Betrayal of the Light

Two

    When I turn back to the path ahead, the image before my eyes goes dark. Then, a split second of images appear; images not of this realm from which I retain but a single sensation: pain, as if the skin of my left arm was being pulled off the flesh. At the same moment, I gaze upon a fiery seaside enfolding behind a figure. We must be on some docks, there are ships around us, I think. He blocks most of my view, emerging as a dark silhouette contoured by the light which seems to drown him. There is not a single feature of his to be made out. One bullet shot straight through his skull sends him tumbling to the ground. No time to see a face. Shouting. Crashing waves.

    Lungs grasping for air, I open my eyes wide at once. The frozen air scratches at my throat and pushes an ache through my chest; feeling toxic rather than soothing. Snowflakes falling over my shoulders undisturbed, I see this episode has brought me to my knees.

    I look up at the sky; cold sweat running down my temples and neck. From the bottom of its empty lungs, my mind screams that I am a killer. This must be mistaken; I have not killed anyone. Then again, my memory… Oh, why would I piece back my memory complete, if it be riddled with unimaginable horrors? What if my remedy sought is nothing but poison?

    After an elapsed moment, my breathing and heartrate are stable again. I roll up my sleeve, intrigued by the pain I felt. Damn. The ink tinted deep beneath my skin seems to have surfaced; that culprit hieroglyph is wet and tender to my touch upon it. The endless secrets that may be hidden between their twisted lines; another unfitting key to my past.

    The land surrounding my confusion is dead to my empty gaze. What if I rather not remember the truth? No; no matter how gruesome it may be, I prefer living it, rather than living as a ghost; or not living at all. I might acquire a taste for poison in the process.

    Slowly, the landscape before me unravels itself, emerging from obscurity. In the distance rests a hazy ocean on a shore of sparkling, white sand that I could reach before the dawn. The bridge behind me has faded away into a dreamlike setting, held together from icy bits of snow and darkness. That forsaken place could have been my grave, had I not stood up when I did. The thought makes me shiver.

    Time sweeps over the weaving ocean, drenched in moonlight from above. If it were to stand still, you would not see their limit; the border where water merges into sky. Interrupting my reverie, a shattering sensation within brings me down on one knee. The reflex in my throat forces me to cough out a thick substance. Pooling over the ground, it holds the colour of these late autumn leaves; it can be nothing but blood. More side effects; got it. To travel back was not the brightest of ideas, after all. My thoughts having been interrupted; I look desperate up into the sky. Stray snowflakes fall over me, about to make me one and the same with the ground underneath, but soon enough its frozen hold embraces me. Time to keep on walking.

    The sky is getting brighter and the ocean is coming closer. Finally, something to guide me. I will reach it as soon as the sun rises, and then look for… a ship? Why did a ship come to mind? Perhaps those murderous images are to blame. What does it matter? The coordinates where wrong, I have no idea where I ended up or where the church is supposed to be. There must be a ship somewhere near and I ought to find it.

    At last, I reach the shore; dwelling in uncertainties, dirty and consumed. The sand is conjured by a breeze which throws it in my face, stinging my eyes. Thanks for the welcome.

    Far beyond the horizon, a strip of night survives the sun that set the ocean ablaze. It rises behind me from the fog settled tight over the ground, hiding the bridge and all I have left behind.

    The sand shifts under the weight of my steps taking me closer to the fiery water. After endless hours, this blissful moment is broken only by the rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the shore.

    Despite the change in scenery having caught me in its spell, I break free to throw a scouting gaze all around me. From the left, where it seems deserted for as far as my eyes can see, to the right where there are docks and… shipwrecks. The image of remnant nightmares tempts me. After that journey of a length known solely to me, at last, their meaning lies afront. Strange, that facing the truth of darkest fears, makes me fear them no more. The dark oblivion of my thoughts, the unknown… that is another matter entirely. This is insane. I should fear nothing, as I should not even be here. I am nothing to this world. Precisely this is the ace I got up my sleeve. Such a thought clear, I gaze daring ahead and hasten my steps.

    These are the same docks, I think. My hand slides over the wood covered in a layer of coarse sand and dried seaweeds. They crunch under my palms, when I get a solid grip on the edge to push myself upright on top of them. Walking along the pier crushes them under the ridged soles of my boots, releasing an odour ever so faint. I might have ended up somewhere I belong after all; here, where oblivion offers me its glacial embrace as welcome. It seems this place was abandoned eons ago. So lifeless it appears, that the sirens might not sing in anything but a funeral choir. The ships from which they hang, affixed, grow from scattered rocks against which the waves crash loudly. They spread a scent of salt and iron, reminding me of blood.

    I wander, eyes closed and fingers gliding over the wooden bowels of the wreckages, until one awakens the sense of familiarity to my touch. How strange, for safety to appear as deceiving.

    This must be the ship of those lingering images. I open my eyes, parting from the massive body to step backwards to where I remember to have been. Horizon afront, this sure must be the spot. My wandering sight locks on the ground. There. Dark smudges of…blood? Yeah, it must be dried blood. I crouch down, closer to the washed-out stain that stands as proof to my past existence. So, it was not the future to blame. This is real; I had killed someone. The images have warned me, but I did not let them obliterate my madness. The thought flares up in my mind, sending a shiver through my body. No hint of sorrow. Instead, I am forced to shrug off the sense of it being justified and keep on searching for a way aboard. The creeping doubt of someone wanting me to face death for my own sins disturbs my being. It would be just as justified.

    So, therein lies the chance: through the insides of the ship split open, I enter its shadow. The stairs leading on top of the deck reign centred under a single column of light. Climbing each step releases screeches; each lasting its own tempo. The symphony of creative chaos resonates through them.

    Light slides over me, passing from my face all the way down to my boots. I blend seamlessly into my surroundings; no joke. Here, where the wind pushes against the steps that I take over the creaking floorboards. In search of shelter, I turn to the only visible door. The entrance to the cabin, it must be. Two fingers pressed against my chest feel for the key, pulling it out from under the collar of my shirt. While getting closer to the lock, I tear its string from around my neck. The moment of truth. I twist it in and push the door open, granting myself passage into the dwelling shadow.

    After daring both of my feet at crossing the threshold, I close the door behind. The shadow wraps me in its restful veil, pierced solely by the thin strands of light. Coming in through the cracks and splits, they are too pale to lift the spatial obscurity.

    It seems I have been lost in the darkest of nights until this moment. I drag my heavy boots over to the sealed window. The loosely nailed boards tear away from the frame with little effort on my part. I slam the shutters open, so the new-born sun can shed its light on whatever darkness tried to hide.

    The light overwhelms my view, forcing my lids shut. This lying sun burnt my sight; makes me turn to the side as if in unbearable agony. Nah, not that bad. I push through and raise the leather collar upright against the periphery of my vision, to shield it. Right in front of me I see a candle, which I rush to light from one of the matches. One thing remains to do: close the shutters and wait for my eyes to adjust. The image of the cabin appears, as if it would layer itself on top of the darkness, until the latter is conquered.    

    The reality does indeed look grim. Chills run through my spine along a deep sense of damnation. I throw myself on the bed behind, staring uninterrupted at the candle I lit. The brightest of its light is cast, quivering, over a skull enduring time on the desk. Through the forehead a hole, no larger than a finger, sends out cracks; as a web of dark veins covering the bone.

    “So much for finding a sanctuary,” I whisper a rhetoric back to myself, before exhaustion would lay its claim.