Part One
The sun, warm, but not hot, kisses my face as I look up into the clear blue sky. There is life all around me. There is joy everywhere, or so I am told. The birds sing their morning song as the sun peaks over the easterly horizon. A day that could be filled with joy and laughter, or sorrow and pain. There is joy all around me, there is laughter everywhere, but I hear none. I am numb. No one knows the pain I feel. No one cares about the pain I feel throughout my monotonous day. How could they, I smile everyday. “Smiley” is my name throughout the sun’s hours. I present them with a façade of happiness. The face that you recall when reading my words is signed by the faintest of laugh lines instead of stained with dry tears.
I wish I could show you the depth of my soul, but all that you will find is a smiling fool. Smiling on the outside and confused on the inside. My hands are tired, my batteries are low and my way is blocked by Everest, which I can neither conquer nor move. Is this just a test of strength? Does it hold true that pain builds character or is it just an excuse to inflict more? My spirit may be shattered, but my heart is still pure. And so my love is blind to logic and reason and will stand strong in the toughest of season. Love may explain the depth of one’s sorrow and the root of pain, confusion and abandonment. You see, only the one, who perceives can feel and only the one who is loved can abandon. So let me ask you this, my attentive reader: do you love like you are loved? All this comes from the pen of a confused soul. I am but a matter of flesh and blood that encloses my immortal spirit. This has been broken into parts. Will you be able to see my scars? The scars, my souvenirs that never fade, inflicted by life.
And with this thought I say goodnight.
Part Two
It is a cloudless, cool night. The moon is shining, but it is not full yet. The sky is its blackest black. I am alone. Not even the unearthly creatures want to share this dark moment with me. I am lonely. The neighbour upstairs just finished with his noisy routine of preparing for bed and even outside there is nothing to be heard, but the low, continuous hum of King Street a few blocks away. I think it has finally happened, it waited in patience for the most opportune moment, my moment of weakness. I have cried so much in the past two weeks that I fear, if I shed one more tear, I may die from dehydration. My eyes are stinging from the lack of sleep, my back is aching under the weight of the world on my shoulders and my hand is cramping up in protest of me admitting it all. Yes, it has finally happened, the thing I fear most: I don’t know who I am.
It started slowly, it was impossible to notice; the size of a pin’s head the confusion was in the centre of my heart. Small enough to be ignored, however, perfectly situated to cause the most amount of damage. Soon enough it will take over my heart completely and if my ignorance prevails, it will end up in my fingertips and toes. Even if I’m conscious of this evil, its perfect timing has rendered me helpless. It will happen! I am aware of it. I can feel it spread through my body like the blood that pulsates through my veins. I cannot stop it! Who is to blame for this? Why is this happening? I am too weak to fight it, but I am no quitter!
I fell like a wounded soldier on the battlefield of life, trapped in his own armour. I can see it coming, it is almost here and it is taking all that is dear. A willing heart cannot see me through this obstacle; it has infected it and poisoned the pieces of my soul. The warmth has gone; the indifference has come. This cannot be happening! Does love mend a broken heart or was it time that does so? If it is love, it might not be enough, since my heart is cold and my spirit is the broken one. If it is time, then time is working against me, because with each second ticking away another fibre of my being is permanently destroyed.
I can almost hear it, it is so near. I was beaten and stepped on, abused and tormented, brought to the breaking point, but did not break. After all this I am willing to put it all on the line, stupid right? This goes to show that my love is blind and therefore pure of tainted evil. I offer it to you.
I think it has arrived; it just knocked on my door. Is it too late? I will answer the call with a smiling façade as it seeps through my pores, taking it all. Then, you will see “smiley” no longer exists. It is starting to show. There, it knocks again more violently while I let out my final call for help.
Is anybody out there? Can anybody hear me? Would anybody save me?
Part Three
A glorious dawn is breaking on the eastern horizon, but no birds sing. My door is wide open and I glance through the glass doors that lead to the balcony into the blinding morning rays. I stand in my room and wipe the blood off my lip. It was here. It had happened. I can still see the shadow on the floor where it fell. My ears are still ringing from its deafening laugh. The air is still thick with its threat. “I shall return!” it yelled as it crawled into the darkness. Yes, it will return. This is not over yet. It was here; it was finally here. I was left to fend for myself in the darkest of moments. What is your excuse? I slowly turn. There is a mirror hanging on the wall and a person staring back at me. I do not recognize her. She looks like me and yet she doesn’t. Her complexion is pale; her eyes are dark. I take a step towards her. She looks at me, I look back at her. Who is she? The light in her eyes has been extinguished. The innocence is gone. Once again I wipe the blood off my lip and so does she. I pull at my sleeve and smooth out the wrinkles of my pyjamas. I am trembling from head to toe. Once again I look towards the east. I can still see the shadow on the floor. I can still feel the person in the mirror watching me. I step closer to her. I touch her face. Her cheek is cold; her smile has died. What happened?
It happened! Life happened! Of all things, it had to drain me of my life’s ambitions. It misled me, made false promises, used my words against me.
I study her reflection. I do not like what I see. It is her fault; she took the wrong path. She was blind. Now she is just a shadow of her former self. That’s what you get for experiencing life. I feel this emptiness inside, but my heart is still aching, it is not yet dead. I silenced my soul. It is almost time. I see her and she sees me, can it be me? I’m frightened to admit so. No, she is not. She is broken; I am not. She is a woman; I am not?
I look at her; she looks at me. I see her plain and clear. But she is not broken and neither am I. I wipe the last drop of blood off my lip. I stand up tall. I can see her plain and clear. She is me and I am her. I am that woman.
I see myself, plain and clear, full of hope and dreams; not fear.
One thing is certain; when it comes again I’ll be prepared. It may have threatened: “I shall return”, but I will make sure that it will burn!
Donald Duck: Lost in the Andes by Carl Barks
