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kitewithfish...4.5.6.7 turn 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9. turn then 7 then 9 then 7. She measured the limits of her world in against the only rubric she had- her own strides. She rode close to the walls, seeking the familiar patterns of rough and smooth against the blistered sides of her feet as she traced the walls.
Stop.
Did she just measure 10 strides on this wall?
Can't be. Can't be ten. Confused. Not paying attention. Start over.
Steps back, backwards in the dark, and begins again. Measures it perfectly, confident, knows exactly when her hand will trail over the patch of bare concrete where the paint has peeled and become powder (it grows so slowly but she won't pick at it!), the small sharp spur against her left foot where the metal baseboard has cracked and pulled outward, the smooth expanse of the wall. And in the dark she adjusts her stride, pulls her step back just a hair to keep from breaking her toenails against the wall where on the ninth step, her foot will hit...
empty air. Nine strides leaves the wall unfinished, but she stops anyways. Can't be right. Can't be right. This wall is nine, that wall is seven.
Begins again, hand fisted against the wall so that the bare concrete of the paintless patch scrapes her knuckles, scruffs her foot on the spur, reaches step nine and puts her hand out to meet the wall...
And the wall is out of reach. She has walked seven steps (as it should be), turned, walked nine (as it should be) and
she cannot reach the wall. Both hands outstretched, but rooted to the spot of that ninth step, the borders of her world. Reaching into the dark.
(and there is a wild rush in her mind of doors and windows and skylights, half forgotten in the dark, of spaces vast and free and unconfined and she cannot remember them but she knows she did once, she knows that once she ran and struck nothing and she can't remember hope, it was something she gave up when it cost too much, it drove her mad and it was better to forget, to just accept and respect the walls as inevitable so she did, she gave it up and lived in her room 7 by 9 by 7 by 9 by 7, the circuit around her stretching out into eternity except that it's not any more and what does that mean and she'd almost forgotten the fear of never getting out because it had been a bosom companion for so long and a better friend than hope so she'd kept it close to warm her at night and now it was eating her up.)
What was she supposed to do when the world fell open?
She is crying. There are no echoes.
Her world is broken.
She takes another step. Ten. The world is broken. What is she supposed to do?
Eleven.
Twelve.
Stop.
Did she just measure 10 strides on this wall?
Can't be. Can't be ten. Confused. Not paying attention. Start over.
Steps back, backwards in the dark, and begins again. Measures it perfectly, confident, knows exactly when her hand will trail over the patch of bare concrete where the paint has peeled and become powder (it grows so slowly but she won't pick at it!), the small sharp spur against her left foot where the metal baseboard has cracked and pulled outward, the smooth expanse of the wall. And in the dark she adjusts her stride, pulls her step back just a hair to keep from breaking her toenails against the wall where on the ninth step, her foot will hit...
empty air. Nine strides leaves the wall unfinished, but she stops anyways. Can't be right. Can't be right. This wall is nine, that wall is seven.
Begins again, hand fisted against the wall so that the bare concrete of the paintless patch scrapes her knuckles, scruffs her foot on the spur, reaches step nine and puts her hand out to meet the wall...
And the wall is out of reach. She has walked seven steps (as it should be), turned, walked nine (as it should be) and
she cannot reach the wall. Both hands outstretched, but rooted to the spot of that ninth step, the borders of her world. Reaching into the dark.
(and there is a wild rush in her mind of doors and windows and skylights, half forgotten in the dark, of spaces vast and free and unconfined and she cannot remember them but she knows she did once, she knows that once she ran and struck nothing and she can't remember hope, it was something she gave up when it cost too much, it drove her mad and it was better to forget, to just accept and respect the walls as inevitable so she did, she gave it up and lived in her room 7 by 9 by 7 by 9 by 7, the circuit around her stretching out into eternity except that it's not any more and what does that mean and she'd almost forgotten the fear of never getting out because it had been a bosom companion for so long and a better friend than hope so she'd kept it close to warm her at night and now it was eating her up.)
What was she supposed to do when the world fell open?
She is crying. There are no echoes.
Her world is broken.
She takes another step. Ten. The world is broken. What is she supposed to do?
Eleven.
Twelve.
Daaaaaamn
Date: 2012-02-23 04:32 pm (UTC)Re: Daaaaaamn
Date: 2012-02-23 06:35 pm (UTC)