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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 2 years

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My Thoughts on The Witness: or How I Learned To Live As Who I Am

THE ISLAND:

‘If man could roam through life empty and without, who remains to harm him?’

Paraphrasing the 4th century philosopher, Zhuangzhi, but In essence, that is the takeaway of the 2016 video game, The Witness. An island inhabited by none but the player and a plethora of circles and lines, and panels displaying circles and lines. The goal of each maze, connecting a starting point to its end in the way the game wants you to, always one step closer to the end.

When I first played this game, I knew nothing. It admittedly took me quite some time to learn all of it’s very simple rules. Once you learn all of your tasks within the world, you are transported to a place entirely captivating and puzzling in every corner. It instills a certain feeling in the player that is hard to put into words. I will attempt to do just that.

THE CORE OF IT ALL:

Previously stated, the surface of the game is as simple as a collection of various mazes and ever different locations on The Island that you must, If you care to, solve and move onto the next, Each more intriguing and mind-bending than that before it. As expected from our basis of how video games should and do work, a congratulatory moment of slight fanfare is expected with each area’s completion. The Witness instead opts for a subtle option; a turn of another key in a series of locks. A tick in the percentage counter. You know an end is in sight, but how long until you arrive there is a mystery and so you carry on. You begin to celebrate every finished panel, every little victory that some will take you days to solve. Every song sung in your head leading to a symphony of achievement.

A MIRRORED, UNSTABLE SURFACE:

Hidden throughout The Island are many audio recorders containing many faceless voices reciting insightful quotes of mankind’s most philosophical and advancing minds. Every one of these recordings at their initial finding may seem meaningless and without context, yet will stay with you throughout the journey of The Witness. They become a passing comment lingering in the back of your mind, not waiting, but simply residing for when you are ready to tackle the power behind their words.

This is one of the astonishing things The Witness accomplishes. You are the key component in this game being finished. Obviously, a ridiculous thought; of course every game requires a player to finish it. The Witness is somehow different. Most media sits you down and plays out in front of you as it goes on, some offering thought provoking ideas as the runtime continues, sometimes providing answers and sometimes not.

The Witness however, offers everything and nothing from the very beginning. How you experience the game is entirely up to who you are while playing it. One could finish the entire game and not once find any of the optional recordings or take a moment to admire the many hidden moments in the world. Would this person have played the game wrong? No. Their experience is as valid as any other. An evolving experience based solely on your existence and how you perceive it.

EMOTION:

At the end of my first experience of The Witness, my total playtime was almost twenty-four hours. From the day I started to the day I finished, a month had passed. A normal month in my life filled with work and shopping and interaction, by all means, yet one that was entirely different and subsequently changed every month for the rest of my days after it.

Inside of me was a switch that The Witness had turned on. The changes weren’t glaringly obvious, even to myself, but I began to view the world around me differently.

In a more comedic way, I began finding maze-puzzles alike the ones from the game, in real life. I’d be in the grocery store and would begin tracing tops of spaghettio cans down onto the floors and up into the ceiling above me and back into the shopping cart I was pushing. It was something I at first thought worrying.

“Is this game driving me towards insanity?” and then I realized more.

The Audio recording of The Witness I previously mentioned are thought provoking, philosophical quotes from scholars and geniuses alike throughout history. For the first few, I merely listened along, ignoring the words I was hearing and simply waiting for them to end. Soon into the game however, They began to shape meaning. I would be solving a panel or at the very least trying to, but my mind would be focused on the recording.

When night arrived, and it was time for me to sleep, I’d sleep rested and heavily. Dreamless nights except for The entirety of the contents of The Witness.

The exact philosophical questions and intrigue themselves were lost in my mind, but my interpretation and feelings on them remained. I was okay with not fully grasping the meaning of what they meant, but in my being content with not knowing a particular feeling of comfort was born. My Unknown of other’s lives and how they think and feel and perceive once haunted my nights. Before I was worried of the world and what It meant and who there was and why they were there. Now, I simply existed alongside them, comfortable in who we both are and why that is.

END IN SIGHT:

So that was me, putting words onto paper, and you reading those words or hearing me read them aloud to you. Those words were my feelings on The Witness, a game I barely touched on, but still wanted to share.

