These could be the most remarkable words every written. Forming the thoughts that could change the course of history is a mind full of the excitement of discovery, mine. Holding the pencil is a hand, mine. The story is about a girl sitting on a bunk bed, writing with a pencil into a spiral bound A4 notebook. Flowing from her mind are abstract thoughts. Her thoughts flow and crystallize into the graphite at the end of the pencil. Diamond hard, her thoughts sparkle as God’s promise to Noah. From the end of the pencil, a multi-coloured rainbow of thought spreads out onto the paper, into the material world. The words tell the story of the end of the world, the burning of the sky, the planetary extinction event. I’ve decided to upload my thoughts because I think they could be of interest to others. The issue is I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around before I get around to killing myself, or someone else gets around to killing me. Not much longer, I suspect. But I don’t want to get into the killing side of things right now, I’m more interested in the boundary between death and life. My story begins with the birth of a special child, me. It is a tale of love and hate, good and evil, night and day, truth and lies. It is the story of a trillion-year quest for something so precious, so unique, that its existence is known only to two people---me, and my Therapist, but she doesn't understand anyway. How can I begin to describe the horror of that night when the tail of a monstrous comet swept over the face of the Earth, the day the very foundation of reality shook. On the night I was born, I swear the sky turned a fiery red. Cos I'm a voodoo child. There has always been a hellhound on my trail: a dark, nameless, faceless thing that has pursued me all my lives, in the corridors, down the alleyways, through the labyrinths of my perpetual self-analysis. I have always been laden with fear that sits deep inside me like a bloated spider quivering on its web. A child angel is still very much a child. Strange new things to understand. New stresses and strains to handle, as more and more responsibility is laid on. Schools and families and friends and constant change—it is so confusing. I see dark things around me, black things, that no-one else can see. I don't know what they are but they frighten me. They make me sad. I remember telling my mother once that I couldn’t stop looking into mirror-land. Well, that’s where I thought I was going, where I think I am. To a place where I live the same life as before, but differently. Just as I felt myself slipping into mirror-land my beloved cat and faithful companion "Drac" (he’s Tonkinese) walked in and started purring as he settled in my lap. And it was as if a spell had been lifted and I was a bird that had been set free from a golden cage and a rainbow was above me. Free. I remember another time when my mother and sister had gone out and my father was in a world of his own, as usual. Suddenly, I had a weird sensation as if a veil covered my face, my eyes, my mind. I wandered around as if I were invisible, as if I didn’t exist. I touched something and it was as if it had sucked me into another world entirely. I felt and heard strange things behind me and when I turned to look they disappeared. Afterwards, I decided that whatever the feeling was, it was evil. It tried again and again, to suck me into mirror-land. I held out valiantly for many years, but it won in the end. I became a changeling, a poor lonely ghost, lifeless and invisible among people I once knew and loved. And someone who looks exactly like me is living my life. Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.
