Chapter 8 - "Let me ease your pain"
I don't know why, but I just can't think of anything to write, so I thought about adding another fragment of my book. This is the start of chapter 8. I like it. I don't usually like what I write...
So, here it is....
He put on some music not able to bear the silence any longer. Just any music, he thought, just anything. He found a CD, pulled the disc out of its container and with shaking fingers inserted it in his player.
There was a small rattle before the hole in the middle of the CD fitted with the small, circular hook inside the player.The gentle sounds of a piano filled his dull living room, extending outwards to the broken shape he knew was behind his shoulder, the very shape he could not bear to look at, the very woman he idealized for some purpose he could not fully understand.For the thirtieth time he cursed himself for wearing the bath-robe which he knew made him look like a melted ice-cube. He tucked it around himself and made himself ready to turn.But he couldn’t.
The music swelled and the familiar voice of a woman set in, profound and painfully real.
“I love Tori Amos,” another female voice came from behind him. It was still, still like a tombstone, immovable like some tower of ice.
He turned. He was forced to now.Saw her, sitting there, slumped over his leather-chair, her legs seeming to shudder softly, her black dress unable to fill her flesh properly as it was intended, raw, naked places along her shoulders, her thighs and her arms poking out. Her skin was painfully white.
“What is this song called?” he asked stupidly, knowing perfectly well what it was called.
“Winter,” she whispered.Looking down. Unable to react. Uncertain what she wanted from him. Uncertain what to say, how to react to the fact that she was not only in his house but that she looked like she did.As if her skin was dripping off like small drops of milk and she was desperately trying to gather them with her delicate fingers and put them back on.
Shaken, obviously. Shaken as if she had stood alone against an avalanche. But she had gathered herself slightly now.
When he finally, drawing energy from the song that spilled into the room, managed to look up he saw misty shores under overcast skies, ripples spreading across the water.
“I don’t know why I came,” she finally whispered.
“That’s okay. We don’t always know what we are doing.”
Looking down again. Unable to hold her eyes for long. The black of the silk gathered around her heaving chest, a fine, delicate line between her breasts. No ornaments anywhere.The earring with the multi-colored glass not present.She fingered with her fingers, watching her pink nails.Nothing to say.
“I am sorry I said… What I said to you,” said she, still looking down. Hesitantly, searching like some blindfolded child through dark woods, snow falling. Mist coming out of the mouth and through the nostrils. Suddenly she looked more naked than he could ever believe another human being could appear, as if her flesh was removed, as if her sinews and muscle had been stripped. Only bones left, white as her hair.
“It’s okay,” he replied. Then, shortly after, he whispered:” I just wanted to find you.”
Her lips pursed together. A thin line. Tears gathering relentlessly in her eyes, her face falling off. Now, he thought, now she finally gives in and breaks.But to his great surprise she suddenly managed to get control of her collapsing body. The tears seemed to return into her eyes.
“And,” she whispered, nearly inaudible through he softening music,” I’m sorry I told you to jump. I don’t know you. I just…” Looking up.” Lose it, sometimes. Lose the lines, the boarders that define our lives.”
Not sure what exactly she was saying. Stopping the music. Too much. Turning something he hadn’t listened to before on, that miniscule moment of silence between the songs unbearable.Finally a thin line rose. Unsure what instrument it was. Something between organ and guitar, he thought. A soft beat of drums, thin riffs of guitar following. No voice. For now.She rose. The sound of the cloth was too much for him, like some great scream, like the bellows of a banshee from some spectral realm. Her hair was in motion. White. Pearl.He stood still. Unable to breathe.
She opened her mouth.No words came.Her lips formed around a million syllables, none adequate, each of them false, every word she knew in her great vocabulary unable to state what she felt. She mouthed again, desperate to speak and so incredibly unable.
“You don’t have to say it,” he whispered.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s what you don’t need to say...”
