Tuesday, June 26, 2012

An Excerpt: Parts of Noah (no explanation)

I had a therapist once, but he killed himself. I’ve exhausted myself coming up with theories for what led to his end, how he decided to use a noose, what song he might’ve listened to during his final moments. I’ve come up with a hundred thoughts that could have been his last. I had only met him for three sessions before he offed himself, and I never once noticed a fading in his eyes or a weakness in his heart. I went in for the fourth session, his secretary in her sing-song sunshiney voice told me that his maid found him swinging from the stair-rail, all of his client’s files burned in the fireplace. It bothered me only for a moment that this man had never learned one true fact about me, but only for a moment. Those soul-less men in charge re-assigned me to another therapist, a smug clown lady that was probably a demon, and I spent five sessions in a row just entirely silent, staring at her throat. She gave up on me as everyone does. Why was I there? There’s no point in lying now, so I might as well tell you that I threatened to kill my mom. Your gut will tell you how to feel about that, I’m sure. Anyone would be pushed to my edge if they knew how she had laughed and laughed and laughed.

It began with a book, it began in the morning. Could’ve been any day of the year. She was sitting in the kitchen reading a thin book with its front covered in leather that looked like dried skin. When I passed her on my way outside, she was at the table reading, her lips following the words and her eyes seeing a world I’ll never know. My other creator was nowhere to be seen but wasn’t effective enough at anything to prevent something like this. By day’s end, she was still reading that book and I swear she hadn’t turned a page. Her face held the same expression as when I had eyed her last, but her soul seemed to have changed. In the middle of the night, I made patterns of landscapes out of the flashing colors before my eyes and the shadows in the dark, not sleeping for fear of dreams, not moving for fear of alerting the creatures of the night, the predators. Then the giggling began. I could hear her through the wall and what started out soft exploded into laugher, an outrageous kind of howling that’d haunt even the purest being. I waited for the outburst to pass, but it didn’t and hasn’t yet. My father has become catatonic with silent, boiling rage and tolerated her laughter all night long, every night since. I haven’t seen the book again since that first day, but I’m convinced it broke her somehow. Or cured her. This mystery giggle has plagued her life entirely, stealing her job and her sleep and killing any bond she might’ve had with my father, though I don’t believe it was ever very strong to begin with.

One night, I was lying on the roof above my bedroom, attempting with body and mind to float up to the stars and find quiet in space. But all I could hear on that rare, peaceful night was my mother’s unrelenting laughter. So, I kicked her bedroom door off the hinges and told her I’d bite her throat out if she didn’t stop, one of the dozen or so things I’ve ever said to her. She kept laughing and laughing, and my father just growled and rolled over. After that, I was reduced to a punching bag for my father, who avoided my mother and threatened to send her away. Instead, he sent me to a therapist, figuring if he could fix something in me, then maybe it would fix her. The man was never said to be brilliant. I went along with it, figuring I could at least leave a lasting impression on anyone could dared to let me share my wicked thoughts, and I have no idea if his suicide had anything to do with me. After the clown lady gave up on me I only went home once more, to rip the house apart in a mad search for my mother’s book, with no success. Now I wait for the day my dad snaps and I see my mother’s ghost walking the streets, and I wonder if even in death she’d still be laughing and laughing and laughing.

(End of Excerpt)
Note: I'm pretty well versed in copyright laws, so I'd appreciate it if nobody tried to steal this story. I have definitive proof that I wrote it. If you share or re-post it, please give credit to Chessterr Hollowberry. Thanks!

No comments:

Post a Comment