Posted on by Michael Romano

The Delicate Balance of Terror 2

“How could you communicate with the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future would resemble the present in which case it would not listen to him, or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless.” George Orwell

My finger followed those words across the page the first time they entered my consciousness. There was never a time they weren’t there. In a flash of light I knew why I was down here, trapped amongst shadows. First smoke, a man in the far distance at a table writing pages falling to the ground as they erupt in fire. The man continues on unphased, his white beard, dragging at his feet, the history of his words burning at his feet as he continues adding page after page…

I hear screams erupting from the ground beneath me as I run my finger down the mirror which materializes before me. Something falls from the sky as the screams erupt from the blood flowing through my arm, the square says to be happy. The toaster that makes my breakfast in the morning also made what’s falling from the sky. I’m not suppose to know it, but I feel it, they make me feel it. I touch the mirror again, reversing every one of my experiences, traveling to and through time, it was the mirror…and I am trapped in a vision.

A reverse memory of her, the dark eyes, I touch the mirror of her as she screams, and splits in two.  And that book, upon opening, which shed so much darkness, and so much light, and such a powerful vision, a vision so powerful, it’s future reality became all but inevitable….how to communicate when you’ve forgotten what you are? There is a hand at my back, I look up at the moon and I remember traveling through darkness. The first light I see seems to be a camera followed by noise and screams and I lie here, at the bottom of a well, water dripping on my forehead. The first quiet I’ve felt in a long time.

Something was buzzing above my head and the buzzing never stopped. I couldn’t tell anymore if it was part of my own thoughts. My hand reaches for the mirror as I see a line in the sand. I see a time when I remembered for the first time, when I forgot my name for the first time. When the mole growing on my face held me back from becoming one of them, and I scratched until it was gone, until I could taste the blood in my mouth and as I was reborn into the shadows they are, I remembered, and I forgot and I became everything.

And the cries I had no ability to calm, escaping from the mouth of the stuffed bear I held in my hands. The bear that protected me when the shadows would come at night. Would whisper in my ear it’s okay. Don’t tell anyone, they won’t listen anyway. The bear told me maybe one day it would be okay if only I learned how to listen. I close my eyes but still the shadows don’t disappear.

I looked down an infinite hall of mirrors, and I saw you somewhere amongst them, your dark hand waves in front of my eyes but I wasn’t afraid.  As a card removed from a deck, you appeared before me and I instantly knew, I saw a way, and since then, I let my heart lead.  I continued on and the pain was overwhelming as everything was repeatedly reflected upon me. And the whirring started again, and your hand waves by once again, but I am still clutching that book and watching all of the demons, and all of the shards of light escape as I drop the book and it falls open to a page I don’t recognize, and words which overtake me as I see a large rectangular structure appear. This must be where they build truth. There is a conveyor belt in the distance, figures appearing on it slowly being carried into their new home. I look down at my feet as I travel along that conveyor belt, with the black smoke rising from the building and the shadows floating up along with the smoke. The man hands me a page, as I hold it in my hands, everything I’ve ever forgotten enters my mind and I look down at the page as it erupts in fire and falls at my feet…abandon all hope ye…who…enter here

Posted on by Michael Romano

The Delicate Balance of Terror 1

“It was not by making yourself heard but by staying sane that you carried on the human heritage.” George Orwell

       There is something slowly beginning to breathe once again in the corner, covered in shadows as shards of light begin to escape. Inside this prison I’ve built with my own eyes, my heart beats elsewhere as I begin to see through the walls. I clutch my head and can’t let go of the only thing I have.  A whirring begins echoing in my mind as light appears and disappears in rhythm. There is a beat, a song to all of this. The memories come flooding back, the tinkering, the slow manipulation of what use to be mine, taken away with a pair of tweezers from a long forgotten memory.  Slowly, even here, trapped amongst my nightmares, do the words begin to form on my lips…and I remember the rhythm.

  The shadows thicken as I close my eyes.  There are boots stomping in the distance, slowly getting closer.  I feel the shadows wrap around my heart.  The air is heavy and dark as are the eyes which never stop following me. There is a flash as my thoughts slip away and I look out the window reminded of where I am. Watching everything die, watching people meekly circling , trapped in an invisible maze. Caught in a game with no exit.  I always thought it would be this way, these thoughts followed me and I could never shake them from my mind.  This darkness is sweltering around me, every time I open my eyes. Did we ever think that shaking hands would be a subversive act? We’re taught from birth to fear each other, fear everything, but did we ever think there would be a recommended distance to stay away from each other? All it takes is numbers falling from the sky, robots parroting  what another one said to infinity, and fear of everything, to forget the beating heart that gives us life…lost my train of…the shadows aren’t coming from the outside, they are coming from within

       I remember when I was told what to do, I always asked why? I remember when I saw someone without food to eat I asked why? And I asked why we were afraid of people struggling, people who didn’t quite make it the way we did. And I asked why we stared at a box as it poured fear into us every minute of the day and sent us the bill. Why we watched numbers as they piled up and graphs we couldn’t understand and statistics speeding by our eyes as we accept the chains that must inevitably be tied around us to keep us safe as all of these nonsensical numbers piled up. And I asked why most of all, when they told us whoever had the most paper pieces, stood head and shoulders above us. But I forget those words down here, I even forgot how I got down here. Some say publicity, some say I was pushed and some say it was an accident, but I’m not sure it matters all that much. I am down here, as the world is dying, at least that’s what they are telling us, yet somehow I’m finding life more and more amongst these hidden shadows, these silenced voices, their cries can no longer be hidden, no longer distorted, they cry out in silence as their pain becomes mine.

      In every flash of light I see the walls, the generic lighting, my screams and the tinkering hands and the calm movement that went with each slice, taking away all the memories I’ve ever had. There is one they could never take away, could never own, flowing along with the voices of the shadows, crying out from down below here. I shout into the darkness, remember who you are, remember what’s inside of you, for there are no chains that can hold this back. And my heart beats a little faster as I hear the boots getting closer as they trample on all of the shadows in their wake. And I can only run, it is the only thing I can still remember how to do down here. I keep running, and I can never stop, never look back because there is always someone, something, keeping score.