The Thought of It

The Thought of It

It was late one night when the thought first came to my mind. A mind whose body was weak and weary, but growing stronger with this thought. This thought that paid no attention to the others in my mind, and took complete command of any others in my mind. Yes, it was late that fateful night when I had this thought for the very first time; a thought so simple and seemingly inevitable that it was baffling me as to why I hadn’t thought it before. I lay in thine chamber whilst all I heard were noises. ‘Twas the noises of the dark which fueled this thought of mine. Yes, ‘twas the noises of the night, the voices of the night, which fueled this, thought. Indeed, ‘twas the noises of the night, the voices of the night, which fueled this thought, this dark and sinister thought.

This thought of mine I’m sure was never thought before, though so seemingly ubiquitous. I never would’ve conjectured its existence for this thought was so, dark, so, nearly evil I could hardly believe it was a thought of mine at all. This thought I’m sure you’re surely wondering; this thought about which I most surely have been babbling, this thought of which I’m so deftly pondering, is the thought of death.

More precisely this thought, this thought of death, is about murder. An ostensibly guiltless murder, which I knew I must commit. This ostensibly guiltless murder was the nearly evil thought that of which held such a strong root in my mind.

Tomorrow night was the night to materialize this thought, this evil thought, though ostensibly guiltless thought this thought of mine which entered my mind that night. The thought of it, the thought that entered my mind, the thought of death and murder, was so overwhelming it seemed as though my very body, no, thine soul was a wretch to be cast away, though this thought of mine was so incredibly and ostensibly guiltless.

I lay in the dark of my chamber whilst all I heard were noises emitted from the darkness, voices, projected from the emptiness. The voice of which I speak gave me this thought, yes indeed, I was given this thought by the darkness itself, the emptiness itself, it seemed.

Yet, why did I feel like it was such a flare? Why did I have that sense of, accomplishment; the sense that I was not alone?

That sense grew stronger and stronger still, ‘til all I sensed, was a wall, closing in. I heard what could not be heard by neither me nor any other spectator. I saw what could not be sensed in any way, by any other, spectator.

When I woke the next morn to find myself in a sweat, I thought about my curiously wonderful thought, my obviously and ostensibly guiltless thought; my ostensibly guiltless thought, of murder.

This chilled me to my core and that of which I bore a great yawn and rose to the gloomy morn. Outside my window lattice, the sea shot up above the cliff, the cliff which led to this morn’s sandy shore.

I stood this I did, and prepared for this night’s deed. The victim I was of quite sure, yet why did I keep hearing in my head, this thought, indeed this thought of mine was quite simply and most assuredly and positively ostensibly guiltless. ‘Twas with this thought that I thought of the man I was to kill. He was an evil man. A man I hated quite so, and yet I had never committed any crime against him before.

This night, this night I would allow this thought, this thought of mine which I’d so carefully analyzed, would be fulfilled, when I tore out the beating heart and siphoning lungs of Mr. Ridding. Yes, that evil man was quite correctly named, Mr. Raven Ridding.

This man was indeed in need of a permanent stay in the land of lore and mysteries which bore such resemblance to my daily life. My life, though unlike those mysteries, had such chores as caring for this shore. This shore which I cared deeply for and would never leave, never would I in a million years leave this sea.

This sea told me all I needed to know. This sea told me all I could ever hope to know. This sea showed me all I needed to see and told me all I needed to hear. Yet, year after year, I was drawn to it, to learn from it further still. There was more that I did not know.

While waiting for the day to begin its end, I waited by this shore and listened to the voices coming in with the night, the noises coming in with the night.

They came every night and left with every day, though on a cloud cast noon I have witnessed these voices in my head, I have seen those sights which no one else sees.

The water rose and fell many times over, yes many times over the water rose and fell while I sat on the sandy shore and thought that thought in my mind. That thought that I’m sure no one else could’ve possibly thought for it was so dark, indeed so dark and evil, yet clearly and ostensibly guiltless.

I heard the voices; slight murmurs in my head now whispering, creating thoughts of murder in my head. Fueled by the night, the dark night, the empty, yet somehow full night; this night full of, what? Full of: spite, of murder; plain and simple, of an ostensibly guiltless murder?

Never before had I heard a specific voice but now, I heard it clear. A separate entity within my mind, my very soul and yet, it was from the outside.

Before, this voice, that came from the noises of the night, only instilled in my mind the sounds and sights. But now, now, under the moon, this moon, standing before the sea, this sea, I heard a voice say, ‘Go, go and kill him. Kill him now.’

And how could I disobey this voice, this voice that stemmed from the night itself and yet came from within while being separate from me and seemingly innocent and commanding me to commit a murder, an ostensibly guiltless murder at that?

