blindness

9 Jul

The wind. A cool, icy breeze rips through the torrent of my veins,

a slight change in air pressure, the gale that sets off chaos inside my soul.

Taking me by surprise. An unforshadowed assailant, unexpected, silent and swift and strong, enveloping me, ripping a schism and tearing me apart, limb from limb, cell by cell, mote by mote – as I squeeze my eyes shut and desperately attempt to hold myself together, already believing, no, knowing that it is hopeless, that I am a pile of dust and ashes spewed across the desert – never find the parts that once made me whole.

Invading the pores of my being, both seen and unseen, real and unreal…

Whether it is inside out or outside in that I am being attacked, I do not know. All I do know, is that I drown in it.

A millennium it must have been, since I have been standing here, frozen in time, etched into this very dimension, but similar to one waking up from a concussion, I begin to remember the attack, the bombardment; my body responds, twitches, as I feel the topmost layer of my skin contorting, spasming, hardening, numbing, – shielding me from my environment.

My mind swims with overflowing thoughts, some loud, some screeching and screaming and shrieking and sobbing, some just a whisper, a buzz, a muddle in the background, a murmur. I feel like someone drowning in her own mind, desperately trying to sort out between the debris and rubble and crashing waves, to grasp and differentiate the memories, the voices, the thoughts, the instincts, as I finally procure my thoughts.

The cool current evokes such unfamiliar sensations, feelings, and smells that I twinge to ward off the effects – the strangeness, the unfamiliarity, the detachment, the loneliness, the terror that runs through my palpitating veins and arteries of the idea of something changed, something new. At first I scream for the wind to go away, as it sets off an avalanche of novel sensations, the smell of an anonymous flower, the taste of the tempest, the touch of butterflies’ wings, the sound of the rain, the unfamiliar sights of a land faraway that I will never be able to see but can only imagine. But then slowly, and surely, becoming accustomed to the new feelings it brings, allow myself to take another step forward into enemy lines.

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