I left out mentioning any of the beautiful visuals this game has to offer because my words would do it an injustice. One can search up images of Van Gogh’s Starry Nights or watch a 360 VR video of Glacier Point in Yosemite. That is completely okay, and captivating in the beautiful world we live in and be in awe of what it has to offer. But to experience something firsthand, without distraction or interference, that is an unspeakable feeling. (Yes, I compared The Witness to van gogh and one of the world’s most beautiful landscapes.)

I didn’t even mention the at times difficulty and hair-pulling anger this game can cause you and when to expect it. But, that is to be experienced by each individual, as is life to be lived by every one person. There is no one particular way to experience life, and there is no one way to play The Witness. You play it as you live, as you.

I finish with my favorite line from my favorite quote of the Witness, Thank you.

“and so it is with man. If he could only roam empty through life, who would be able to injure him.”

#the witness #review #writing #thoughts #feelings #video games

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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This post is a little different. You can read the story on its own, but I wrote the song linked above as an accompanying piece to enhance. Please enjoy.

The path once walked by many, now overgrown with forgotten history seeping from the roots. Unremarkable at first, the hidden stepping stones, visible only to those that care to see them, guide you towards the home.

Simple in its design, a fault of no one, it stands as confident as the day its four walls were propped up. Life left this place a long time ago, leaving behind only a shell, a memory of what might have been. Wind swept through the cracks, a symphony among the silence of the lush forest. You approach it’s doors as a wanderer, curiosity engulfing.

A tree with roots so deep, sleeps in the center of the house, it was home before the house was imagined. Its tall branches broke through the ceiling long ago, it had claimed back what was necessary. Neglect of man was what it needed most.

You sit on the warm floor, laying against the cold bark. It purrs with content as you close your eyes. The whispers of the halls lull you to sleep.

The house becomes a home.

#music #story #writing #nature #SoundCloud

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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A slip of the tongue forever ago

Accidental anecdote looms over endless nights

The beast of your own creation crawls out once more

Tears in the dark quench its thirst

Wipe them away and stab it in the fucking face

Embrace in it at last; a good nights sleep

#short poem #writing #night terrors #insomnia #sleep paralysis #photography

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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The Occurrence of New Year’s Day

A normal new years eve celebration roared across the planet. Every walk of humankind cheered and embraced in one another to bring in the new year. Officials in Germany were the first to announced the glow as it poured into the roads and soon into people’s homes. Radio silence soon followed after.

A natural rarity they called it. Mistaking it as a cold winter’s mist holding the color of the field’s and mountain’s green flora, they could not have possibly known that it was alien. The rate at which it traveled was matched by only it’s effect on life.

The following morning, New Year’s Day, 6:44am, still tired, but awake nonetheless. I first noticed the mist in my backyard engulfing my small vegetable garden and pouring over the fence into my neighbors yard. A normal early morning mist was expected, what soon set a pit in my stomach was the absence of scratching at the back door. Every morning like clockwork while I made my instant coffee was the constant itching of my dear Rufus clawing for his breakfast.

My mind quickly was fully alert and concerned. I pushed my face close against the glass to see more of the outside, the bright sun shining in my eyes. Birds and squirrels painted the green grass like an abandoned, war torn battlefield. Rufus laid in his dog home, his favorite blanket tucked in with him upon it, all engulfed by the green mist. Sleeping as soundly as ever and for ever more. The yard had not been so quiet and still since the day before I brought him home.

I was driving back home from a concert when I see something shifting on the side of the road. A barely newborn pup abandoned in a box on a bridge in downtown LA. He immediately loved me as all puppies do. I gave him what little there was of my dinner and he fell asleep in my lap the rest of the drive home. His puppy breath yawns were expectedly disgusting, but I knew then that it was the start of a great friendship.

My neighborhood has a strict rule against fireworks due to the thick trees surrounding us so pets see the end of the year as any other day without fear. I cried and argued against myself why I didn’t let him in the night prior. Through my tears I lunged to the backdoor, but chose to stay inside. My instinct told me what I tried my phone to call anyone, but no answer. My introverted view on life had saved me from the dangers of partying and a social life. The TV played a short dubbed recording of the German news reporting for a few days, cycling between an alert with a deafening tone.

