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Hi all. This is my first fic on FictionPress. I don't really expect many people to read it, but I put it up anyway. Enjoy!
Clear Sky
He stood, right on the edge, arms outstretched, eyes closed. Feeling the cool wind on his face. It would be so easy, so easy just to let go.
He opened his eyes and looked down, his bare feet resting on soft grass, his toes hung over the edge. Below there was nothing but blue sky, in front only the fluffy white clouds, making elusive shapes in the never-ending sky. He longed to reach out, to touch just one, and to just let go, to fall into that never-ending sky. Never to think or feel again, never to have to hold the burden of a thousand expectations. To just let go, and float free in a world of nothing.
He knew it could never be, there were still things he had to do, many things, but the sky, the calm, called to him, inviting him never to feel the pain again.
“He’s pathetic,” came a faint voice on the wind. The words stayed with him and he turned his back on the beautiful, calm, sky.
As he turned away clouds filled the sky overhead, but not the same fluffy white clouds from the blue sky. Big black clouds, filled with anger and hate. They seemed to yell, 'you will never make it.'
The words were spinning him round and round until he fell. The clouds surrounded him and then the rain came. Large thick droplets, beating down endlessly, turning the ground beneath him to sticky mud. The soft grass became as sharp as razor blades, which bit into the flesh of his hands and knees. He picked himself up, ignoring the pain of his fresh wounds, and continued on, away from the endless sky and the promise of tranquillity. It would have been so easy.
An open plain stretched out before him, daring him to face it, daring him to step forward into the unknown. Despite the rain a thick fog rolled in, obscuring his vision and making him unable to see the direction he travelled or what lay ahead. He looked back, the endless sky was still there, inviting him into a life with no worry.
“Look at him, he’s so humiliating.”
He turned back to the fog and took a step into the unknown.
Each step felt like agony, he looked down once again at his bare feet. Thorns were growing out of the muddy ground. Wrapping themselves around his exposed legs and feet, biting deeply into his flesh. He tried to scream, to call for help, but the fog muffled his voice and all that came out was a rather week yelp. The thorns were growing rapidly, winding themselves around his shoulders and arms, tearing at his clothes, hair and face.
He was unable to move. The fog, clouds and thorns seemed to sneer at him. 'We told you that you would never make it.'
Anger boiled up inside him until he was ready to explode, his hands were shaking and he already felt exhausted, from trying to prevent the thorns from dragging him down. He closed his eyes and thought of them, alone and scared. What would they say if he never came back?
With a burst of strength he moved forward, blood running freely from the wounds left by the thorns. They seemed to reach out, to grab and hold, 'we wont let you go, we wont let you.'
With a final serge and struggle he was free of the thorns. Blood ran down his face, his arms and legs. He lay in the mud for a time, whilst the clouds swarmed like angry bees. Once again he looked back. The thorns were gone, but the sky, that beautiful blue promising sky, was still there. Calling to him.
He turned back to his task. Standing he faced the fog and the uncertainty. He took one determined step forward, than another, ignoring the blood that was pouring down his face.
After a time he realised he was slowing down. The mud was rising pulling him down, sucking him into the ground, 'now I have you', it seemed to say, 'you are mine.'
He struggled to free himself, but it was useless, the mud was dragging him down, down into a bottomless abyss.
No, no it can't end, not here, not like this! He struggled, he reached out, the mud was already covering his shoulders. He called for help that would never come.
“Absolutely pathetic.”
This is something that needs to be done, by myself. Alone.
He surged forward, attempting to swim through the thick, sticky mud. He spotted a tree-branch, lying about a metre away, as if it had always been there. He moved slowly forward and snatched up the branch. It changed into a long pail, sickly looking root. He pulled with all his might, and slowly began to move forward.
After many long minutes he pulled himself to the bank of the mud pond. He sat, with his back against the tree that had saved him and looked out over the mud pond...
Which was gone, just like the thorns as if they had never been, but the mud and blood was still there. So was the blue sky, obscured now by the thick velvet fog, but just as inviting as ever.
With a soft groan he pulled himself to his feet and continued on. The rain still came down, washing away some of the mud and blood that caked him. The fog however was dispersing and a strong wind was blowing him back, back the way he had come.
Taking steady steps forward he moved slowly against the wind, gaining ground. 'No, no I have you, you are mine,' the wind told him. 'Submit, you cannot beat us. You cannot beat yourself.'
He shook his head, ignoring the voice and continued on. The grass was as sharp as razor blades under his feet. Every step was agony. Through streaming eyes he could make out a door, painted in bright white. It seemed to glow.
This is my goal.
The wind became more fierce and desperate, but it was now no match for his determination. He reached out, fingertips touching the glowing door frame. The door swung open and he fell through...
Into a dark city. Soft rain fell, some late lights lit up the street, leaving small puddles to illuminate the pavement. The streets were empty, not a single thing disturbed the serenity of the night, not a car or person moved in the darkness.
Almost home. He moved quickly through the familiar streets. Now he knew his way, now he was in control once again. Almost home.
There it was. A beautiful dark house. No lights were on, but the door, the white door shone so brightly in the night. He reached forward, grabbed the handle and stepped through.
“Stop saying that, he’s not pathetic,” came a familiar voice, as Jack opened his eyes. He lifted his head, which was pounding, off his office desk. His vision was blurred and a horrible taste occupied his mouth.
“Are you all right sir?” the man on the other side of Jack's desk said, concern displayed clearly on his face. “You were dead to the world.”
Jack remembered the dream perfectly, he even looked down at his arms to see the scratches left by the thorns, but of course, they were gone.
“Yes...yes I’m fine,” Jack said, then spotted the clear bottle in front of him. As he had slept it had rolled away a small distance. He picked it up, it was half empty. The label was a picture of a clear blue sky, it looked so inviting. The writing above read, “Clear blue vodka: one drop and you’ll never go back.”
Jack looked disgusted at the bottle and tossed it in the trash. As he did so he saw the photo of his family that sat contently on the corner of his desk. His wife and son smiled up at him. The man across from him was also smiling.
“Your wife will be proud sir,” he said and winked. “No-one ever said it would be easy.”
Thanks,
Kwin
