Thursday, September 22

Gia

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this”, said Gia. “Sometimes these things just fall from me like leaves in autumn, they spill and gush until the overflow and crash around my feet...”

“Sometimes,” said Gia, “sometimes the world looks different to me. Sometimes I don’t see the things I know are there, the things I look at every day. Sometimes the world is larger, it engulfs me in its darkness. At night I wander, and the streetlamps raise their orange glow into the mist. Sometimes I look up at the houses on the hills, and they are on fire, the lights burning a thick, acrid smoke that rises to join the ridge of cloud so far above me. And above still further, the moon looks down, cool; I feel his voice in the wind on my face. Above everything, the eye of God, looking down mournfully.”

“Sometimes,” said Gia, “Sometimes I forget who I am. Sometimes I am huge, I arch over the places I know, a towering oak above pathways and houses, looking down chimneys and watching the people move. I look on and I feel happy, the unfolding drama of life scattered around me. And I come to realise I am too tall, my roots run too deep, to ever be inside. If I were smaller, I would still grow, tearing through the roof, scattering tiles and timber and letting in the rain.”

“Sometimes,” whispered Gia, “sometimes I’m afraid to be alone, but I don’t understand other people. They don’t understand me. Even when I come close to them, my words fall on deaf ears. I move, and they cannot follow me. I set a trail, but before they reach the end I am gone. Sometimes the wind blows through the leaves and I think I catch a glimpse of someone following me, looking down with these same eyes. But the wind moves on, I move on and they are gone at a blink.”

“Sometimes,” and Gia glanced around, leaning in closer, “sometimes I go to places I should never go. I see the faces of people who have been forgotten, and I hear harsh words and strong, thick phrases which shock to the heart of me. They still shock me, no matter how much I hear them. I go down to the base of things; I see the cracked and splintered shapes that lie there, curled in the wake of this place. I hear them, I know what they do and I know what they see. I know what they are. And the terrifying thing is, they ignore me. They just watch me pass. I almost wish they would follow me home, destroy me as they destroyed themselves... but they know we are different. They look at me, and there is a vague spark of recognition, but they move on. They look at me like they look at the fractured scenery they build up around themselves, perhaps interesting for a moment, but ultimately of no use. They have their art, they have their songs, and whilst I mouth along I shall never know the tune.”

“Sometimes,” said Gia, “I have seen angels, racing above me, above the clouds, darting into the rivers and stretching out for the sea. Sometimes they drop without a sound, and hover for a moment, regarding me, turning this way and that. They gesture to me, the whisper so softly... but I cannot hear them, I do not know what they want. They hang their heads, and they are gone from sight, and I am left, terrified, cold and alone by the water’s edge, freezing cold and dripping wet. I creep home in the dark, every noise a knife in my heart. I crawl into bed alone.”

“Sometimes,” and Gia looked down at her toes, moving them a little and then letting them hang again, “sometimes I have lost things I can’t get back. I have broken things that cannot be mended. I have shown people things which have changed them forever, and said and done things which I lived to regret. Sometimes I regret almost everything, and when people see me walking around with my head in the clouds they don’t know, they don’t see what’s going on inside of me. I wish I could get it all out. I wish I could tell it to you now. But I won’t. I know that one day it will choke me, and I will go on, head in clouds, from the outside I will look exactly the same. No one will even notice that I’ve gone, but it’s coming for me. It waits in dark corners, squat, terrifying. Its face is my face, and so shall it replace me. Soon I know it shall swallow me whole.”

“Sometimes,” murmured Gia, turning away, “you just have to accept your fate.”

4 Comments:

Blogger neon said...

Hi, some quite indepth stuff here, what are your main influences?

September 26, 2005 11:20 am  
Blogger airspaced said...

Thanks, I don't really take direct influences for a lot of my stuff, but personal faves when it comes to prose are Virignia Woolf and Katherine Mansfield... I also love Christina Rosetti and the obvious Sylvia Plath.

The inspiration for this one just came from walking around an unfamiliar university campus, looking at the things around me that seemed strance after the sun had gone down.. just feeling lonely, realising no-one there saw me as anything more than a uniform. Hidden agendas and such..

September 26, 2005 7:03 pm  
Blogger neon said...

Have you read the book 'Hunger' by Knut Hamsen? It is all about an internal struggle within the main character and how he places himself and his (eventual) madness within places and contexts.Great stuff.
I love the eerie feeling places take on at night, most of my poems and prose explore this, I think that the world can be far more revealing at night when it is laid bare and people don't have that sense of blind urgency they possess in the day. A uniform often acts as a mask I find, but people can be reluctant to look beyond the surface of things.
that was a bit of a rant there!

September 27, 2005 12:07 pm  
Blogger airspaced said...

Not at all, it was very interesting! I shall check out that book for sure.

Eerieness is a strange concept, don't you think? The possibility that there is something beyond our everyday experience lurking within our everyday world, that what's ours is somehow distorted by night into something wholly alien... a very interesting concept.

September 27, 2005 3:04 pm  

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