|
Order this writing in the collection book Unlocking the Mysteries available for only $1795 |
 |
| |
This appears in a pre-2010 issue
|
|
|
|
| ||
FALLING
Elena Zhagar
You fell down here many years ago in a swirling hurricane of fire. You remember falling for a long time, and you were horrified of this endless fall but knew no way of stopping it. It seemed to you as though there was a bottomless abyss through which you would be falling forever. In many ways, you are still falling, only the surroundings changed...Anyway, that was how it all began for you.
It’s tough not being able to speak, to ask questions. Adults never consider this fact. They take it for granted that since you can’t speak, you can’t possibly understand. Yet, you want to know what certain words mean. For instance the word “flu,” as in when your dad came to visit for the last time and he picked you up, then handed you back to your mom, saying he had to go because of the flu. For them, for the adults, that conversation was finished, and everything was clear. The father simply fell away. He was not in the picture anymore, and the adults knew that.
Still, what about you who couldn’t ask questions yet, but really needed to know what was the “flu” and why it was so important that your father needed lo leave because of it. Didn’t they know that you were wondering about this? They were the adults, and it was assumed that they knew everything about everything. Why couldn’t they explain this to you?
Because you couldn’t ask, that’s why. That was when you began to realize one very important thing. Words. They connected you to the outside world. Without words, you didn’t really exist, you were just a shell. They already knew this, and you were finally beginning to understand it, too. You had to learn fast, before you faded into nothingness, and so, you began to learn. At first, the words came out very awkward and confused, but the adults were delighted, and so, encouraged, you continued to learn.
Very soon, you were able to ask all sorts of questions. For instance, was the Earth really round? And how could it be that the universe was endless? You finally figured out what the “flu” was, and that only made you more confused, because it didn’t seem so awful that your dad had to leave because of it. That was when you realized the second very important thing about words. Knowing them did not make the confusion and the questions go away: it only increased them. You began to hate words, because they made the fall so much faster. Yet, you knew from experience that if you denied them, then you would cease to exist. Thus, it continued. During the day, you leaned about words. At night, you continued to fall. Or maybe, it was all the same: just one long fall that never stopped...
Now, it is several years later and you have mastered the words as well as any of them have, as well as you ever will. You are sitting on the carpeted floor in a dimly lit room. He is there too, the one who is falling with you at the moment. You are separated by the coffee table, and across this space he is looking at you pensively. His look is impossible to read: is he upset, angry, annoyed? There is no way to know for sure unless he tells you, so you are simply waiting for him to speak. He takes a deep breath, and then tells you the thing you least expect.
“You are not communicating with me,” he says, “and that is my biggest problem with this relationship.”
You say nothing, and just give him a quizzical raised-eyebrow look. Elaborate please. He continues.
“We talk about things and we discuss things, but that’s as far as it goes. You have a wall around you and I can’t get through it. Our relationship could be a lot different if you could just let me in.”
You stare at the carpet now and you remain silent, but inwardly you begin to get angry. What is he talking about? Doesn’t he understand that words are all we have? It is the only thing that connects us, and without it, we are completely separate from each other.
Only through words do we know who they are, those strange bodies around us, and only through words do we know that they are alive at all. He waits for you to say something, and when you don’t, he asks you.
“What are you thinking right now? Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
You have no idea what he wants from you, and you know that it is pointless to ask, because he doesn’t know it either, he only thinks he knows. In reality there is nothing more that he can say to explain this void between the two of you. It is there because you are two separate bodies, and you will never be one, no matter what either of you may have learned. One plus one does not make one: you learned this lesson a long time ago - it came soon after your lesson in words.
This one, sitting across from you, he is falling just as fast as you are. That’s why he is so worried; he needs to hold on to you, because he is afraid of the fall. We’re all in the process of falling, but once in a while, someone else will fall parallel to us for some time, and then we begin to think that if we hold on to them tight enough, then somehow the fall will stop. But the hurricane continues to rage, and we only begin to fall faster, until we realize that the fall will never stop. This is why you refuse to respond to his questions.
You tell him that there is no point discussing your problems anymore and that you just want to go to bed, and he agrees, though grudgingly. But as soon as you lay down, you sense a familiar feeling grip you. It is fear - it comes crawling out of the darkness in which you are submerged. It hovers over you at first, and then plunges down to devour you whole. You grip the corners of the pillow, feeling your limbs, and every part of you become rigid and numb with this fear. At the same time, however, you know that it is better this way. In the darkness, the fall gains it’s reality. It is no longer obscured by daylight, and by the illusory presence of others who seem to be like you. In the darkness, the illusion fades, and their presence is erased from memory. You finally abandon yourself to the fall, and then you open your eyes...
You find yourself in an enormous field. There’s no telling where it ends. Everywhere you look, all the way to the horizon, not a house, not a single tree, just strangely grey, empty land. You are completely alone out here. You make a step forward, and nearly trip over something soft. You look down and gasp. You are not completely alone after all, because you are standing in the midst of dead bodies. Thousands of them, they cover the field in a bluish-grey carpet...You start to run forward, but it’s not easy to run. Rather, you scramble over the bodies, trying to find spaces between them to step. They are so tightly packed. Just don’t touch them...don’t touch them...no matter what, don’t look at their faces...Don’t look down at all. That’s better.
You look up and notice a silhouette in the distance. A man; he is just standing there, not moving, as though he is waiting for you. As you come nearer, you see that he is tall and dark-haired. Older than you are. He’s probably in his early thirties. He simply stands there, and looks at you. You can see his eyes now. They are very dark, almost black. Piercing eyes. You are now within a few feet of him, and he still hasn’t moved a muscle, so you are forced to speak first.
“Who are you?”
You wait, but he doesn’t answer. He is simply looking at you with a strange expression. Perhaps, he’s also not a fan of words. Suddenly, he begins to walk away. You panic.
“Where’re you going? Stay!”
He half-turns around and fixes you with his eyes again. “I want to show you something,” he says and motions you to come over to where he is standing.
A possibility of disobeying never even occurs to you. Some people are simply meant to be obeyed. Once again, you begin to wade your way through the bodies. As you get closer, you can see that he is standing next to the body of a young woman; she is lying on her side. Dark hair, still young. She looks so peaceful, as though she just lay down to rest for awhile and fell asleep. You feel strangely drawn to this face, and you begin to wonder who she was when she was alive. Did she find peace in life, or only in death.
“She is pretty.”
“Look closer,” he says.
Then he bends over her, cradles her head in his hands, and lifts it up. The lower part of her face becomes separated and slides toward the ground, exposing a red mess of flesh and bone. You turn your head away, and shut your eyes. Not fast enough, though, because the image stays with you. In your mind’s eye it grows to enormous proportions; fills up the entire space.
“Why did you have to show me this?”
“You know very well why,” he says. “This is what happens when...”
But he doesn’t get to finish. Suddenly, a strange loud ringing fills the space around the two of you, and his voice fades. You open your eyes, and find yourself in your own bed again. It is morning, and the alarm clock is rudely letting you know this.
You turn your head sideways to say “good-morning,” but the other part of the bed is empty. You know instantly that it will remain that way from now on. It all makes perfect sense to you now, and you have always known it, because this knowledge is in your blood, and with every flicker of the dying fire in your veins, it whispers: “There is no amount of words that can fill the void between two falling bodies.”
