Within The Dark

I close my eyes for a moment and then open them without actually opening them. I'm inside my own mind and at first the world looks unnaturally rounded as if I had just put new contacts in and I feel too large. I blink and my mind begins to form correctly. I become a normal size and the world of my mind becomes mostly flat, but a bit of the unnatural roundness remains. I take in the site of my mind.

Behind me is a cold blackness that scares me a tiny bit. It's almost like standing on the edge of the world. In front of me lays a city of dystopia. I'm on the outer part where the buildings are barely more than skeletons of iron, so run down and rotted. I peer closely into the buildings, the few that still had window frames, and notice barely put together memories. They're too old to remember clearly and it shows in the fuzziness of the pictures and how they flicker in and out of existence.

I make my way towards the middle of the dark city, taking note of the starless sky, the large moon that is too close, and the clouds that cast even darker shadows. As I walk down the road, the buildings to either side of me become more built up, but they're all so run down. The memories that I see become more clear and better fit together. These are the more recent memories. There are also silver mists hanging in the street, but I avoid those.

The silver mists are stark memories that I'll never forget and I know if I walk through one that I will be put back in that memory. They hover inches above the ground and seem to call to me, but I continue my way to the center of my mind. I know I'll have time later to go into the silver mist of memories if I so choose to.

I finally reach the center of my mind and a large building towers above all the other buildings. The building also looks much more high tech and nicer than any of the other buildings that lead to this one. It was made of some kind of sleek black material that reflected the rest of the run down city.

I step up the black marble stairs that are cracked and crumbling to stand in front of a pair of black iron doors. I push them open with little struggle. A long hallway, dimly lit, stretches out in front of me with a white set of elevator doors at the end. I begin to walk down the hallway but I break into a brisk jog, afraid of the shadows that the lights didn't reach. I reach the elevator doors panting lightly and they open smoothly just as I go to press the open door button. I step into the elevator and the doors close just as smoothly. I feel a small jolt as the elevator begins to rise.

With a small ding the elevator doors open after a few minutes and a brightly lit room comes into view. Opposite side of the room is a door way by which a writing desk can be seen. A pen is balanced on a pad of paper, calling for me even stronger than the silver mists were. Between me and the desk though is a person who seems to be crouching in the midst of the first room. I step out towards the person and she jerks her head up.

The person's sightless face it turned towards me and I step back in fear. Her eyes and mouth are sewn shut and her long, black, stringy hair falls in front of her face. A straight jacket is wrapped around her and chains are attached to it which is what is keeping her to the floor. She opens her mouth, stretching her lips and stitches but not ripping them, to let out an unearthly scream.

She represents the demons I've kept locked down. It's the violence that I sometimes want to let loose, the hate that I want to let lash out, the regrets that I have, the shadows that will haunt me, but won't let control me. I walk by her and she thrashes in her bindings but I step through the doorway to my writing desk. I feel glasses settle on my nose, my hair pull away from my neck and settle on top of my head, my shoes disappear, and soft pajama pants cover my legs. I pull the chair out and sit down in it. The pen that was balanced on the paper stack seems to jump into my hand and I bend over the paper to begin my writing. Before I do, I look over my shoulder to the girl in the first room. I smile at her still form.

I write to keep her calm and she exists to give me inspiration.