Book of Life

I stand in the anguish of ripped nature where fallen trees are a defeat between it and materialism. Born from a woodchurner who pulps and pushes me out, ready for the midwife, who cuts me from the root and binds me tightly in natural fibres. Then, I am placed on the bosom of my writers heart. There is no turning back now. I am but the soul of something to be written.

The cover so soft like baby’s skin, each page crisp and white, untouched by evil. Slowly my stories emerge as the white is taken up with different colours. I speak volumes only too be misunderstood. Guided by a hand that nurtures my whim. I sense her passion and strength in every word softly spoken against my innocence. She passes me to another who writes wisdom into my heart. Together they fill my pages with stories from their time. A romantic tale of hippy love and seventies action packed anarchy with eighties comedic hairstyle woes. With different genres moulding my world. Lectures on ‘how to’ and recipes for living; love drives their emotions which spill onto my pages.

Day by day like a diary I am written. The feeling of unanswered questions and the interpretations of their lives push curiosity to the front of my mind. Now sins become a part of the core, growing to manifest into an illustration of dark colours. 

“Why can’t you tell me how it will end, good or bad?”.

“No-one reads a book when the ending is first; the element of surprise is what keeps us going”. She answers my question leaving me more confused.  

I turn to rebellion as the years pass. Alas, I am carried to a new owner, one who can read what my essence is about. What was written before has come around again. This time the story I tell is understood. The story I read is understood. So the plot thickens and happiness and romance is merged with a new life and a new shelf. Drifting from mark to mark, I am now placed in a different culture. I absorb words that are not understood.  Making them my own by conflict and conduct. We are together, dear author of mine. Ink setting in my pores and leaving a mark that tells of true love and desire. I feel not alone in this lonely new world.

As the years pass, my cover slightly withers. Pages, with corners turned down to show landmarks of birth and death, joy and grief. Tell tale signs of tears fallen, dried and forgotten. The smell of food and love and hatred, all infused within each page. Like a super smell of spice, roses, blood and sweat. The fallen leaves in autumn, turning brown then red then yellow, so do my leaves. As I change from neutral to wrath to mellow as money does not grow on trees. Still I am tightly bound.

I am no longer the hungry caterpillar, munching letter after letter. I have emerged a butterfly, pages like wings, fluttering in the wind. The joyous day arrives, a page is torn. Drifting through whispers to a destiny of their own; to be recycled into a new story.

Further pages tear away and sprout their own leaves. Until one day I lie in my writer’s hands. Feeling their last breath, softly brushing against the words. Then there is silence. No more ink graces my pages as the dirt where my roots once stood swallows the hand that held my heart. Now my journey has stagnated, full stopped in life without any muse. I refuse to be read and refuse to be heard. I return to the shelf with only a memoir of this life.

Years rush by and my cover is tatty and torn. I am left but a withered carcass of missing pages. Full of guilt, rot and drama. Desperate to remember the words which have smudged, leaving unrecognisable images. Some fallen to family discourse and despair, it is all I have now. I can not see the beauty around, I am not willing to try. I recall the contents and glossary, and fall to the pages that are left. I stand on the shelf waiting to be read, with only a glimpse of the past.

The years whither on and finally, I return to the place I was born. Remembering the stories when they were first told. The adventures, the romances, laughter and tears. Looking at the machines that used to pulsate, now echo my name. They beg me to come. So I follow; I am swallowed whole, cover, binding, pages all gone. My heart is still there, mangled and twisted, yet still beating. I emerge not as me but as something new. To be re-written.

Below the Wonderland

Prologue

While watching television I fell asleep and flew across land and sea to a mountain top in Mexico. I sat there for a while and ate my cheese sandwich which was slightly stale. I drank red grapes and sucked hard boiled sweets then up I got and jumped the steep.

Down I fell, faster and faster. No time to scream. No help could I muster. Falling I saw the earth draw near and thought to myself the grass looks so dear. I fell down hard but no bones did I break. The body was swallowed by the luscious green scene. Floating through the soil and dirt. I found myself in a bubble of sort.

The bubble burst when I hit a rocky bottom, leaving me standing in a darkened cave. Stalagmites and stalactites everywhere. I hear trickling water and scratching sounds but also a bird that sings in harmony. A melody that I follow through and through. I reach a flash of fire, centred in a large cave. I felt fear and definitely not brave. The fire burned so bright and high. In the corner I saw a woman cry, with tears of unknown mystery.

I approached cautiously. I remarked casually ‘I am lost, and why do you cry?’

‘I cry for you’ she drooled onto the ground. In this spit merged her tears and together they sizzled and hissed and fizzled away.

‘For me’ I asked watching the mixture hiss and disappear.

‘For you I cry, oh friend of mine. Your soul is trapped down below’.

‘Down below, what do you mean?’.

