#oneaday Day 666 (Ack!): Wasteland Diaries, Part 14

I’d had to sit down. The chairs in the living room were comfortable, if a little dusty, but comfort wasn’t the thing on my mind right now. The photograph album and the fact it was clearly me in the pictures was the fact that was bothering me, but every time I thought I caught a mental glimpse of the memory that explained all this, it seemed to dart out of sight, like someone was deliberately taunting me, baiting me, wanting me to perform for their amusement.

I wasn’t having any of it. I’d get to the bottom of things in time, if I could only find a few more clues. But I felt I needed a few moments to rest my weary legs and let everything I’d learned so far sink in. I closed my eyes for a moment and sat in my own self-imposed darkness.

Adam, came a now-familiar female voice. Adam, can you hear me?

“Yes,” I said out loud, knowing full well that I was talking to thin air.

Adam, came the voice again. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I need you to listen. I need you to hear me.

“I can hear you,” I said out loud, aware that my replies wouldn’t be heard but unable to stop myself.

I know that the reason for all this is me, came the voice. And I’m sorry. If I could have done things differently before all this, perhaps I could have saved you, saved everything. But I know it’s too late for that now. It’s too late. But I won’t give up.

This was the most I’d ever heard the voice say. I kept my eyes closed and remained perfectly still, as if any slight movement on my part might scare whoever was speaking away forever.

I won’t give up, the voice said again. I won’t. I will spend my life making this right if that’s what it takes. I need you. You need me. And I’m sorry for what I did. I know it was wrong. I knew it was wrong at the time. I have no excuses, and we’ve both seen the consequences. I’m just here to say that I’ll make it right. I’ll do everything I can to make it right. I promise. I promise. I love you.

A now-familiar feeling started to stir in my mind. I tried to force it away, but I felt like I was rooted to the spot, trapped in the chair, my eyes glued shut. I couldn’t move, and I could feel it building like a fire within me. So much anger, rage — and fear?

“Love,” I said, unable to control the words coming out of my mouth. “Love. You dare speak to me of love? There is no love, only pain. There is no ‘right’, only fury. There are no promises, save that of vengeance.”

I roared. The sound frightened me, but it was already clear to me that I was no longer in control of my body. This time, though, instead of passing out or feeling the strange dreamlike detachment I had before, I was all too aware of what I was doing. My eyes opened, and through my red-tinted vision I saw myself pick up the photograph album and tear it in half. It fell to the floor and burst into flames.

I looked up at the mirror but before I could comprehend my own monstrous reflection, it shattered into a million tiny fragments, showering the carpet with a crystal rain.

I roared again, and the earth shook, along with the house. Looking out from behind my eyes as a passive observer, I saw myself punch a wall and it collapse. I saw myself destroying this house, this haven of calm, perhaps the only safe place left in this desolate world.

And then, suddenly, nothing. Blackness. The rage and fury subsided quickly, and I was left in a lightless limbo once again.

There were whispering voices. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I tried to walk towards them but they never seemed to get any closer, and I couldn’t feel my body. There was another noise, too, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

I sat in silence, trying in vain to hear what the whispering voices had to say, but they didn’t get any closer. The whispering sounded urgent, important, but I still couldn’t figure out any words.

Then another sound — footsteps? I couldn’t be sure.

Adam, said a different voice — a man, this time. You gave us quite a scare.

A brilliant white light flashed in my eyes, and I found myself sitting on the floor in a field of dry, dead grass, nothing to see in any direction but endless wasteland. Had the house been a figment of my own imagination, a hallucinogenic symptom of fatigue?

It had certainly seemed real at the time, and my aching body and throbbing head certainly testified to the fact that something had happened, but there was no sign of the house at all. All the previous times I’d felt the strange, destructive force unleash itself from within me, I’d emerged from the nightmare to find ruins, chaos, destruction. This time, though, there was just nothing, and now I had no idea where I was.

I got to my feet and started walking. Eventually, I figured, I’d come to some sort of landmark and be able to get myself back on track. At least, that’s what the optimistic side of me wanted to think — but the influence of that part of me was fading fast, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on. This was beginning to feel like a fruitless quest, and I began to wonder if my life really mattered.

Right now, it didn’t matter to me. But I felt it mattered to someone else, and that I shouldn’t give up — not yet, anyway.

I trudged on silently as the sun set over the horizon. The beautiful shades of pink and gold in the sky as the light faded did little to lighten my mood.