December 12th

These blog posts are thinning out to say the least, partly because I'm busy, and partly because I've already said a lot of things I wanted to. Which is better, repeating yourself endlessly, or staying silent once you've said your piece?

Quote of the Week

  • "This house has been far out at sea all night, |The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills, |Winds stampeding the fields under the window |Floundering black astride and blinding wet |Till day rose; then under an orange sky |The hills had new places, and wind wielded |Blade-light, luminous black and emerald, |Flexing like the lens of a mad eye." - Ted Hughes, Wind

Sunday, 10 August 2008

Illusion Broken (part II)

The realisation stunned him. For a while he really thought that he had been trying to achieve a tangible goal – and it turned out the Rachel whom he met was not the one he loved. Instead, he had created from her another girl, who never really existed in the first place.

Questions flooded in. What could have possibly led him to this? How – why – did he do it? It became clear on hindsight that the two were radically different. Why had he been deluding himself for all this time? He had to find out where it went wrong – and what to do now. Memories would have to be trawled through, and with them some painful reminders of his past mistakes.

He went to the kitchen and made himself a drink, then sat down and started thinking. But memory distorts with time, certain details are highlighted while the big picture blurs and fades, and the mind has ways of altering memory to suit its needs. Fragments of what he needed to know whispered by as he tried miserably to hold on to them. He shut his eyes in frustration, trying to concentrate.

The room was still. Occasionally, distant music could be heard from other student rooms, but otherwise it was quiet. The ice in his forgotten drink began to melt, and clouds drifted across the November sky.

Hours passed. The clouds were gone. It was noon, and the sun was shining. Still he sat as if comatose.

Outside, a bird sang.

He looked up with a new look on his face – a look of tranquillity, and some would say, relief. He had made up his mind – the imaginary Rachael would stay. He no longer loved her, nor did he cling on to the hope that he would once again meet and claim the other. He created her to be his conscience for three years, and she had done her duty faithfully. She would remain to counterbalance his darker side, a symbol and beacon for his crusade against his inner demons, but no longer would she hold sway in the matter of love. In that respect, he was now his own master.

He felt a sudden urge to be outdoors. Picking up his coat, he stepped out into the sunshine. The illusion was broken. He was free.

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