The Cistern – October 2005
Dampness presses on my entire body. I feel the dank, muddy, curved walls chill my back as I lean against them. Darkness envelops my being. So dark that I breathe chilled darkness.
Tears slide crookedly down my muddied face. My voice cracks between the reserved sobs.
I will not let myself cry.
As I sit in the foul, stagnant water fingering the rope which hangs beside me, I glance up and see the circle of light, my only source of hope. But this hope tastes bittersweet. If I know the truth, it could be good or bad. The hope inspires me to lift myself up, though I slip violently in the slime. I grasp both hands on the rope ladder and begin to ascend.
As I approach the top, I can begin to see the form of a figure. Panic suddenly grips my heart harder than my grasp upon the life-giving rope. Desperation hits and I let go of the rope, falling to a splash on the floor. My climb was not hard, but the prospect of denial instilled such fear that I gave up, deciding to live in denial.
Anger whells up from deep in my heart. Anger at myself, at all. I stand and splash and kick and SCREAM at the top of my lungs. My fists swell from pounding on the walls of my self prison. I gaze once again at the circle of light. The same hope begins to grow again, but I deny it. I shake it out of my body.
I don’t deserve hope. It won’t work out anyways. I will always lose.
Anger and tears return and my soul begins to weaken. I tire of the ups and downs. My body cries with pain, begging to get out of the wretched darkness of self pity.
Though the glimmers from above reach down to my solitude, I hide from their light. One dances across an inscription. I lean over to read it.
“Suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character, hope.”
Hope? I scoff. Hope only led to hurt in the past. Hurt that kept returning as hope shattered.
I begin to evade the glimmers as they bounce around. One glimmer catches me on the hand and I get my first look in ages at the condition of my hands. The nails are jagged, encrusted with dirt and blood from previous attempts of scaling the wall. The glimmer of light then jumps to my face and I fell the warmth of sunlight upon my tight, chapped skin. I breathe warm air, filling my lungs with forgotten vitality. Then as spontaneous as it came, it leaves.
My mind toys with the idea of pursuing it up the shaft. A deep absence and vacuum fills the confinement and my body shivers. The cold air turns to frigid ice, freezing my lungs with each necessary breath. My muscles tighten and cramp and I fold into the fetal position rocking in my pain. The muddy water crystallizes on my ripped clothes, further torturing me.
Then a decision breaks through the ice of denial in my mind. I am breaking the habit of denial and doubt now! I stand up and grab the rope. Each rung that I pull myself to pains my weak muscles. But I press on.
It begins to take longer to raise myself to the next rung as my endurance lags. But I decide to continue. I left doubt in the water on the floor.
As I continue upwards, the temperature increases. I pause and look up. The small circle has grown into an enormous opening filled with bright light. I decide on my words and reactions and continue to climb.
My hand then touches something soft. It feels like grass. My heart leaps, almost pulling my body up with it into the blinding light.
Tears slide crookedly down my muddied face. My voice cracks between the reserved sobs.
I will not let myself cry.
As I sit in the foul, stagnant water fingering the rope which hangs beside me, I glance up and see the circle of light, my only source of hope. But this hope tastes bittersweet. If I know the truth, it could be good or bad. The hope inspires me to lift myself up, though I slip violently in the slime. I grasp both hands on the rope ladder and begin to ascend.
As I approach the top, I can begin to see the form of a figure. Panic suddenly grips my heart harder than my grasp upon the life-giving rope. Desperation hits and I let go of the rope, falling to a splash on the floor. My climb was not hard, but the prospect of denial instilled such fear that I gave up, deciding to live in denial.
Anger whells up from deep in my heart. Anger at myself, at all. I stand and splash and kick and SCREAM at the top of my lungs. My fists swell from pounding on the walls of my self prison. I gaze once again at the circle of light. The same hope begins to grow again, but I deny it. I shake it out of my body.
I don’t deserve hope. It won’t work out anyways. I will always lose.
Anger and tears return and my soul begins to weaken. I tire of the ups and downs. My body cries with pain, begging to get out of the wretched darkness of self pity.
Though the glimmers from above reach down to my solitude, I hide from their light. One dances across an inscription. I lean over to read it.
“Suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character, hope.”
Hope? I scoff. Hope only led to hurt in the past. Hurt that kept returning as hope shattered.
I begin to evade the glimmers as they bounce around. One glimmer catches me on the hand and I get my first look in ages at the condition of my hands. The nails are jagged, encrusted with dirt and blood from previous attempts of scaling the wall. The glimmer of light then jumps to my face and I fell the warmth of sunlight upon my tight, chapped skin. I breathe warm air, filling my lungs with forgotten vitality. Then as spontaneous as it came, it leaves.
My mind toys with the idea of pursuing it up the shaft. A deep absence and vacuum fills the confinement and my body shivers. The cold air turns to frigid ice, freezing my lungs with each necessary breath. My muscles tighten and cramp and I fold into the fetal position rocking in my pain. The muddy water crystallizes on my ripped clothes, further torturing me.
Then a decision breaks through the ice of denial in my mind. I am breaking the habit of denial and doubt now! I stand up and grab the rope. Each rung that I pull myself to pains my weak muscles. But I press on.
It begins to take longer to raise myself to the next rung as my endurance lags. But I decide to continue. I left doubt in the water on the floor.
As I continue upwards, the temperature increases. I pause and look up. The small circle has grown into an enormous opening filled with bright light. I decide on my words and reactions and continue to climb.
My hand then touches something soft. It feels like grass. My heart leaps, almost pulling my body up with it into the blinding light.
---
Leave a comment...
posted by bellevoce | 12:03 AM
3 Comments:
I shall be responding to this post from a year ago in my next post expected in a couple of days.
Hey Marge!
That's really cool--I enjoyed reading it. It reminded me a little of the venerable Edgar Allan Poe's story "The Pit and the Pendulum." In fact I was even hoping to see a hand reach down to pull you up in the end. Something to think about...?
AJ
<><
Elisabeth, this is again one of your finest pieces. I applaud your growth as a young woman and writer. Keep pulling yourself up that rope.
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