Fear, Dreams, and Whiskey

The last few months were particularly harsh on him. Time stood still, leaving him fighting for breath in a horrifying state of mind, shaped by basic elements of fear and despair to an extent he never imagined was possible. He lost the will to go on, and was even deprived of the desire and strength to write or talk about it; it seemed like he had already visited and exhausted those occurrences and feelings a thousand times before, but he had not been blessed with acceptance yet. There is no point in attempting to find a place for them as part of a logical or coherent whole, and he is left with nothing but bits and pieces of images, both lived and dreamt of, with a raging river of rain and alcohol washing the difference away.

*****

His sentence was proclaimed; he is to take his last breath at midnight. He was not ready yet, and that truth pushed down heavily on his chest. His last day of living was something unexpected, and it seemed like such an unjust decision that was thrown coldly in his face when no one watched or listened. Why on earth couldn’t he protest? Why was no one else bothered by this horrifying fate?

He started wandering through the city, scared and insane. He talked to people on the streets, shouted cries of despair, and announced to the world that this was his last day in it. So many things he wanted to do. So many images of unfulfilled dreams and untouched territories fought for a place in his consciousness as the clock ticked away and the sun descended faster than ever. He grew speechless, and had nothing but the company of a mysterious companion who failed to calm him down.

In one day, all dreams shattered, all hope disappeared, and he truly felt the cold selfishness and indifference of the world in his bones. The end approached, and he struggled for a last chance to leave a print on this world and to actually matter. But knowing how impossible that was now, everything became a blur of images and voices that surrounded him like vast waters threatening to swallow a tiny island. He brought his hands close to his face and carefully inspected them as if for the first time. He wanted to burst into tears and to wreak havoc around him, for the idea of not doing all that he wanted to do was too much to bear. Above all, he wished he could find her and look into her eyes like he always wanted to, and to bury his face in her lap and cry and sleep until his end came, knowing he would need nothing but the warmth and security she offered him. But when he couldn’t find her, and the darkness of the night slowly took over, hope was nowhere to be found. As people watched and time was up, breathing proved challenging and he started to choke and tremble with fear. Just when he couldn’t take it anymore, he woke up with all his might to a poorly-lit room and a racing heart that broke the silence. He lay on his bed breathing deeply and trying to recover, and slowly realized that a new day has begun. This thought, however, failed to soothe his distressed mind.

*****

She stood there with her hands on his shoulders and smiled, while he playfully hid his head under her shirt and gently kissed her bellybutton. He slowly made his way upwards, printing kisses on her skin and holding her close, until his lips met her breast and he felt her tremble in his hands. He stood up and kissed her one more time, then held her close to him and closed his eyes. In the peacefulness of the room, they simply stood there united in each other’s arms, and listened to each other breathing. He knew that, when this dream was over, the memory of it would accompany him forever; he just prayed it would help him face what was to come.

*****

There they were again. They seated themselves like they always do and prepared themselves for another wasted day of talking and watching the shadows move on the walls of old houses. It was yet another chapter in a book that never seems to find its last. More drinks, plates, and green olives were summoned to the table. People came and left, and, yet again, time stood still. Important dreams were of course discussed, and past failures were analyzed. The whispers went on as well, as did the serious looks and the private smiles. Everyone took turns in avoiding “what’s wrong?” questions and in asking them, and the same music was played over and over. Eventually, they became one with the leather couch beneath them, where life had previously manifested itself a thousand times with all the heaviness and slowness in the world. And when the time came and it had to end, they left with exhausted minds and bodies and many secret oaths of change and a different tomorrow. At least he did.

*****

It was a time of historical facts; a time when he got to know the different paths and events leading to the characters he always watched but seldom understood. He was living in a chaos of love, hatred, lust, and pain, but on that day he felt like a small lost stream of water finally joining the ocean and eagerly listening to the stories of other streams who made it before. Who knew life had some surprises to offer? He was fascinated by some events, shocked and disappointed by others. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was the end of time.

He felt himself leaving his body and watching things like an impartial ghost. After that, every day and every night was like watching a movie. He had the power to slow down time or even pause it, and to simply savor the moment. At some point, sitting alone on an unfamiliar table finishing someone else’s beer and losing himself to the music from his iPod, he became completely paralyzed and could only follow his surroundings with his eyes. He just watched as people laughed, talked, ate, and held hands. He smiled at the familiar feeling visiting him, and embraced the nothingness again; the nothingness that lays down things in a simple manner before his eyes and makes him laugh at how stupid he had been. He loves that feeling, even though, when it passes, it leaves him more lost and troubled than before. And even though time now promises nothing but more randomness and disappointments, he accepted nothingness as his master, and became its prophet. He promised people a bright tomorrow and a day when all things would be better; he spread hope around. What power or guarantees did he have? Nothing – absolutely nothing. But he couldn’t help it.

*****

Dear Sir,

I am truly happy to inform you that we are offering you admission to M.I.T. The Berkeley campus has a strict enrollment ceiling and thus each department is limited in the number of new students it may admit each year. Our department has the difficult task of selecting students with the strongest overall records from a large pool of well-qualified applicants, and you are one of them. Fortunately, this means that we are able to admit you to the Ph.D. in Robotics program at Carnegie Mellon. This decision was reached by the admissions committee after carefully reviewing your application. As you no doubt know, we at Caltech are able to act favorably upon only a small percentage of the thousands of applications we receive each year. In many cases we are unable to offer admission to highly qualified candidates because of limited space and facilities, or because their interests do not coincide sufficiently well with the needs and interests of our faculty. You, however, clearly meet all requirements. Your formal admission letter from Georgia Tech, in addition to other useful information, is available for direct download on our website. We look forward to receiving you at Virginia Tech this Fall, and thank you very much for your application.

Best wishes,
Graduate Affairs Office

P.S. Please do not reply to this e-mail.

*****

The last few months were particularly harsh on him. Time stood still, leaving him fighting for breath in a horrifying state of mind, shaped by basic elements of fear and despair to an extent he never imagined was possible. He lost the will to go on, and was even deprived of the desire and strength to write or talk about it. He let himself go and watched the silver clouds cross the dark sky while the cold wind blasted against his face trying helplessly to wake him up. A week before, he sat outdoors while the gentle muddy raindrops continued to strike his head and land inside the glass of whiskey he was sipping from.

Yes, time did stand still, and he could no longer tell the difference between his days and his nightmares. Washed away by rain, olives, and banality, all backgrounds and colors disappeared, leaving behind a dead man walking, with a thick trace of ashes behind him. A dead man has to find the strength to escape his verdict before he runs into his rope. Maybe this fear is the best thing that ever happened to him.

Filed under: Life, Personal Experiences, Philosophy, Thoughts , Life, Thoughts