Moments later forces beyond their controls had squeezed them together. Walls of thickened air had slammed them into each other, air beaten out of their lungs. She took hold of his back through the rough fabric of the robe, seemed to ingest a great, thin needle and lock it into his spine, filling that thin membrane of marrow that was a canal through his back.He sucked her life into his lungs.
Singing now.
A man.
The dress fell off without any thought or action as if it had been held up solely by her willpower alone. And now she let go.Her skin was cold.The robe fell.Both naked, held together by magnetic attraction that was powered by the unsettling tunes from the music, those eerie, beautiful waves of particle logic that numbed their bodies in a web of matrixes of shiny green.On the carpet.Sucking life, fingers forcing themselves into hands, grasping as if holding on for dear life, whispering words, inaudible, but in reality the name Ely, Ely repeated again and again on her ashen lips.There were tears. But their tears mingled.So it did not matter.His warm hands casting her on the other side, she moving with him, then alone and then with him again, moving so much faster than the music.They were twisting, raw animal passion or raw human pain powering their tiered bodies, taking hold of them and throwing them around on the floor.
“A condom,” she gasped.
He stormed to the bedroom, falling as he stumbled on the way, forcing open drawers in madness, spreading underwear and socks across the bed. Hysterical. The thought of not finding one unbearable, the thought of another second without her even more so.
A flash of red plastic forced him to dig deeper. Finding one.
Turning.
She was there. Not able to wait.Her arms like branches of some tree in winter seemed to lift him and throw him on the bed. Condom on. He entered her.They swallowed each others moans. Gasps.Turning, friction.
Flesh sparking against flesh, hands in hands, key in lock. Moving, kinetically part of an every expanding universe. A universe filled with spies, with demons, with evil.
And beauty.
The music became like echoes from underwater as they were drowning, she pulling him under, six feet under, he pushing away rocks and mould, digging their graves, moving their ever-turning bodies into a dance in the earth, worms and roots entangling them in another web of threads like silver and crystal.Force shook through them, pure, undestilled force that made them crazy, mad by the scourge.
Pace quickened. Tears. Sweat.
Teeth meeting teeth, gnashing against gums, blood prickling down their bodies, tiny, slender rivers of blood. Sucking it up, licking it on their tongues.Tasting iron. Tasting copper.Tasting life.
Nails gritting on skin, digging into the backs, into the rumps, into the sexes, forcing forth the earth-shattering inferno that brought all to life ages ago in one, maddening spark.
Nearer.Running away now, spies everywhere, pain.
Too afraid to have their eyes open, too afraid of what they might see. Creatures hidden in boxes in their teary pupils, dread and fury in the wrinkles around the eyes.Falling into the core of the molten earth.Unable to breathe. The world was too heavy. Mountains over them, Norse mountains of ancient times with snow that never melted. Earthy pinnacles spread higher still, piercing the carpet of rainy clouds, the enormous weight crushing their chests, compromising their lungs to minimal sizes.
Unable to breathe.
Lungs afire.Drowning in soggy mould. Drowning in blood. Drowning in each others tears.But nearer still. So infinitely nearer.And so. Music higher. Deeper. Resonating the strings that held the neutrons and protons together, each tiny atom suddenly shaking, the cries extending to the molecules, breaking their DNA’s to pieces as well as their skin.
The end.
The end. Everything. Everythingeverythingeverything. Everything. There, right there in the tear that ran from his cheek. She licked it away before… screaming. She screamed so loudly it seemed the world had ended. Still no eye-contact, both of them afraid regardless of what their bodies shared. Afraid of spies that might see them and what they felt. Paranoia about paranoia.
The music swelled to unbelievable heights, their voices merging, the voice of the man singing, nearly shouting the words as the guitars shook in resonance. They were uncertain if it was one of them, both of them, the man singing or all three who screamed the words:” Let me ease your pain”. But it was all.
“Let me ease your pain!” they cried from the bottom of their beings. “Let me ease your pain”.
And then there could be no doubt what the words that created the universe were.They were the words: “Let me ease your pain.”
“Let me ease your pain,” the man on the CD screamed in perfect unison with the woman with the white hair and the man with the yellow notebook.Let me ease your pain. A breath. A whisper.…Tonight
So, here it is....
