years it has dwelled in the lowest parts of my soul, eating away at me like a worm mulching a dead carcass. Every day a part of myself is missing, never to be found again. I feel myself deteriorating; a dark sickness runs through my veins, leaving me restless at night and feeble during the day. Not only am I affected, but my loved ones are as well! They cannot look me in the eyes anymore because it hurts them too much. I am tearing away at their hearts. This must be stopped. I must be stopped. With my death I will be free; it will all be over. With a final farewell, I depart your world.
Sincerely,
A man without a name.
I quietly lay down my letter on the nightstand. Holding the candlestick, I walk over to the open window. The wind accepts me as I stand at the window’s edge. I stare into the gray eyes of the man reflected in the window. Eyes that are sunken deep into a face of sorrow. The candle’s flare is extinguished by the wind; it is time once again.
I hold my breath, and become one with the night sky.
I am free.