WORLDWIDE EMERGENCY/ STAY INDOORS/ DO NOT SEEK HELP/ DO NOT TRAVEL/ AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS/

For a long time, maybe weeks, I remained. I sat and stayed inside. Power would be cut every night at 6pm, bedtime was at seven. The monotony was maddening, but i kept myself company.

I’d look out the windows and I swore that I saw birds flying. Was the danger only surface level? How high up did it go? Hoe many unlucky souls were caught in it?

I would occasionally check on Rufus, hoping to see his tail thwacking the walls of his home away from home as he waits for me to call him in for food, but he continued to sleep.

Two months past and no word from anywhere. The power started shutting off at 4pm and sometimes would stay off for til the next day before staying on for only a few minutes. The uncertainty of everything was unnerving. Those few who were scattered out there were starting to thin out even more.

One morning as I ate what little food i had left, i looked out the window and was amazed. Rufus who was still in his deep sleep as I called it, gave me a jolt of happiness. If he was in fact, gone, he had not decomposed at all. Was he actually in a state of preservation or is he just sleeping? Gone but held only by this green mist’s effects. Months had past and he was simply in a sleeping state. I hypothesized endless on what the mist was, but my knowledge was only what I could see. My imagination ran wild.

Another week went by in a blink. Most of the time I slept. When I was awake i would constantly hit the power button on the TV, hoping for a response, even that automated alert. My sleeping friend out back was at more peace than I could ever hope to be in.

I was losing weight, i had barely anything to eat and tap water had changed its color to a dark greenish color. I knew what was next for me.

I grabbed a pen and paper and wrote and thought,

“If anyone is out there, and was to find me, us… i’d want them to know my final thoughts.” So I wrote:

“Hello, my name is Ricky Ramirez and I am to my complete annoyance, dying. I do not enjoy this feeling of hunger pains. My dog Rufus age 4 1/2 lay out back. Together we lived here happily. On Tuesdays, we would eat hamburgers together. Saturday was bath day. For Rufus, not me. I showered regularly. I enjoyed mexican cuisine thanks to my parents. I don’t know how they are.

Anyways, I’m gonna end this now.

I’m sorry to anyone I may have wronged in my life. I’m sorry for all the shows I missed. I am sorry I didn’t let my heart get broken more. I am sorry I didn’t say “I love you” more. I’m sorry.”

I signed the page, dated, scribbled a crude drawing of myself and set a book on it.

The door to my backyard creaked loudly as it opened, something Ms. Gold to the left was always telling me to fix. I walked down the steps barefoot, the cold grass felt great between my toes and scraping up my leg. I took in a breath of air and it was clean and fresh and perfect.

I looked up and the sky was bright with stars. The endless universe was a fireworks show of planets and stars of unthinkable size and power.

I laid down a blanket and pillow on the grass. Gently, I pulled Rufus from his bed and into my arms, carefully not to wake him. We laid down on the blanket and I watched the sky. The mist soon enveloped me and I become so relaxed, more than I had ever been before in my life. I scratched behind Rufus’ ears in the spot that he loved before closing my eyes.

#writing #short story #scifi #horror

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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One/Twelve: A poem of love, search for guidance, being lost, urge to give up. Fight hard for your true happiness, it's out there waiting. We are all on a journey through this crazy world, ensure that we all make it through okay. I love you all.

Photo by me in Yosemite in the summer of 2017

#short poem #poetry #love #sadness #depression #guidance #enjoyyourlife #yosemite

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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A short one about how music can hold such strong emotions, even songs that we have left in our past. A song you sent that was left on read, a playlist without any listens. Enjoy it regardless and grow past the bad blood.

#short poem #poetry #music

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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An appreciation of the perfect world that is Twin Peaks.

My first dive into the beautiful mind of David Lynch was Season 1 and 2 of Twin Peaks. I was completely entranced. Every episode was meaningful and full of absolute love and joy from the masterful crafters behind it.

The mystery of ‘Who Killed Laura Palmer’ coupled with the unwrapping of the entire town’s secrets was something that you don’t see much in media, but is always a pleasant sight. Lynch and Frost made us a delectable plate of food for dinner, and just when you think it couldn’t get any better, they slide you a slice of perfectly made cherry pie for dessert.