He put on some music not able to bear the silence any longer. Just any music, he thought, just anything. He found a CD, pulled the disc out of its container and with shaking fingers inserted it in his player.
There was a small rattle before the hole in the middle of the CD fitted with the small, circular hook inside the player.The gentle sounds of a piano filled his dull living room, extending outwards to the broken shape he knew was behind his shoulder, the very shape he could not bear to look at, the very woman he idealized for some purpose he could not fully understand.For the thirtieth time he cursed himself for wearing the bath-robe which he knew made him look like a melted ice-cube. He tucked it around himself and made himself ready to turn.But he couldn’t.
The music swelled and the familiar voice of a woman set in, profound and painfully real.
“I love Tori Amos,” another female voice came from behind him. It was still, still like a tombstone, immovable like some tower of ice.
He turned. He was forced to now.Saw her, sitting there, slumped over his leather-chair, her legs seeming to shudder softly, her black dress unable to fill her flesh properly as it was intended, raw, naked places along her shoulders, her thighs and her arms poking out. Her skin was painfully white.
“What is this song called?” he asked stupidly, knowing perfectly well what it was called.
“Winter,” she whispered.Looking down. Unable to react. Uncertain what she wanted from him. Uncertain what to say, how to react to the fact that she was not only in his house but that she looked like she did.As if her skin was dripping off like small drops of milk and she was desperately trying to gather them with her delicate fingers and put them back on.
Shaken, obviously. Shaken as if she had stood alone against an avalanche. But she had gathered herself slightly now.
When he finally, drawing energy from the song that spilled into the room, managed to look up he saw misty shores under overcast skies, ripples spreading across the water.
“I don’t know why I came,” she finally whispered.
“That’s okay. We don’t always know what we are doing.”
Looking down again. Unable to hold her eyes for long. The black of the silk gathered around her heaving chest, a fine, delicate line between her breasts. No ornaments anywhere.The earring with the multi-colored glass not present.She fingered with her fingers, watching her pink nails.Nothing to say.
“I am sorry I said… What I said to you,” said she, still looking down. Hesitantly, searching like some blindfolded child through dark woods, snow falling. Mist coming out of the mouth and through the nostrils. Suddenly she looked more naked than he could ever believe another human being could appear, as if her flesh was removed, as if her sinews and muscle had been stripped. Only bones left, white as her hair.
“It’s okay,” he replied. Then, shortly after, he whispered:” I just wanted to find you.”
Her lips pursed together. A thin line. Tears gathering relentlessly in her eyes, her face falling off. Now, he thought, now she finally gives in and breaks.But to his great surprise she suddenly managed to get control of her collapsing body. The tears seemed to return into her eyes.
“And,” she whispered, nearly inaudible through he softening music,” I’m sorry I told you to jump. I don’t know you. I just…” Looking up.” Lose it, sometimes. Lose the lines, the boarders that define our lives.”
Not sure what exactly she was saying. Stopping the music. Too much. Turning something he hadn’t listened to before on, that miniscule moment of silence between the songs unbearable.Finally a thin line rose. Unsure what instrument it was. Something between organ and guitar, he thought. A soft beat of drums, thin riffs of guitar following. No voice. For now.She rose. The sound of the cloth was too much for him, like some great scream, like the bellows of a banshee from some spectral realm. Her hair was in motion. White. Pearl.He stood still. Unable to breathe.
She opened her mouth.No words came.Her lips formed around a million syllables, none adequate, each of them false, every word she knew in her great vocabulary unable to state what she felt. She mouthed again, desperate to speak and so incredibly unable.
“You don’t have to say it,” he whispered.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s what you don’t need to say...”
Moments later forces beyond their controls had squeezed them together. Walls of thickened air had slammed them into each other, air beaten out of their lungs. She took hold of his back through the rough fabric of the robe, seemed to ingest a great, thin needle and lock it into his spine, filling that thin membrane of marrow that was a canal through his back.He sucked her life into his lungs.