How could I disobey indeed? I left the shore that moment and walked the stone steps of old up to my home. Walking down the road, in the dark, the empty yet full dark night, I went over the plan in my head. Rather, the voice repeatedly told me what I must do. As I walked I saw things no one else would see and heard other voices that no one else would hear.

All the while, this single voice prevailed and drove me toward the man’s house. I arrived at Raven’s abode. Yes, inside this humble home slept at this very moment Mr. Ridding. Mr. Raven Ridding right now, was sound asleep in his chamber, as I would be if not for this voice, prodding me along. I stood in front of the small building, in the dark; in the empty dark; in the full dark.

For I do not know how long, the voice continually told me the plan and I intently listened, making sure as to not forget anything or leave anything out. Mr. Ridding needed to suffer for his deed. His deed which was unmentionably evil, and therefore as I knew and as the voice said clearly, ‘He must die. It is clearly an ostensibly guiltless murder.’

I walked up his stairs of new, for his whole house was the same; this new house intruding on this land of old. How could he invade my territory and live here, so close to me?

Raven Ridding would soon die.

How I pondered his non-coincidental name. Raven the evil bird of lore which most often bore to those it beguiled with its appearance or perch, a death soon to approach. Ridding, oh how could it be more clear, Mr. Ridding needed ridding of.

I thought of this day after day, night after night and now, the voice chose to act. And ‘twas only last night that I received the thought of it; the thought of this most certainly ostensibly guiltless murder that I was now so near to committing.

‘Go, now, hurry. ‘Tis nearly the middle of the night now and there is much to do this night.’

I heard the voice louder now. It drove me through the unlocked front door and up the stairs of this man’s house. No one else lived with the man, ‘twas just him.

I pulled the knife from its sheath about my belt and slowly entered the chamber, the chamber of where this ostensibly guiltless murder was to be done.

The voice ushered me to the bedside of the man named Raven Ridding. So clever a name the universe had given him, I almost laughed while standing there beside the sleeping man, the soon to be dead man.

The voice had told me over and over again what to do, yet now it was silent, and just before I began, the noises of the night, the voices of the night rang in my head, a siren to the imminent event.

The man awoke. I froze by his side. He reached for the light and I swirled away from the man named Raven, Raven Ridding.

I slipped behind his curtain. I looked out the window to see the sea. The fantastic sea with so much associated lore I could not help but stare. I looked upon it with such a marvelous gaze that not even the voice could tear me from the window.

However, the grab and pull of the man in his robe could. The light was now on.

As Raven tore me around, I left my hand with the knife behind my back.

He stared into my eyes and I into his.

“You should be in thine chamber you fool. Sleeping, as everyone else is. Why are you about? More so, why are you standing in thy chamber; and attempting to hide in plain sight by the wall nonetheless?”

I could not find an answer to the man’s questions. This man, guilty of so many evil deeds was now turning for the door. The voice erupted in my ears; I couldn’t believe that Raven did not hear it as well. I lurched forward and drove the knife into his upper back, away from his heart.

I left the knife in the man’s body, as the voice had said and I pulled out the second. The man had fallen to the floor and I was unaware of his yelling and flailing. It did not matter.

I plunged the second dagger into his right side. He screamed louder still, this I now heard even as I heard the voice in my head. It was pleased with my ostensibly guiltless murder. I stood over the man and watched him struggle. The pain must’ve been overwhelming for he then stopped yelling and howling so loudly. I then removed the knives to allow him to bleed more freely. He would be dead very soon, though I still needed to tear out his beating heart and siphoning lungs.

I was then aware of others rushing in who shouted unintelligibly. I was grabbed by a couple of them who dragged me away. I was only aware of the grin I bore once I looked out the slightly reflecting window that looked down upon the dark, deep sea.

I saw only white for a moment as I felt a pain they caused.

Where was I now? Ah, I did not care. The voice was pleased that I had killed the man in an ostensibly guiltless act of murder, even though I had been unable to rip out of the evil man’s chest his beating heart still pumping blood and his siphoning lungs still sucking air. The voice and the noises suddenly disappeared.

They were gone, for now; both, the sounds and sights in my head that no one else either heard nor saw as well as the attempted rescuers of Raven Ridding. Then, suddenly the thought of it returned and I longed for the voice back; the overriding voice that took control of my body and aided the world; the voice that gave me the thought of it; that thought of the meticulous yet incredibly ostensibly guiltless thought of murder.

As the pain they had caused ebbed away, the white I saw gave way to the sea once again. The sea I loved to watch, the sea I learned from and took care of, the sea I would stare at forever.