To say I adore Twin Peaks, would be an understatement. The immense cast of characters, all being their own, truest form of themselves around this horrible tragedy is a joy to watch on screen. To Lynch, I bow in respect. The man of dreams and nightmares, the weaver of the bizarre, an artist, through and through, thank you.

#twin peaks #review #movie #tv series

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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A Ghost Story(2017) directed by David Lowery

Right off the bat, this is my absolute, definitive, unmoving, favorite movie of all time. I cannot gush enough how perfect this film is, but I will try.

A Ghost Story is, at it’s core just that, a ghost story. A story of what something that was once living, who has now passed must go through in their form of the afterlife. When you dig deeper though, you find a beautifully crafted film that doesn’t necessarily ask questions , but instead gives you answers to an unasked wonder.

A film about life and it’s never-ending cycle, no matter what states of consciousness we may experience on our journey through it. A scary thought to some, but the way the film presents the process, is a calming given in the universe.

Loss. All of us at one point or another in our life will experience it. The film doesn’t paint it as a painful experience, akin to pulling off a band-aid, but as one of the many expectancies that come with life, and the process of growing through it. A drive into the sunset.

Love. For some, one of the strongest forces in the universe that we are soaring around in. A blinding feeling that could force us to remain where we wish to leave, but our perception of what love is denies us of that freedom. Love is a universal language, we all seek to receive or convey to one in our unique, special way.

A Ghost Story covers so many topics in it’s 1-hour and 32-minute runtime, and that is why I feel it is a perfect movie. It doesn’t waste time that it knows we don’t have. It tells the points of it’s story without filler. It knows it’s place in the world, and doesn’t aim to be something it is not. It is simply, A Ghost Story.

#ghosts #a ghost story #movie #edit #review

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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When Nothing Moves

I can’t sleep. The sun is too bright.

I started this job cleaning out fruit slicers all night a month ago and I haven’t had a good nights sleep since. Every night filled with tossing and turning, trying to find a way to comfortably shield my eyes from the suns blinding light. Working a graveyard hours job meant I was sleeping all day and working all night. The cruddy curtains in my room were doing fuck-all for blocking out sunlight. Some of the guys at my job that were friendly enough told me to buy some blackout curtains and it will make my room completely dark, even with the sun beating down and hopefully it will help me get some good rest. after my work week ended, in my car I ordered that highest-reviewed blackout curtains I could find online and they were due to arrive at my apartment the next morning, in seven hours.

I woke the next day to a knock on my door and a shine directly into my eyes. I could have rearranged my entire room several times and still wouldn’t be able find a way to not get work on my tan while I sleep. I hurried to the door to get the package and gave a wave to the delivery driver before they made it down the stairs out of view.

Putting up the curtains was smooth, even though they were quite heavy material. My biggest fear was that they would pull the curtain rod from the wall, but that worry didn’t last long as the void that my bedroom had become was a sight for sore and tired eyes. I poured myself a glass of water in the kitchen before sitting down on my bed. Before I could take a sip, the comfort of my sheets began to sing symphonies to my tired muscles and lull me back to sleep.

I slept in, something that was unheard of even before I started my backwards sleep schedule. The clock on the bedside table read 9:23pm in red digital font, illuminating my wallet and phone that I had forgotten to plug in after last nights shift and was now most definitely dead. Still in a sleep state, I reached down to grab the charger and plug it into my phone when I heard a noise come from the other side of the bed. A tapping in a rhythmic matter, which would explain why i hadn’t noticed it sooner, but now it had gotten louder, almost annoyed at me paying it no mind and I froze leaning halfway off the bed. The jolt of fear that swarmed my body woke me up better than any instant java could ever wish. It knows that I know and its playing with me now. The tapping is getting faster and multiplies and I now that it is the sound of fingernails tapping on my wall.

(Did somebody break in am I really going to get murdered in my bed after the first night of decent sleep in my life?)

The tapping stopped suddenly, followed by a bang on the wall knocking out one of the nails holding up the curtains. My fists clenched among other things. I roll off the bed into a stance and with a sorry excuse of a warcry ready to fight whatever it was in my room to the death if need be. Nothing was there; I was sure of that. The curtains had fallen letting in the bright glow from the 7-11 across the street, revealing the only thing out of the ordinary in my room was that I needed to clean.

