“You have to remember what it was like in 1948 to appreciate Nineteen Eighty-Four. Somebody in 1949 told me- that was the year the book came out- that Orwell had wanted to call it Nineteen Forty- Eight. But they wouldn’t let him.” Anthony Burgess
The television mirroring my thoughts flickers on and off, reminding me who I am. The light trickling from the screen forms a barrier of fog as my mind continues wandering past the images. Sometimes when I close my eyes, it becomes louder. Sometimes when I enter my brain, touching those forgotten memories which I swore to never forget, to never forget that peace…in one swipe of the hand, they disappear along with the wind. I remember the walk down the beach, as if it was ever real. The stars raining down into my eyes. The waves from the ocean, falling through my soul, tilting me forward. I saw the end there, staring up into the sun, I thought I knew all there ever was to know. Wrote it all out in my mind. When I went back to read it all, it no longer made any sense to me, maybe it never did. The television comes to life in a short flicker. I fall to the floor and I can no longer move. I can no longer watch the past.
-I saw something. I saw something in my eyes.
He descends the dark corridors and watches himself step through the moon.
-In those eyes I saw it, I saw what was always chasing me.
Her cries grew fainter as their cries grew louder. I remember all I stole. I have nothing to offer. We like to watch people fall apart.
-Well strap yourself along for the ride because here it is- but now he could hear what the children were trying to say, now he could feel them, now he knew that their story was his own. The old man with the beard shouts from above, it is time to come on in. He continues to watch his face grow older, as Her hand reaches out for him once again through the flames his hands approach the mirror. The moon shatters in two as her cries and her fingers running down the mirror etch shadows of blood and words he can no longer remember. The moon crashes to the Earth in a burst of light.
He touches the scar running down his face and remembers the life he once lived. Before the fog, and the fires. The fire overcomes him as cries emanating from the darkness reflect through his closed mouth. He touches his hand to the Earth, satisfied knowing he is heading in the right direction. The building expands and changes shape with every footstep towards it. He sees the conveyor belt and the children strapped to it as they flow into the building unable to move their feet. The full moon blinds him. He crosses a barely visible line in the sand. The fog evaporates before him as the spinning shadows ascend into the moonlit sky. The old man with the beard sits atop the hill with pages and pages of burnt paper crackling at his feet. The sun cries out in anguish resting on his shoulder. An eternity melts at his feet, as his footsteps track the blood and tears of his eternal return. His eyes mirror the world we thought we had as cracks form down the middle. The Detective touches his heart knowing, he has to fix this, sensing his mission he still couldn’t understand why he needed to travel to the past to experience the future.