Refer to the FAY Index page for a chronological list of posts and their shortlinks: http://wp.me/P2DnTA-ko
Someone must be the patriarch in this. But who. Perhaps I will die here. But where is my Fay. I won’t allow myself to die until I know she is safe. …unless, unless I am already dead. Maybe this is the death my mother’s head showed me. This is the horror I saw in her eyes. This is my death and it is infinite. …I won’t believe that. There must be a way to know if I am dead or not. I would never have expected for death to be a mental thing. Yet this is the horror I saw.
Perhaps I am in a coma. That might be true. Yes, quite possible. After all, I know Fay and I had long since left any place that was familiar, whatever happened, I was shot, and where we were, no one knew us. My wallet may have been stolen, leaving me without identification. Of course Fay knows her name and old address…but maybe the trauma made her call herself Mary…no. She knows she is my Fay. The car could have been stolen as well. That’s the last thing I remember, driving. An accident. The same accident. Except it was my head on the double line in the road. So I am dead then. And my soul, rather than to go and be free, has trapped itself inside my head, which explains why my body is useless to me. Well that’s not fair. Perhaps my soul’s mission, set on by my mother’s head, is to save her soul…what were the words that her mouth said to me…? No. That’s not possible at all. How could my soul free itself from my head to get into hers to save her? I wouldn’t even know where to find her head to begin with.
Maybe I already am in her head, which is why this is similar to what I saw in her eyes. How did I get here? It could be that my head was so preoccupied about it that there was some connection that was made. A slipping through the life-death veil.
The conclusion, I am dead and my soul is infinitely imprisoned inside my dead mother’s head.
Maybe I am in a coma, and because no one knows me where I am, that is why there is darkness and obscurity and fear, because in my subconscious, my environment is alien and unfamiliar. So this is the symbolic language that my subconscious uses in order to communicate with my conscious. Yet it feels as though I am in my conscious. Though usually there’s a difference between reality and symbolism. Therefore, I must have somehow emerged, or submerged, into some other form of consciousness.
People who are comatose are said to understand when people speak to them. I’m now under the impression that this is true only when the people are friends and family, people who are known to the slab. That is what I feel like, a slab. A big, rat pellet. I am certain that there couldn’t possibly be anyone familiar out there in the conscious world because of the fact that when Fay and I left, no one had any indication that we were leaving so no one could know where we are. That makes sense, the fact that this little box is the trap of the coma and I could either live or die. But I must figure out really which way to go and how to go about doing it.
I’ve only spoken two words since I’ve been here. Maybe I should try to call out. Maybe the doctors will hear me.
“h-h-hello.” It’s hard to get my vocal chords working. The other times were impassioned cries. The spontaneity made it such simpler. Somehow it’s more difficult to accomplish something when too much of an effort is made.
My throat and mouth are dry and sore. I try to get some saliva flowing, yet it only becomes sticky. I hum lightly and play with my vocal chords a bit, something of a jump start.
Finally I am able to speak. “Hello! Can you hear me? Is there anyone out there? I’m alive! I want to live! Help me!”
I say nothing else. A fraction of light enters through the vent allowing subtle shadows to form. I want to stand until not only do I realize I am already standing, on both feet, unchained, but I also see directly across from me, myself on the floor leaning against the wall with my eyes open and staring. I look into my own eyes and realize that I am dead.
…to be continued…