“Must’ve been a dream.” I said out loud, an attempt to calm myself after what I just experienced or just only imagined.

I flicked the flicked the lights on and fixed the curtains. Hammering in the nails all a little more for good measure before walking out of my room to start my day.

My apartment is in no meaning of the word interesting. I’ll state that I had, two chairs, a couch, some scattered goodwill tables of varying size, and a flatscreen TV on a small Swedish table decorated with a collection of games and movies. It wasn’t much, but I enjoyed what I had.

I prepared myself a bowl of cereal and sat on the couch to watch a show when I noticed movement down the hallway into my room. It wasn’t a natural movement in any sense and even now it is hard to explain. It was as if the world had lost focus of that specific spot in my bedroom doorway and it had grown hazy and distorted. It had the height of a man in a sheet ghost’s clothing and it was raising what I presumed to be its arms when an ad on the TV startled me back to reality. I started up a show and began eating my food quickly, doing my best to forget what might be lurking down the hall and failing as thoughts raced through my head.

(I didn’t check under the bed FUCK no one can fit under there anyways FUCK THE CLOSET FUCK it’s nothing probably just a reflection YOU HAVE NO MIRRORS IN THERE DUMBASS AND YOU CLOSED THE CURTAINS IT’S A GHOST YOU ARE BEING HAUNTED CONGRATULATIONS SHIRLEY FUCKING JACKSON WOULD WRITE A BOOK ABOUT YOU CALLED THE IDIOT’S HAUNTING IF SHE WAS STILL ALIVE)

Frustrated with myself I hopped up and marched down the hall to my room huffing and puffing with each authoritative stomp, making sure that whoever await beyond the door knew I meant the most serious of business, as well as sloshing my breakfast everywhere. As I pushed the door open fully I was rushed by what I can only describe as a shadow, knocking me on my back. spilling cereal and milk all over me and as I looked up I could see the shadow turn left at the end of the hallway into the TV room and out of my sight.

I was terrified. I tried to stand myself up while keeping my sights on where I last saw it. As I got to my knees and began to prop up, the shadow peaked around the corner with a featureless, translucent face starring at me with what I assumed was malicious intent. Frozen in fear, I could only muster up the breath to ask a single question.

“Who?”

To which, to my absolute horror it responded in a echoed whisper.

“Boo.”

And vanished.

With my pants shit and my legs like jello, it took me a moment to breath, let alone move. When Blood returned to my veins I hastily made my way to the bathroom to clean myself of spilled Golden Grahams and milk and to face the realization that what I had just witnessed was anything but normal. I spent a moment arguing with my thoughts, fighting the impulse to sleep in my car. My reflection in the bathroom mirror helped to ground me in reality, to remind me that I am fine and no harm was done. I convinced myself of a resident Casper The Friendly, albeit roughhousing ghost. I soon after left the bathroom.

I poured myself another, bigger bowl of cereal and sat down to watch anything the TV had to offer. I spent the rest of the night on the couch, eating and finding any excuse to not look down the hallway.

At around 2:51am I had had enough of wracking my brain, thinking that at any moment the shadow would reappear and attack me again, this time finishing the job. I bolted down the hallway to my bedroom, grabbed my keys and wallet and headed out my apartment to go across the street to the 7-11 for a early morning slurpee. The cashier knew me and joked about my usual purchase of sugary drinks and snacks. I gave no response, paid my $6.23 and headed out the door.

As I was crossing the street back to my apartment, I looked up to my second floor bedroom window, half hoping to see nothing, other half expecting bloody Mary herself. After what I had been through that night, I’m not sure why I even went back into that apartment. The curtain rod had been torn out of the wall again and standing in my room were two of the shadow figures latched to the windowsill, with the distinct outline of hands pushed against the glass. They watched me as I continued crossing the street; my heart was almost bursting out of my chest. I was running on fear induced auto-pilot and my destination was my apartment door. When I reached my door I finally paused and reflected on what had happened tonight.

(If they wanted me dead, They could have done it already. They were playing games with me, but why?)

