Walled Mirror
I departed when I repudiated to look at myself any longer. When I died, I depart more than once; I receded umpteen times at that instant, diminishing at that precise same time I fell, shutting my eyes the very same moment I closed mine. Perhaps, I might just have fathom what was in my mind when I died. Well, after all, I was me, myself, me.
If I would ever be discovered after death, I would still be absolute. My Skin would be organic, still as delicate, flawless as a surface wiped with Frabrise numerous times and as thick as on elephant's. They could not impute my departure to illness, diseases as I had gone for a check-up and was found to be alright, living condition. My eyesight was pardonable and my hearing was perfect. I predicate the latter two things were the quandary. Those things murdered me, my eyesight, my hearing.
If I had heard apprehend less and behold less than I did, then I might not have been clawed in the situation in the beginning of time. Just maybe, when I scanned the other way off the lanes of my home, I wouldn’t have regarded the small sphere that seemed to ruminate stilly over the horizon where the grass has turned yellow and being themselves like old hunchbacks. But, If i ponder upon it at this moment, I was berating myself the whole time I ravelled closer, I saw me in that rooted sphere and it told me to turn away. No. In fact, it did not tell me anything, not even a whisper. My eyes were constantly staring at me advancing the sphere that I did not see me. And by that moment when I noticed me, I already curved away so I would not see my very own pleading eyes, filled with tears and on bended knees begging my for my return, to turn back. I only saw the back of my head, the spiked follicles of hair that reject to dance to the wind's song. The tears I did not come to view, ever.
Spheres are a beauty because they are flawless, perfect in all demeanour, shape, size. Complete. They are consistent which ever angle that you look, the unadulterated reflection of you spread wide and vast so that there can be no flaps of skin concealed from the observer. and if you are as enthralled as I was when I saw me up there, walking nearer and watching my bended knees self dim away, I could see another self of mine looking straight right at me, into me, this one's face debased out w
ith a rolling pin and black marker outlining and amplifying each of my facial structures. My spotted skin, my dark wrinkles on my forehead, folded over each other and my chin weaken with a heavy sag. The bottom of my nose seemed to have faded into the shadows and even my lips, they were tainted with the abominable smell of the dark, black, permanent marker. And, when i looked at them, they crack up so wide and gaping that i could hear the words my duplicated image spoke to me.
"Come. Come here. Come Inside." the whisper gradually conveyed into my ears and struck me deaf. I hear the words once; my very own lips converged to match my lips when I spoke nothing departed. No, that was a lie. Words emerged. I could feel my throat moving to make the words exposed to the thin air, but when my ears persisted to listen to my own rambles, there was nothing. Only, replaced by the sound of the ocean waves crashing upon the sandy shore instead. Surreal. It was almost like those things that I saw in the movies, when a theatrical character figure would walk towards indifference on white sandy grains stuck in between each of their toes.
When i looked at myself again, my capacious wide panoramic face deliberating over me, I was smiling to me, my eyes in a broad, sad expression and one that seemed to allure me ever closer. There was silence but I could see the words that approached my lips, telling me yet again, "Come."
What would you expect me to do? I was already lost of words, dumbfounded by the very thought of my separation with me. As i took each step further, farther, I began to vacillated my right hand, still viewing myself implanted in my sight. I did not wave that hand. Instead, I starred at myself, looking oddly at my right hand who was swinging back and forth around rapidly, and in one smooth moment, used this hand to guide myself to halt the waving that hand around. I reckon I thought it was irritating, annoying and didn’t let myself think; its like a fly buzzing overhead in a quiet room, perhaps. None the less, I conceded and stood face to face with the sphere.
I couldn’t really mention that since the sphere was at least 5 times the height of me. The amiable humming murmur and disdainful glance of myself upon me reminded me of the relationship may have been more face to knee, with me on the abridged end of the spectrum. It did not matter anymore. I was present, standing astute on a broken hill where one single sphere meandered freely in the air without the slightest occasion of movement. Curious. I leered my head around and found myself guilty, the gambit of curiosity. I was inquisitive to venture far from my comfort, now a single speck in the millions of specks which they could, they would declare Mount Everest. So, my wonders guided me here without hunger nor thirst, not decolourize by the raging heat of the sun nor chaffed from the songs of the wind. I was here, my trainers rooted firmly on the ground and my fingers inches away from the sphere.
It has no appearance. I found no colour nor shape; It devoured al the colours and flung them right back at me, showing the brilliance that a sun-dried crisp yellow can bring to a single blade of grass amplified thousand times. Obviously, I saw a white goose flapping its wings gently alongside with tow others. And when I look once again, I saw myself staring straight into me, my hand in front of my chest and my finger pointing to lure myself in, louring me to feel the sphere. My palms were pressed against the edge, flattening as it does when pressing a door, beckoning me to touch, too. And when I gave in to temptation, I permitted myself to be sucked into and allow my finger to touch my finger. At the beginning, It was just pointing finger, and then gradually with a sense of calmness, I could feel the blood of my palms, my creases pressing against firmly my creases, and i could feel the blood in my palms cruising through my fingers and became cold as they dragged through the veins, and capillaries and away again. I was not aware of the gelidity of the air that had suddenly grown all over me until I began to shiver, and only then I took notice of the eccentric fog that has taken over in the middle of the bright sunny day.
The retrieval of my senses was chaperoned with the sudden notion that accompanying me was myself all these time over and over again. As my head quickly looked all around myself. Up, left, down, right, all around, front and back, under my shoes, between my fingers, I was always there, watching, observing myself with a thousand eye that insinuated to have penetrated me at every locus possible.
Nothing was done at first. I just stood there and marvelled at the many selves disposed all over the flat, planar surfaces
of the inside. At the rear of each self, was another self image reflected from another plane characterizing me. To explain the feeling was to describe a human being placed in a rooms or never ending mirrors, engulfed by all sides are nothing, but just, yet, another mirror. The human being would always be able to see all of himself at any point of time. He could not evade from himself, neither could I. i glared at myself and I did not want to see what I saw from me.
I stood there, trying to be as silent as I possibly could, but the noise carried pounding into my head over again and again and again, every time abounding louder and louder. I can deel me wanting to cry out loud, to scream in pain, in agony, desiring to buckle down and close my ears from the consuming sound that i had created in the room, my entire self merely standing there starring at me, each at a different angle, a different position. I would have been aware their positions had I not been in pain, so the only one I saw was myself which I stood, me looking at the me and opening her mouth as if to mouth words. Her words, however clamorous were subdued by a single footstep that refused to die under all and any circumstances.
So, I did whatever that I could do. I shut my eyes to imagine a world of people who I had known but were not me, who did not look like me. I tried to find someone who did not have the same black hair as me, who did not have slit eyes, dark skin and someone that didn’t run everywhere they went. I tried to think of a being who i could convene my moments and when i did, I saw her. And when I saw her, I came upon that I had done all that i could have done. And there was only one thing remained to do.
I died.
And,
I found myself.
Again.
The new in old
MM
"let no words stop you...
let no actions delay you...
let no one losse you..."