Monday, 10 December 2012

Monday Fables #11: Endless Night

I can't even believe it's December 10th already. I feel a little like I'm screwed in terms of Christmas - I'll rant about that later I promise - but I am determined to make it through...well I have to make it through so that's not up for discussion.

Today's fable turned a little darker than I had originally intended but I like it. It's taken from The Lion King on Broadway which has some amazing songs in it so you should definitely check it out.



Endless Night – The Lion King

Where has the starlight gone?
Dark is the day
How can I find my way home?

Home is an empty dream
Lost to the night
Father, I feel so alone

You promised you'd be there
Whenever I needed you
Whenever I call your name
You're not anywhere

I'm trying to hold on
Just waiting to hear your voice
One word, just a word will do
To end this nightmare

When will the dawning break
Oh endless night
Sleepless I dream of the day

When you were by my side
Guiding my path
Father, I can't find the way

You promised you'd be there
Whenever I needed you
Whenever I call your name
You're not anywhere

I'm trying to hold on
Just waiting to hear your voice
One word, just a word will do
To end this nightmare

I know that the night must end
And that the sun will rise
And that the sun will rise

I know that the clouds must clear
And that the sun will shine
And that the sun will shine

I know that the night must end
And that the sun will rise
And that the sun will rise
I know that the clouds must clear
And that the sun will shine
And that the sun will shine
(Repeat to end)

I know
Yes, I know
The sun will rise
Yes, I know
I know
The clouds must clear

I know that the night must end
I know that the sun will rise
And I'll hear your voice deep inside

I know that the night must end
And that the clouds must clear
The sun
The sun will rise
The sun
The sun will rise


Sleep was fitful to begin with but the added presence of tequila and a broken front window made it especially painful. The shivers hadn’t ceased since sun set and he’d crawled into bed, barely remembering to discard his clothing on the way. He knew he’d have to get the window repaired and clean up the bottle lying around the living before arrive tomorrow but he could barely bring himself to sit up let along clean up. The world around him was still reeling from the blow it’d suffered and he was in no mood to upset it further. So instead he lay in bed curled into the sheets while the open window invited in an unnaturally grey cold that swirled above his head in a taunting sort of dance and the last remnants of alcohol tainted the sheets.

The nightmares hadn’t subsided and he doubted they would help his sanity but it was better than sitting around and doing nothing while his childhood crashed around him so he let the nightmares come in dark flashes on cold nights when he couldn’t be bothered to push them away. Some would call it a cleansing, he called it reminding himself. Not that he would ever forget. No one would let him forget; with their sympathetic looks and their sorrowful nods as though their silence would take the memories with them.

He shot up in bed as a familiar scent invaded his nostrils and made him gag at the disbelief. The same wooden cologne his father wore, the mixture of thick peppermint aftershave that was unique to the man who wanted to be remembered. He’d never forget that smell. For months afterwards he’d smell it as he entered a room thinking that everything was back to normal but it never was. But now…

“Dad?” He looked around the room, his eyes finally settling on a figure in the dark corner of the room, staring at him pleadingly. His breathing was deep and sunken, the bones of his chest stretching the skin to breaking point. The suit he’s always wearing to work now hung limply on his bones and a tissue paper that covered it. His eyes were still bright as coals, staring with a loving determination to beat you senseless unless you obeyed his orders. A reflection of the man who once was but would never be again. The figure didn’t speak, his voice stolen long ago. “Dad, I will find out who did this to you I promise. Even if it takes another ten years, I will find your killer.”

They both nodded at each other, the silence dragging the figure further into the shadows. As usual; just like he always left every time this dream haunted the living. Just like the promise made was perpetually destroyed by the necessity for society to move on after a tragedy rather than find a solution – a way to heal the scar under the bandage. Nothing had helped him except the determination to bring vengeance to his legacy. But the funeral had ended for the man long dead and even his mother no longer wore her mourning clothes, forgetting the life she had built with the man long dead. Her betrayal was enough to make him shun her but she continued to stand on his doorstep pleading for his sanity. He never listened.

He was determined not to. Even his sleep was insane, dreams of his father’s corpse dancing around his mind. He had to make the voices stop and the only way to do that was find the source of the nightmares and snuff it out. He would. He lay back down as his father emerged once again from the shadows and stared at him with sympathetically. The cold wind picked up, blowing faster and faster until he closed his eyes to drown it out, willing the darkness to cease.

 The next morning, his mother knocked on his door at her usual time but got no response. Finding nothing unusual about it, she removed the key from her purse and swiftly opened the door. The first thing she noticed was the trail of liquid from the kitchen, circling around to his bedroom in the backroom. Probably tequila bought from the liquor store down the street from his apartment. Taking a moment to catch her breath – she hated that four-story walkup but she loved her son – she stood at the end of the hallway looking into her son’s bedroom. The morning light was coming in, casting a shadow across his bed as a cool breeze blew in from his open window, disturbing the mangled sheets. But she heard no sound from her son, saw no reflection of his presence, so she ventured further.

His bedroom was messy – as it always was – articles and papers from his past life scattered everywhere and the wind was making them dance. She watched in fascination for only a moment before she finally moved to close the window.

She took a step back from the ledge, collapsing on the bed in horror. She dare not close her eyes, fearing she would see just how closely her son followed her husband’s troubled life. Off the edge.

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