I would apologise for my prolonged absence, but seeing as I cannot say that I’m back, I think I shall hold off on the apologies.
I took a break from writing and everything else for the Christmas holiday and it appears that my ‘inspiration’ hasn’t gotten the resumption memo yet. I’m sure my recent state of happiness has something to do with it too. Funny story. Pain appears to be my muse.
On the left side of this page (or bottom if you’re using the mobile version), there’s a link that takes you to my work on Daily Times Nigeria. I’m a bit more regular on there.
The piece you’re about to read is another one of those selfish ‘this one’s for me’ kind of posts (another reason why i\I can’t apologise really. Perhaps it’d have been better if I’d just stayed away?). As it turns out, writing for me just might be sanatory. And pain, as I mentioned earlier, just might be my muse. I cannot accept this wholeheartedly if I plan to make a career out of this writing thing because I do plan on living a very happy and fulfilled life.
But i digress.
Be merciful in your criticism and minimally harsh in your judgments; this pen is rusty, and ink has only just begun to flow again.
They pulled at her from the dark. She couldn’t see them but she knew they were there. Though their groping claws didn’t touch her, she sensed them. Close. Watching. Waiting. Their drool made the ground slippery. She stumbled once. This time she could swear she heard them. Heard their laughter. Their mocking laughter. Their mocking, welcoming laughter…
She raised her head sharply. Where had that come from? Was it out loud? In her head? Focus? What did it mean? What was she to focus on? Where was she going? “Where am I going?”
She looked straight ahead. There was a sliver of light. It was far away but it was there. Before the light though, was darkness. A darkness thicker than the one she was presently enshrouded in. Filled with vileness, wrapped in cloaks of the unknown. She could turn back. Shouldn’t she turn back? She took a few steps forward. She could sense that they were not pleased by this. She felt stronger. And then they were on her again. This time they pushed her down to the ground. All of a sudden the ground wasn’t solid anymore; it had become a swirling vortex of nothingness that was sucking her in. She should just go with it. She wanted to go with it. She was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of…
“On what exactly dammit?! I’m tired!”
Focus child. Focus.
“Get off of me. Get off of me!” They receded. But only for a while she knew. They would keep coming back until she reached the light. She had to reach that light. She had to keep going.
That’s it. Focus. Each time you stumble, you get stronger.
“Why wont you help me?! You can stop them. You can keep them away from me. Keep them away from me! Please. I’m tired. Keep them away from me.”
I am with you. Always.