I stood in front of my door for a minute before realizing I had never locked it and walked right in ready to confront whatever was inside. I flicked the kitchen light on, set my drink and bag down, and looked down the dark hallway. Spilling out of my room were dozens of shadows piling over each other, all different shapes and heights of darkness, fading in and out as if there was a draft blowing through them. I began nervously pacing in my small kitchen, checking on the hallways inhabitants every few rounds. They never moved. After a while a voice moaned from my bedroom.

“Leave”

“No.” I spat out responded in annoyance.

“Leave or...”

“Or fucking what?” I shouted with such ferocity that my neighbors definitely heard me.

“Die.”

All the blood drained from my face and immediately the shadows in the hall began screaming and moaning, shifting from side to side,all while inching towards me. My legs turned gave out from under me. trying to catch myself from falling I had turned the kitchen light off which seemed to invite the shadows to come closer. As they got closer, their faces appeared mangled and distorted consisting of holes where a human features should be. As their shadows began to overtake my motionless body, I shut my eyes so tight that it hurt. Amidst the moaning I heard one last phrase.

“Sleep again now. We’ll do the rest.”

The next thing I know, i’m laying on the doormat outside of my apartment. I didn’t care how I got there. I quickly got on my feet and down the stairs to my car. I closed my eyes as I backed out of the parking lot. I didn’t want to ever look at that window ever again.

I stayed at my friend Aiden’s place for a week. He lived alone, so he liked the company and he had the room for it, so he didn’t mind. I had told him a lie of how the landlord was spying on me when I showered and once tried to seduce me while fixing the sink. I think he believed it.

I only wanted to go back to the apartment once to get my stuff. After a week of staying with Aiden, the two of us drove to the apartment building and found that where my bedroom window used to be was blown out, stained black with burn marks. Aiden didn’t know what to say and I was beyond confused. We parked the car and I went to the landlord’s door alone and asked what had happened. He told me in detail that four days again my room had exploded from a gas leak and that I was lucky I went on vacation or else i’d be a deadman. There was nothing to be packed up that wasn’t ash. I apologized to him about his building, and said goodbye. I headed back to my friends car who was waiting with a drink for me from across the street. I got into the car without a word.

“What the fuck happened? Did he try to kill you? Tried to burn you alive cuz you weren’t turned on by his wrinkles?” Aiden said as he started the car.

“No, he doesn’t know what happened. Gas leak they think, he told me.” I said. “Let me take one last look.”

“Oh, sure. Of course.” He said, shutting the engine off. I rested my arms on the top of his car looking up to my once bedroom window now black from the fires, but somehow still intact. I thought I saw something and ran across the street to see it closer. There were two marks on the burnt windowsill; marks I could swear were burned in hands.

“You ok, Rick?” Aiden shouted from the driver’s seat.

“Yea, no, I’m good. Just getting a closer look.” I said as I ran back to the car. “Just saying goodbye is all.”

“Well alrighty, you want to grab some burgers?”

I nodded and smiled.

I never asked him if he saw the handprints.

We pulled out of the parking lot, passing my old apartment building one last time. I instinctively waved to the window that used to be my bedroom. Nothing waved back.

#short story #ghosts #horror #short-story

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overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years

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A Chance to See What’s Out There

I wake up Saturday morning at around 7am. The AM radio DJ told the local news; A dog was arrested for somehow stealing a delivery truck while the driver was dropping off a package. The driver called in to say how he ran down the road after the truck. He ran for a few moments before the truck stopped, he caught up with it and found the dog sitting there, panting, as happy as a dog can be. I could almost imagine myself witnessing it take place in my head in real time. Luckily, no one was hurt and the dog only made it down the road before his attempted GTA was brought to a halt. He was a Boxer named George.

The sweet, cool scent of a winter’s morning rain was permeating throughout the room. The sound of rain drops on the wide french windows of our bedroom were a never ending symphony. The overwhelming smell of the moist mud and grass fields outside the second-story windows were a clear sign that we’ve come to know that the rain had not let up all night.

The bedroom walls were forest green, complimented by photos of my wife and I, and of her photography over the years. Shelves were filled with books and various handcrafted knick-knacks that we found humorous. A large lounge chair sit in the corner where a throw blanket and book would be placed most everyday.

