For three years I felt like that, but in every second of those three years I tried to take a step away from the edge rather than towards it. I remembered out stretched hands that called to adventure rather than clutched desperately at air. I tried to recall voices that called my name rather than that scream. I lived in my altered world rather than stepping off of it because I am afraid of the dark.
And then, my world shifted back on its axis once more.
"You’ll come with me to-night?"
"When you like and where you like."
"This is, indeed, like the old days."
Back from the dead, back from the abyss, back from the unreachable void where I had dwelt for three years (two years and eleven months as he is want to remind me) and I must take comfort in each second I endured to get me to this place. My old Classics teacher would be pleased that I eventually remembered what was left in the box after all the darkness was released into the world.
“Watson! Do come along!”
Because when you live with a mad man, there is always hope.
Re: Part 3wraithwitchDecember 3 2012, 21:32:37 UTC
That is sadly, but also quite meekle. And your writing gets better and better. You really ought to patch your scribbles together, they are beautifully done. I love your foolish stories filled with bickering and crazy; but your more serious pieces are beautifully thought out and convey exactly the right depth of emotion in an elegant style. There's no messing about with purple prose, no heavy-handed wibble or description, just what you need - it's very *very* good.
Re: Part 3spacedmonkeyDecember 4 2012, 05:58:55 UTC
It really didn't turn out like it started off.
I was reading through some notes on the tram and found a reference I had made to Stephens appearing as a hallucination in Peshawar before. I thought, because I was't paying attention to the notes, that he had fallen through ice or drowned in a pond or something but apparently not.
I have no real concept of how to patch these together. I fear they would look like you let a five year old loose with a needle and thread.
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And then, my world shifted back on its axis once more.
"You’ll come with me to-night?"
"When you like and where you like."
"This is, indeed, like the old days."
Back from the dead, back from the abyss, back from the unreachable void where I had dwelt for three years (two years and eleven months as he is want to remind me) and I must take comfort in each second I endured to get me to this place. My old Classics teacher would be pleased that I eventually remembered what was left in the box after all the darkness was released into the world.
“Watson! Do come along!”
Because when you live with a mad man, there is always hope.
Reply
Reply
I was reading through some notes on the tram and found a reference I had made to Stephens appearing as a hallucination in Peshawar before. I thought, because I was't paying attention to the notes, that he had fallen through ice or drowned in a pond or something but apparently not.
I have no real concept of how to patch these together. I fear they would look like you let a five year old loose with a needle and thread.
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Reply
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