Losing Lenore: PART 2 - A Valentines Ghost Story
31 Mayıs 2011 Salı
, Posted by buRkAy at 02:53
This is a short story based upon a poem called
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe: The spooky tale can be heard here....
LOSING LENORE
Despite this, William challenged the strange bird, “What are you doing perched upon my bust? Leave here now, bird of the Devil. Do you come to torment me more?” William cowered in the corner, confronting the stately raven. It didn’t move, but held himself with the demeanour of a lord or lady. It looked down at William, inquisitively. The ebony raven beguiled William into smiling, briefly. Its expression was grave and stern, in reply. William grabbed at his hair once more, enjoying the pain as each strand was plucked from its follicle.
“I see you’re no soft touch. Horrifying, bleak and ancient bird, tell me your name on the Nights Plutonian shore,” asked William - having read of such a bird within historical texts. Awaiting a reply, he closed the window shutters to shield himself from the cold, and perhaps the bird.
The mysterious raven simply replied, “Nevermore.”
Its stare penetrated William; past flesh and blood, through bone and sinew. “Do my ears deceive me – did you say, ‘Nevermore?’ ” Surely, he’s been sent from Hell as a messenger from the afterlife; he considered excitedly, ‘He must have news of my sweet Lenore.’
William’s body stiffened, his throat went to shout yet remained mute, and his troubled mind whirled; eyes darting without focus. He thought, “I will use this bird of the Devil to find my Lenore, and he will take me to her. I will no doubt find that she rests with angels. I may even be able to join her there - forever.”
So many questions tormented his psyche. For months, he’d sought answers in black magic and devil worship, now here was a messenger from the Devil himself.
“Where is my Lenore - is she in Aidenn? They would surely accept one of their own back among them; an angel restored to her home. What of our reunion, raven? When will I see her again? When will you send me to her?”
The raven’s head bent to the side as he replied, “Nevermore.”
“Nevermore, you say? You cut me with your callous reply, raven. Do you mean to infer her rejection is certain? Would they not allow her entry into their garden? Would angels truly evacuate another angel? Say it is not, so. Say she rests in peace, everlasting, and that you come to take me to her.” William looked to him with hope.
Again, the raven only said, “Nevermore.”
William choked on hearing this and dared to wonder what the bird meant by croaking, ‘Nevermore.’ He sat in silent conjecture – reclining on his bed, understanding the bird to mean that he would never more recline with Lenore. William scratched at his throat; breathing had become light and quick, annoying him. He stood, scratching and rubbing the raw flesh as he paced. His thoughts now matched his breaths for speed, with the depth of graves.
Life and death seemed merely obstacles to William; a simple matter of moving from one to the other. He must pass from miserable to euphoric in one move - death. His throat bled, yet still he scratched.
He insisted on conversing with the raven, ignorant or blind to the reality that its replies would only ever be a repeat of its first, never providing the answers he so urgently sought.
He paced over the decay, thoughtlessly; his emaciated body operating on anxiety, alone. Blood and puss seeped from his scalp, his hair discarded in clumps among the rot. His throat itched more, the more he scratched. Blood and decay became embedded within his long, ragged fingernails and each wound. Bed-pan’s remained un-emptied, overflowing in corners and under the bed. His mind – fractured; distorting every memory and thought, provoked. Irrationality lapped at him, like a cool drink to quell the dryness. Sweat shone on pallid flesh; squalid and reviled. Colours became mingled with the filth and debris of his room; the smell of it became stronger as his feet did their work - Though William smelt only Lenore. Imagination bent around reality until the lines between them merged, chaotically.
Delirium sat beside him, mentoring poor, William.
No reply came from the raven; frustrated by the hush and in spite of his dulled senses, his body cried out to be healed. He did not seek out food or water, neither did he satisfy his need for rest or support; instead he continued to look to magic for answers.