She said no more but stopped crying. Up she got and walked past me. The fire stood inches away from her. I swear I saw a whisp reach out. She turned her head and smiled at me ‘Go without’. Then leaped into the burning chest.

I stood and watched as she churned and churned and bellowed out while she burned. Surprised at how unnerving it was I cautiously moved to the exit. I entered another cave with nothing but a door. ‘How weird’ I said to the empty surroundings and walked right up and used the knocker. The ring was heavy but cool to touch. A creak, a groan, a stir and clunk. It opened and as such, I stepped in.

This was no cave but a room for the living. Scattered furniture, a bed in the corner, a table, a chair, a single seater, all soft leather stood in front of the fire. ‘Looks inviting’ I thought. A mantle piece so grand and unique, like I have never seen. Then I glimpsed towards the other corner, where sat a plump child, a boy of twelve, maybe younger. He was eating a pie of sorts.

Guzzling at a pace that made me curious. He didn’t notice me as I approached. He just kept on eating, spoon after spoon, quicker and quicker until the pie was completely finished. He looked up then, with tears in his eyes. He burped for at least ten seconds. So loud that I covered my ears and closed my eyes. When the noise had stopped, to my surprise, a thinner version of him sat with a spoon to the ready. And a pie so fresh sat in front and he started again, with a wheeze and a grunt.

I asked ‘Where shall I go?’ with no reply, just a guzzling sound and a mouth full of pie. I walked away back to the door, which was now made of glass. I saw through onto a field full of violets and roses and poppies and posies. A tree in the wind, whistled and waved and then the glass shattered and in front a red path was paved. I walked onto the path into a tunnel with a shimmering light at the end.

I started to run but the light moved further. I ran for a day and then another. I could not stop. Sweat poured, feet bled and still no sign of an end ahead. So I stopped and turned back through the doorway I had exited from. Now entering a room with human heads mounted on the walls. A woman, a child, a man, old, young, freckled skinned, clear and spot free, many different colours; all hung with one thing in common. No eyes.

The empty sockets, dark and deep. I try not to look directly, but it was hard not to peep. I felt their pull. I quickly turned to face away but another wall stood with the dead heads in my way. I look for the exit but instead see a man standing guard. Not giving me the time of day.

He stood tall, elegant, like a statue he be. With white hair and brown eyes and a beard to the knees. He did not look down and did not speak, just looked straight ahead, ignoring me; the cheek.

‘Where shall I go? I asked trying not to cry

The man did not move, neither did I.

I asked once again; still no reply. And then once again, I  did try.

‘Go away little girl your soul is not here. It’s down below’.

‘Where shall I go?’ I started to cry. My tears were falling fast. Within seconds a puddle formed. A shadow was cast.

‘Go away little girl, or else I shall drown. I can not bend or look down. I can not swim and move from this spot. Shoo away little girl, this is all I have got’.

Still the tears fell. The puddle become a pool and then the room started to fill.

‘Where shall I go? I have no guide’ I stutter the words through the whisper of cries.

No reply. I cry louder, like a child wanting a toy.

‘Oh for pity sake. Shut up little girl, try and understand. I can not help you. So please don‘t annoy’.

I look up at him and through the tears, notice him. His eyes are caring his voice is calm. I am full of awe. He is complete, soul and all. Carefully his eyes move in their sockets, then a blink and shudder as his hand tries to move. He looks down, cringing as if in some sort of pain. And places his right hand in his trouser pocket. Another slow movement to restrict his hurt, he pulls out a small pill, all black and shiny. Clenching his eyes he pops it in his mouth. A few seconds pass, or maybe an hour. But suddenly he starts to move with power. He reaches quickly with his hand and grabs mine. I do not struggle, while he shakes himself free. Yelping out in pain every now and again. Eventually, walking straight he takes me to the door. I hadn’t realised before but I’m not crying anymore.

‘You have no idea, what I leave behind, my dear’. He turns to the room but with a gleam in his eyes he bows to the walls and says his goodbyes. ‘I am the head keeper but I keep you no more, so farewell my lovelies, I shall head for the door’. He looks at me and smiles at his irony. He was enchanting to look at. I smile back at him, which makes him abruptly look away with shame. He exits the door, pulling me by his side and we leave the dead heads behind to hide.

We enter a small space, just big enough to squeeze in. We are close to each other, I can feel his breath on my chin. Carefully, he reaches up to grab a thick metal ring, the size of a bracelet. It is attached to a long chain that falls through a hole at the top. ‘Hold me tight’ he whispers in my ear. I do as I’m told, not out of fear but something else in his eyes, clear and concise, innocent and wise. When tightly bound he then pulls on the chain.

With a gush of wind we fall. Fall, down, down deeper into the below. Holding each other tight and tighter still. We fall, until we land hard on a dry dusty hill. I am dizzy and sleepy, so I close my eyes. The darkness overcomes me, which is no surprise.

to be continued.