Post by Martin on Jun 20, 2006 23:33:30 GMT -5
Martin Avariamente woke up in the dark.
It wasn’t a true dark, but only dark because nothing else could be used to describe it. It wasn’t something horrible, because horrible things have substance and can be defined. Not only was it not something horrible, it wasn’t something period. It was a lack of Something where Something should have been. It wasn’t anything. In fact, it was stiflingly Nothing At All.
The Nothing yawned all around Martin, and the terribleness of it struck him. Actually it didn’t strike him, because only Things can strike someone. The fact that it didn’t strike him was what made it so terrible.
Martin had been sad before, and this was not sadness. Sadness was tangible and offered opportunities for self pity. It was best avoided, but at least it could be felt. In the Nothing, he felt Nothing. He had no emotion, except perhaps fear at his lack of emotion. There was nothing to bounce his feelings off of. There was nothing to use as a foothold.
There Was Nothing.
Martin felt something clawing the inside of his throat, and squeezing his face behind his eyes. And Martin, the proud, calm, sixteen year old, began to cry.
The tears crawled like insects down his cheeks, only to tremble pitifully off his sharp chin, and the sobs that were pumped out of his lungs hung tentatively in the Nothing, before deciding they would not be responded to and fading.
A jolt ran through Martin's body, and he awoke. He was on the floor in the library, his head against an overturned ottoman. The only sound was a ticking of a clock, an ordinary sound, but in the middle of the situation it sounded disturbing, horryfing even.
Good Lord, he thought. A dream.
Then he froze. He always had dreams like that when he........
No.
God. Thought Martin. I hope I didn't kill anyone.
A tight little shivering breath wriggled out of his opened jaws.
He felt for the silver locket around his neck.
It wasn’t a true dark, but only dark because nothing else could be used to describe it. It wasn’t something horrible, because horrible things have substance and can be defined. Not only was it not something horrible, it wasn’t something period. It was a lack of Something where Something should have been. It wasn’t anything. In fact, it was stiflingly Nothing At All.
The Nothing yawned all around Martin, and the terribleness of it struck him. Actually it didn’t strike him, because only Things can strike someone. The fact that it didn’t strike him was what made it so terrible.
Martin had been sad before, and this was not sadness. Sadness was tangible and offered opportunities for self pity. It was best avoided, but at least it could be felt. In the Nothing, he felt Nothing. He had no emotion, except perhaps fear at his lack of emotion. There was nothing to bounce his feelings off of. There was nothing to use as a foothold.
There Was Nothing.
Martin felt something clawing the inside of his throat, and squeezing his face behind his eyes. And Martin, the proud, calm, sixteen year old, began to cry.
The tears crawled like insects down his cheeks, only to tremble pitifully off his sharp chin, and the sobs that were pumped out of his lungs hung tentatively in the Nothing, before deciding they would not be responded to and fading.
A jolt ran through Martin's body, and he awoke. He was on the floor in the library, his head against an overturned ottoman. The only sound was a ticking of a clock, an ordinary sound, but in the middle of the situation it sounded disturbing, horryfing even.
Good Lord, he thought. A dream.
Then he froze. He always had dreams like that when he........
No.
God. Thought Martin. I hope I didn't kill anyone.
A tight little shivering breath wriggled out of his opened jaws.
He felt for the silver locket around his neck.