I yawned and stretched, reaching next to me, but grabbing nothing but bedsheets. My wife was up already, normal routine for her morning was to make coffee as the sun was rising. I sat in bed for a few moments more before I heard the approaching, un-socked footsteps of my wife heading up the stairs.

“MY DEAR FUCKING LORD” I muttered out in a voice of definite confusion.

My wife, Miranda, bursts through the bedroom door in a panic.

“What the fuck is your deal?” She asks.

“Honey… I’m Blind.” I reply, with absolute certainty, reaching towards her.

“Oh fuck off.” She hands me my coffee.

I take it with a smile on my face with what what most would call a shit eating grin.

“Wipe that shit eating grin off your face, before make you mute as well.” she replies, sitting down next to me in bed as we both enjoy our coffee, listening to the rain.

The Incident, as we began to call it happened one week prior on an odd, but welcomed sunny winter day. We were both resting after a deep cleaning of our ever-growing backyard garden space. Weather resistant succulents and cactus were scattered all over on varying metal shelves and repurposed chairs. Monstera plants provided the area a zen-like atmosphere of which took us almost a year of collecting and soil-observing care to achieve.

Our two-story, cabin-like home sat at the end of a one-car mile long road that forked from off an already forgotten highway, winding and curving through trees and bushes. The seclusion was what attracted us the most. Noises of the human nature were something we had lived with before for years prior and the quiet of the two of us existing among the trees and all that reside within them was a necessary change in our lives.

We had spent many days of the year inside and the sun’s light was showing just how defined my farmer’s tan was. The idea of tanning was always a joke to me in the city, but in the security of the high-fenced backyard, the idea didn’t seem to half bad.

I sternly stood upright from my lounging and declared, “I’m gonna sunbathe.”

I began to undress. The removing of my shirt and shorts got the usual oo’ing and ah’ing from my wife.

“Should I go full on naked?” I asked.

“I don’t care.” Miranda replied, barely looking up from her book now.”

In one quick motion of pride, I was back to the way the gods had sculpted me.

“Exquisite.” Miranda said, through a chuckle.

“You know you love it.” I replied.

A moment of fidgeting in my seat before finding a comfortable position, but in the end, it only took a few minutes before my eyelids grew heavy in the warm sun.

“Wake me if I’m out for more than an hour, will ya darling?” I tried to ask through sleep.

“You got it, babe.” She replied.

“Thanks, mama.”

I was awoken with a sharp pain slicing across my face. I groggily shot up out of the seat, barely standing up right as I tried to open my eyes. Dark crimson began pooling in both eyes, blinding out my view of the world in front of me. I was trembling with fear of what was happening to me. The pain from keeping my eyes open was immense, so I shut them as tightly as I could. I screamed and hollered for help, but I heard nothing but birds chattering and the hiss of wind flowing through the trees. Once the pain subsided enough to allow movement, I noticed my face cold from liquid, I was bleeding so much even with my eyes shut. I was blind, helpless, and nude.

I had walked this garden hundreds of times, but for the first time in my life I was truly lost and alone. I wandered and bumped for what felt like hours. Finally, I had found the door handle thanks to the shower door inside the house being shut. I was navigating fully with sound, a trait that one surprisingly catches on quick.

Inside the kitchen area with the door shut behind me, I watched my every step hoping to not spill any blood from my face onto the tile floor. I already couldn’t see, the last thing I needed was a slip-and-fall concussion.

I made myself known, hoping my wife would come to my aid. “Miranda, can you help me? Please don’t freak out.”

“Of c- wait, what’s wrong?” She replied. Her footsteps I heard hastily walked towards me from down the hall. She gasped with absolute fear.

“I don’t know what happened.” I said, trying to smile to alleviate any fear she might have. “I think Thomas Shelby finally got to me.”

“Oh my god.” Miranda replied, unimpressed by my comment. “Okay, let’s get a clean cloth, we have to clean you/ you’ll be okay/ let me get the keys, we have to go to ER/ oh fuck, you’re still naked.” I could hear tears starting to form with her words.

I held out my arms to hug her. She embraced me so quickly, I stumbled from loose footing.

