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What Am I?

by Sonny Estrada 11 months ago in Short Story
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I'm not sure anymore

What Am I?
Photo by David Dibert on Unsplash

By the time I can see the little light that flickered off in some amount of distance, a manifestation of thought bequeathed it's crown to me. But it too, as so many other things have fallen through me. If I cried,  the tears would enter the cavity of my body and drip to the floor as I evaporate just a little bit more like steam. The shaking earth, I cannot feel it and that scares me.

And as the memories also accumulate I wonder about all the people I've scared. Trying to keep the sickness away only long enough to have a problem. A rage that should have built its way into me doesn't come out, except maybe by discarding all off rational thought. It takes over me, urges and feelings, explosions and questions. All taking me down the avenues that I walk and no one sees me. Maybe because of my demeanor.

I feel weightless, but not the way a balloon might feel. Floating in the air, chained by some kind of string that holds it to the ground, no, only a bit like that. I am aloof with the feeling, though. This airy ailment that has struck me like a perfect swing on those diamonds you find in the stadium. I can't hear my heart beat anymore. I have this feeling that I might not have one any more and if I do, it is a prisoner of my mind in which it will not let go or have the courage to try and escape from its shackles by uttering a mumbled plea under its breath.

The bonds of my life that I now see in a new light shine as though they were ordained in radiation in a black lit room. Trying to make the things better by poisoning anyone who is foolish enough to believe that their world matters. I stare down at my hands, only to watch them dissipate in particles and reform in some novel structure that is bewildering when I think about it. And all of the universe is within my bones that I don't have. It is what keeps me together. The thought of life is but a fleeting sentiment that comes and goes like the wild horses that roam free on the prairies of that ancient plane where our humanity first started.

When it all began and there was no gated obstructions to keep us in or out. Segregating the unexplainable behind the lies of safety behind the wall that might just collapse if the earth trembles. But I fret not, because walls cannot hurt me and I pass through them like so much has passed through me. And When I see myself turning into a hovering beacon of regret and hate, I continue to hurl emotion out to the ocean of insanity so I could use this boat of consciousness afloat.

And when it all sinks down into me, the way it usually doesn't, and I feel that one thing that I haven't felt for so long, my mind quibbles out of the way so that I can grasp the fullness of it all. I am pained that it is only for a few brief moments that I have to realize what I have before it is gone, just the way my life  vanished from me all these years. And as I walk back on the avenues to that place where I've come to hate, I understand the reasons that I must return every day so that I should continue to stay atop the ground and hang about. Resting upon my gravestone with my name etched beside my epitaph.

Short Story

About the author

Sonny Estrada

There is always truth behind the fiction. Aspiring to adhere to the nuances of objective introspection.

You can send me an email to let me know about my works! [email protected]

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