Hecale

Post Script

It comes in the darkness, when the lights are off and the only sounds are those of the scratching of fingers and the rubbing of skin.

Seeping over you when you feel your life is heading towards an abyss. Silently it enters beneath your door, through your broken window and over your bloated flesh. Faceless.

I went for a walk, retraced the steps of the old walks, the walks he used to make when his dreams were filled with colourful ambition. He was a great man then. The walk was long, it rained, he thought about her and he thought about who he used to be before. Before his thoughts were nightmares and before he ever had a thought. When they were predictions and dreams and his life was not real. Good and bad. He was a great man, a great man then.

He wept on that walk, he wept for the first time in years at this time the sadness was all he had in his life and it was all he could do but to slip into nothing. He went home and lay down for a while. He smelt only of worry.

She must be thinking something at this moment, I am convinced of it. More than just a thinker though, "She's a great woman", "A good woman" they say. "Women like her are hard to come by" I hear. "Count yourself lucky because she certainly is a good woman"

He is lost again, he used to know his way around here. O! the maps he made, O! the plans, the deeds and the lots were all his to cast. He is not here anymore, he can find no trace of what used to be his person. There is no hair of his on this pillow and there is no blood of his on these shoes. Not anymore. Where did he go?

Lovely, lovely woman, a good woman.

Why do you never talk to me anymore? I miss you, I wanted you to help but for years you stood there looking at me and letting me forget what it was I came for. I came here with you, do you not remember? We came here together full of passion and wishes. Remember when I asked you to go walking with me? We walked for hours that day, lost together. Walking. But you hate me now, I know you hate me otherwise you would talk to me but you do not. Not anymore.

Are you still there?

I can no longer imagine the face you used to have, do you recognise my face? I do not, not anymore. I do not think it is my face any longer, I do not remember if I even had a face before I made this one. I made yours too though remember? It was a good face, a handsome face, a good face for a hero. You were a hero, always a hero to me. You were a good man then. Will you not talk to me? I miss you terribly. Are you still there?

Down the tree lined passage past the exterior of those dark houses. It was not a good time for us then. Languishing was all we did in those days, the dark days of winter.

Down the tree lined passage. I dreamt often then, I had so many dreams to choose from in those days, the dark days of winter. Splinters and fragments and the world was mine, it all existed down the tree lined passage.

Are you still there? I was there too then, me and you, the dark days of winter. Are you waiting for me there?

They stole my face, the greyness it comes from here, the theft, the hurt and the hate. It all comes from here. I do not want to come back here again. Not again. I came back for you though. I came back to see your face again but I cannot see it. I made it but I cannot remember it, nor can I remember my own. Do you remember it? You loved it, I remember distinctly that you did. Speak to me please. I know you are disappointed with the way things turned out. Speak to me please. The silence is more hurtful than you anticipated. Where have you been? Speak to me of all you did when we parted. Show me your face.

You went with me and I did not notice when you left. I do not want you anymore, stop coming here with your faceless anger and your intolerable silence. I have been living, I have been living to the limits of endurance, all I have conquered bears testament to my success and blonde future. You wanted me to fail and when I did not you left. Now I come back here and you won't talk to me and you will not show me your face. You are a bitter man, you are not a man and you are no longer real.

Speak to me please. Show me your face. I miss you.

I think I'm going, my feet are searching for the door and my mind is too tired to protest. I'm going but I'm not sure where and I want my blonde future. I want all that I predetermined all those years ago. Back when I was malnourished and all we had was each other and we sat and laughed and we talked for hours. Face to face. I loved you then, you had the face of a hero. I made that face. Hold my hand again. Tell me something I can hear. These ears that have heard so much since you left but not heard what they need. I need you again. I miss you. Are you still there?