The Walking Biography

There is sunshine outside my window. 

It knocks and lingers at the frame of my panes. It patiently waits for my arrival, for my invitation ~ that a hint of opportunity and the possibility to allow its omnipotent rays of change to enter my life. I can feel its stare, it is warm and soothing. It creates a crescendo of euphoria that doesn’t seem to end, just fluctuate. 

Rain passes, snow piles, and thunder strikes, but the sun waits for my awakening. Sometimes it leaves temporarily, it gets busy fighting the various hazards that plague my environment. Clouds block our communication, storms separate us, and blizzards get between us. Yet, I always waited for the sun patiently. For I knew that, once I could stand, the sun would welcome me openly.

At times, messengers would wander into my room. A pair of birds that refrain from interacting with each other. One would come in at day: Full of wander, excitement, and joy. A creature of hope and enlightenment. A dove bearing the gift ~ the picture and the idea of a future that could be achieved. 

An invitation was not needed to enter, as they are known to me. I could see these feathery folk enter my room with the agenda to share their thoughts. 

“The world is waiting, the opportunity that arrived as a gift, waits beyond the walls of this cell. We could see so much more, we are destined for so much more. Life has granted us a chance to amend what was once wrong. If we could only fly again ~ we would continue in our mission of existence. Our repertoire of adventures could grow, laying a foundation to what will be the workshop to our idea of good. Let wisdom and knowledge be the tools we will use to guide the lost. Let our memories be the picture frames that will adorn our home.

 Let tomorrow reach you, for the betterment of us all.”

These words were as sweet as honey. Yet, within its sugary and welcoming taste hid an aftershock of disappointment. For my extremities were covered in bandages, concealing the various wounds I have placed upon myself. Restrained by my own destruction, I could only feel my bandages increase in weight as they consume the back product of my weeps. Within those warps, tears would escape. Creaking the force with a possibility of new. Where water lays, flowers may bloom. The Dove has taught me this, throughout the various adventures and experiences it has shown me. Allowing me to cultivate a type of strength that could not match a sword, but surpass. Tomorrow yields a gift that anyone is lucky to cultivate, one that goes beyond my physical ability.

Days became slow, the Dove progressive yet unfeasible rhetoric would continue until the daylight would collapse.Contrast came in the soothing quietness of night. Moons and stars, dots in the abyss like sky that I could not see but imagine. Speckles of metaphorical hope that were simply outside my grasp. After the Dove’s speech, I would find myself often exploring those thoughts. Losing myself in astronomical landscapes, where I envision shooting stars and roaming comets. Sometimes, I would chase after them. Like an innocent game of catch that I could not win, I would see various planets and universes pass me by. 

Upon the return to this world, I could feel a tinier fiend trail me home. Their eyes, while small in size, bear the cosmic strength and color of the moon. The Crow enters my room without my consent, their feathers hidden amidst the night. Their trajectory is eloquent and silent, almost as quiet as an owl with an uncanny ability to be hindered by its relentless caws. 

“Yesterday constructed us. Guided by the hand of fate, it decided to formulate a blueprint of logic. A creature that may seem cold, but it simply does not generate warmth. We need to continue our experimentation of the past, for it is our recipe of creation where we shall find our answers of existence. Let the vivisection continue, allowing flasks and equipment clatter as we prepare ourselves for an adventure beyond physicality. For one cannot truly understand its own limits, if we do not push. For people cannot truly paint a landscape if we refrain from looking back. For we cannot continue to unravel our own existential mystery, if we do not search the past.”

Cries did not come from me, but from the Crow. Their incessant sounds were as sharp as a newly purchased blade, but held a truth that needed to pierce my body.  Tears did not roll from my eyes, for this truth already existed within me. It was already a process and experience, yet never seen. Ignored, downplayed, avoided. 

Nights were long, but the crow’s visit was not. It did not need to be, for it and I have grown accustomed to each other over the years. Its hidden agenda was already finished, and I willingly obliged. I tested my body to a state of destruction. Using techniques that pried and cutted anything that was locked. The crow’s ability to seek could be seen as a form of vindictiveness, forcing itself into my life so quickly for all time I had ignored it. Yet, somewhere within me refuses to acknowledge malice in its acts. 

For my eyes have been rotated inward. 

These hands have touched what I once refused to handle

I have spoken what I once could not hear. 

We have done so much, but there is always plenty of more work to be done. 

Those fleeing thoughts cannot easily leave my mind. Generating feathers that would be used to inscribe a truth within my soul ~ becoming forever engraved within the actions and expectations of my extremes. Words disappear, but emotions last. Fragmentation created by the division of ideals, morals and methods of reaching purpose. 

These birds would never yield, for even when I slept, I would dream. 

Many days passed and my afflictions began to heal. My bandages became stiff with a sickly crimson that morphed with my body. It creaked as I turned, my back ached at the monotonous hours of rest. Such a lingering burn forced my anatomy to erect, sending a jolt of cleansing heat down to my nervous system. The fire burns, reacting with the stagnated state of my life. Murky waters clashing with the fire of a phoenix’s might. 

As I whimpered, and shook. My bones would rattle, shaking my vital organs awake. Like an old automaton, rising from its wake. Enough energy cultivated, earned via my patience granted me the strength to sit once again. The room had become dusty, particles danced at the sun’s rays ~ beckoning me to peek outside once again. 