Singing now.
A man.
The dress fell off without any thought or action as if it had been held up solely by her willpower alone. And now she let go.Her skin was cold.The robe fell.Both naked, held together by magnetic attraction that was powered by the unsettling tunes from the music, those eerie, beautiful waves of particle logic that numbed their bodies in a web of matrixes of shiny green.On the carpet.Sucking life, fingers forcing themselves into hands, grasping as if holding on for dear life, whispering words, inaudible, but in reality the name Ely, Ely repeated again and again on her ashen lips.There were tears. But their tears mingled.So it did not matter.His warm hands casting her on the other side, she moving with him, then alone and then with him again, moving so much faster than the music.They were twisting, raw animal passion or raw human pain powering their tiered bodies, taking hold of them and throwing them around on the floor.
“A condom,” she gasped.
He stormed to the bedroom, falling as he stumbled on the way, forcing open drawers in madness, spreading underwear and socks across the bed. Hysterical. The thought of not finding one unbearable, the thought of another second without her even more so.
A flash of red plastic forced him to dig deeper. Finding one.
Turning.
She was there. Not able to wait.Her arms like branches of some tree in winter seemed to lift him and throw him on the bed. Condom on. He entered her.They swallowed each others moans. Gasps.Turning, friction.
Flesh sparking against flesh, hands in hands, key in lock. Moving, kinetically part of an every expanding universe. A universe filled with spies, with demons, with evil.
And beauty.
The music became like echoes from underwater as they were drowning, she pulling him under, six feet under, he pushing away rocks and mould, digging their graves, moving their ever-turning bodies into a dance in the earth, worms and roots entangling them in another web of threads like silver and crystal.Force shook through them, pure, undestilled force that made them crazy, mad by the scourge.
Pace quickened. Tears. Sweat.
Teeth meeting teeth, gnashing against gums, blood prickling down their bodies, tiny, slender rivers of blood. Sucking it up, licking it on their tongues.Tasting iron. Tasting copper.Tasting life.
Nails gritting on skin, digging into the backs, into the rumps, into the sexes, forcing forth the earth-shattering inferno that brought all to life ages ago in one, maddening spark.
Nearer.Running away now, spies everywhere, pain.
Too afraid to have their eyes open, too afraid of what they might see. Creatures hidden in boxes in their teary pupils, dread and fury in the wrinkles around the eyes.Falling into the core of the molten earth.Unable to breathe. The world was too heavy. Mountains over them, Norse mountains of ancient times with snow that never melted. Earthy pinnacles spread higher still, piercing the carpet of rainy clouds, the enormous weight crushing their chests, compromising their lungs to minimal sizes.
Unable to breathe.
Lungs afire.Drowning in soggy mould. Drowning in blood. Drowning in each others tears.But nearer still. So infinitely nearer.And so. Music higher. Deeper. Resonating the strings that held the neutrons and protons together, each tiny atom suddenly shaking, the cries extending to the molecules, breaking their DNA’s to pieces as well as their skin.
The end.
The end. Everything. Everythingeverythingeverything. Everything. There, right there in the tear that ran from his cheek. She licked it away before… screaming. She screamed so loudly it seemed the world had ended. Still no eye-contact, both of them afraid regardless of what their bodies shared. Afraid of spies that might see them and what they felt. Paranoia about paranoia.
The music swelled to unbelievable heights, their voices merging, the voice of the man singing, nearly shouting the words as the guitars shook in resonance. They were uncertain if it was one of them, both of them, the man singing or all three who screamed the words:” Let me ease your pain”. But it was all.
“Let me ease your pain!” they cried from the bottom of their beings. “Let me ease your pain”.
And then there could be no doubt what the words that created the universe were.They were the words: “Let me ease your pain.”
“Let me ease your pain,” the man on the CD screamed in perfect unison with the woman with the white hair and the man with the yellow notebook.Let me ease your pain. A breath. A whisper.…Tonight
posted by Alexander at 4:20 AM
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