“If you do not come to talk of Lenore, do you bring me Balm of Gilead; a healing resin to heal my heart? I read of it here, in one of my books.” Pacing, searching for evidence, William saw something that made him stop. He noticed his reflection as he passed by an ornate, gilded mirror. He took a step back to take in the whole image; a dishevelled, unclean, malnourished figure stared back at him. Who are you? Eye to eye, he did not recognise the form before him. Bald patches - oozing; throat – dripping red; bloody streaks about his face and clothing, covering his hands; bones protruding; filth and squalor everywhere. His shaking hand reached out to touch the mirror, and when he saw the reflexion reach out too, brutal reality struck him. “If that’s me – what have I become?”
Denial took charge and flung his attentions to another illusion, as he dropped to his knees and sobbed, hands held out to the Seraphim flickering in the corner of his eye.
“Please – save me, heal me. I’m begging you. See what I’ve become. Take pity on me dear, Seraphim.”
Again, there was no reply. “Two of you here in my room, yet neither offer assistance to one so clearly in need of it? You are not here in kindness. You will not commune with me, as any good souls would? Do you not see my pain? Are you beings of cruelty? Would you torment me, so?”
Knelt upon his floor, surrounded in filth and evidence of Lenore, William screamed – “No!” Indeed, ‘No, no, no, no’ replaced all previous mantras for what seemed like hours. More and more thoughts of Lenore evacuated, along with the precious visions on the walls. His mind increasingly offered blackness, emptiness, peace.
Finally, fatigue had beaten cognition; his mind shut down and as he frantically tried to cling to pictures and words and smells of Lenore. William found that he could no longer fight it - Recovery.
He knew that to surrender to sleep would mean losing Lenore a little more each time he woke; such is the cruelty of healing. It became all too much to bear, too much to lose, for William. With barely an ounce of energy left, he fought to keep her alive within him.
“No – You have come to poison me. I will not heal this way. You have used nepenthe to induce forgetfulness. I was tricked by the servants of the Devil, himself. I take it back; I do not want to heal. You seek to remove her from my mind; you will not remove her from my heart. Won’t you leave me be with my sorrow? Allow me to exist in my agony? I will not call on you again. I do not wish to heal this way.”
And still the raven replied, “Nevermore.”
William could feel the evidence of the defiant bird. His mind was no longer flying quickly around the corrosive memories of Lenore - its mania slowed. And though there was blessed relief, it came at too much a cost.
“That’s it. We must part Raven, fly back to Night's Plutonian shore, taking with you all the lies you’ve spoken. Quit the bust above my door, remove your beak from my heart, and leave my loneliness unbroken.”
The raven perched, without acknowledging these commands. He simply sat and stared, looked around, watching, without reply. William cried and cried.
“I surrender then. I lost the fight, Devils Bird. The lamp light casts your shadow upon my floor; you are everywhere. You touch me all over; you invite me to live, when I longed for death. Your shadow smothers all things, my books and pictures, even my soul – lying there defenceless at my feet. My soul is swallowed up by you and your beak punctures this useless heart, broken within me. The Devil will surely favour you for this visit, raven. My heart is useless to me without Lenore, and my soul is of no use if it cannot secure my afterlife with her. Take them, if you desire it.”
William stared at his feet, frozen. “Leave! Leave here, now!” he screamed to the raven. Outside, the storm screamed out, the shutters flung open and lightening illuminated William’s room momentarily. The rot around him made him retch as unexpectedly, its pungent stench punched William’s nose, like a fist. The raven looked at him defiantly; fear of the storm requiring him to stay. William could not see this simple reality.
“Whatever should I do? I see now why you came; to lie as demons do and to confiscate my soul. You leave me empty, raven; with a soul that will not join with Lenore in death, a soul in your possession, that shall be mine – ‘nevermore.’ Worst of all; you leave me without memories; disbanded - my visions filched. I am losing my Lenore, again.”
A roar of lightening crashed, the raven flew away. William rushed to the window to lock it out. Instead he stood with his face to the cleansing wind and rain, drinking from the spray, preferring the fresh air to the putrid mess behind him.
“I’m so tired, Lenore. Forgive me if I sleep.”
William’s breakdown was complete. The time for healing had begun.
Shah Wharton (c) 2010.
Well, what did you think? Haunting, spooky, heartbreaking?
At least there was a good ending for Valentine. ;)
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