I slowly opened the window, the sound of laughter entered my suite. Chatter and greets, jokes and cries, life and demise. Moments of existence that painted the world beyond a black and white. Trees began to bloom, ignorant of my time ~ a clear sign that tomorrow will be sublime. 

The sun shines brightly upon me. Happy to see a face that was once full of glee. Yet, within its strokes of warmth, the sun began to see that I had become nothing but mourns. Stone that monumentally reanimated, I felt my limbs quickly give in, pillars quickly crumbling upon its foundation. The roof falls, and I lay down. My house collides in silence, an event that was unseen by the world, but significant to mine. 

Yet, the sun remains. Slowly rotating around my home, analyzing every corner of detail with the goal of seeking a hint of hope. 

As my environment evolves into abandonment. The sickly stench of inactivity begins lingering on the halls. It paints a picture of a past that existed within my history, one where I see myself drowning within the waters of stagnation once again. It was on the mire acts of a leaking pipe, where I became cornered by this act of foreshadowing. But I could not stand, not effectively. I could not run and no one could hear me. I watched as the days came. This temporary sanctuary had become infested by the ravenous and malice vine of time. Merciless with its pursuit, the clock marched on carelessly ~ wrecking everything within its path. I felt the building begin to weaken as spring came. 

A tomb in the making. This Oasis of momentary freedom had become obsolete and its foundation had slowly weakened until destruction. Loud crashes of stone and break could be heard at night. My shelter caving and croaking upon itself. 

At first, it was silent. As minuscule and insignificant as a mouse’s squeak. Yet as the days slowly crawled until tomorrow, I could feel the blanket of ignorance thin ~ evolving these simple acoustics into an explosion of emergency. The fire alarm rings, the house burns, and everyone flees. Yet, I remain. Indifferent to the world and any being that lingers onto this plenary object. Hidden in plain sight, like the picture of a family member that I have yet to meet. 

Smoke creeps in, the most familiar yet different visitor I have seen in ages. His acts are hidden within its appearance, yet his resolution is absolute. An afterthought of destruction, yet a supplement of creation, he chases the loud alarm of terror the building provides. As the red flickers in and out of existence, the smoke sees me. His message was unspoken, yet understood. Tomorrow will come, destroying everything that I have known. That these moments of existence are momentary and nothing temporary interpretations of my thoughts. This refusal of continuance will be the end of me, as time destroys all that indulge in stagnation. 

The room sinks into hell itself. The hallway crumbles upon itself and tomorrow comes. Wearing a halo of radiance and chance. A fiery ring that burns too bright, the rest of the universe seems to grow dark. The smoke rushes out in terror, excusing itself through the cracks of the window.

I stare at Tomorrow knowing that my time has come. Adrenaline enters my systems, processing itself onto my legs before sinking deep within my heart. 

I wrestle with my sheets, pushing my shelter towards the flames. I watched as the gluttony of Tomorrow inhaled my bedding as kindling in its mission of difference. In a panic, I roll out of bed, feeling an infernus grip onto my feet. My leaps were ineffective and sheepishly. Such ominous power had a mean hold on me. I felt Tomorrow’s distaste penetrate my skin. An unwanted trade of skin in for my neglect. Penance for my inability to stand.

Furniture became my leverage of escape. I dragged myself using my items, gifts and possessions. Serendipity and guidance through minor acts. I raced the flames to the window, watching as it mocked my speed. Following so closely behind, never giving me enough time to distance myself. In fear, I granted enough momentum and adrenaline to leap onto my furniture. 

As I wobbled onto the top of my desk, pushing my various utilities out of the way.The flame crackled as it consumed my possessions. So messy, I watched as the flames scattered my goods, picked them up and consumed them again. My body began to sweat and my breath stumbled as the temperature rose. There was no smoke, everything felt so clear. So definitive.   

For a moment, I was reminded of an end that I once saw. I heard the call of submission. I craved the feeling of closure. Yet, this time, I felt a difference in warmth upon my back. 

I peek outside my window, and notice that there is still sunshine outside. A light that notices these scars, my faults and my guilt, yet continues to smile upon me. A future that burns bright, but not unforgivingly. Radiance that doesn’t cauterize, but heals. A future that still yearns for my appearance tomorrow. 

My hand pressed against the glass. With a heavy fist, I began to pound into the window. Each strike motivated my bandages to loosen. Such shook waves travelled deeply unto my tears forcefully changing my expression, evicting my sorrow and quickly evaporating it out of existence. It was liberating and refueling. 

 As Tomorrow claimed my desk, I stood. My vision blurred and my feet wobbled, yet I stood.  I watched as the fire had slowly consumed me, yet, within the crevices of my psyche. I felt a stronger flame brewing within my soul. It was strength and resolve. 

I feel the gentle tap of the flame, It beckons for my attention. As if it were to give itself a final laugh, yet amidst its heat. The world had become brighter. I finally witnessed myself. Not a creature bounded by its fate and its misfortune, but one that was cleansed by the flames of tomorrow. As the blaze of tomorrow caresses my cheek, I convenience myself to leap forward. It was a remembrance of who I had become. 

The glass cuts and embezzles itself deep within my skin. A rush of wind enters the building, the clear whiff of oxygen begins to clash with the flames of my past. Such debate creates an explosion, pushing me faster onto the floor. The flames racing me as I make my way down. The sun watches in silent horror, and the birds surround themselves upon my landing site. 

I close my eyes, feeling the pavement draw near. Yet, I do not fear. 

For I no longer will allow tomorrow to decide for me.