“Grab me a wet cloth, and get my shorts from out back and let’s drive to the hospital. My pain is okay. I’m okay.” I said in a calm voice to ease her nerves.

I was quickly dressed decent, in the passenger seat of our Honda with a wet rag on my face. The drive to the hospital was quick and silent.

We arrived, parked, and my wife guided me to the entrance.

“We need to be seen right away.” She exclaimed.

A nurse sat at a desk cut her off, handing her a clipboard and piece of paper to fill out. I removed the rag from my face a moment to show thick strands of blood sticking from my face to the bloodied towel. I was put into a wheelchair immediately and was soon in my own room.

Not much time went by before several voices entered the room, to help clean my face and understand what they were dealing with. Their voices were that shrill, fake-assuring tone that would deafen you at a theme park. Coupled with the sterile smell of everything and the loss of one of my senses, to say I was nauseated would be an understatement. But, I held through, asked my wife for an advil from her bag and laid on my paper bed. A couple of needle pricks of painkillers and many gauze wipes later, and I was being operated on.

The first procedure was quick. It involved cauterization of my slice eyelids to seal the wounds shut and to stop bleeding and a quick stick in the bridge of my nose. The second one, not as simple. Both corneas were damaged, sliced by whatever the hell it was that shot through them. I required eye reconstruction and I would be practically blind for a week post-op. 13 hours later on a Saturday and I was back home, with gauze taped to both my eyelids and a joint in my hand, doctor’s orders.

That night, We both slept like a animalistic hibernation was in order. When we both were awake and ready for the day, I opted to stay in the bedroom and practice walking to the bathroom, a trek of only nineteen steps there and back. Miranda went out back to try and find whatever it was that blinded me. With a retelling of what I felt from the bedroom window down to her, she set up a at-home crime scene. Within an hour she was able to identify the blood tinted smoking gun. A sharp piece of dark grey metal, what Miranda called ‘A Crow’s Prized Trinket’. We laughed it off as a freak occurrence, and put the piece of scrap in a baggie in my bedside drawer.

It took a little bit to get used to, but by Monday morning, I found my routes to the bathroom and the dining room table. I still bumped here and there, but I only ever tripped once.

By Wednesday, my Stevie Wonder impression grew old. Thursday night, My Roy Orbison impression required a google search and a realization that the Oh, Pretty Woman songwriter could indeed, actually see. Who knew.

Thunder rumbled and lightning crashed outside as if the gods were fighting on how to fix the water leak that is the rain beating down upon my house.

“Weatherman hopes for it to be through before night.” Miranda said, sipping her coffee and reading her book; a highlander smitten by the beauty and grace of a time-travelling housewife from the 20th century.

“I like it, gives me something to listen to.” I replied, still sitting in bed, soft jammies and all.

I went for the last gulp of my creamer with coffee, when Miranda quickly gasped in shock.

“Oh my god, that one was so close.” She said before cut off by the thunder that was at a previous six-Mississipi’s away, crashing at a deafening volume.

“Fuck me, blind and now deaf as well.” I said, jokingly through a chuckle. At that moment, through my laughing, for the first time in a week, movement of my eyelids. Nothing monumental, but I could see the warmth of the lamp near my wife, across the room. I quickly removed the gauze pads from over my eyes and opened them. Sight. It was all fuzzy, but I could finally see shapes again.

“Holy crap, babe.” I said with excitement. “I can see, not well, but shit, it’s a start.” I fiddled around at my bedside table, looking for my phone.

“It’s okay, I’m calling him.” Miranda replied, now at my side, petting my hair as if I was the family dog.

A quick phone call later, and I had my head in the bathroom sink, rinsing my eyes out with lukewarm water. The doctor had told us that my recovery was more speedy than expected, but nonetheless a good sign. Rinsing of my eyes would remove any crusty buildup over the week and help with the final process of healing.

I’ve never had the elusive 20/20 vision that only those gifted by the gods of sight allowed such a a trait, and after several minutes of washing, I was still far from where I was before the accident. Our excitement was put away, slightly defeated, but still pleased of my progress.

I wandered downstairs, testing myself with the readings of the backs of cereal boxes and old magazine covers while my wife remained upstairs, reading. This went on until sundown, when our bed was sending out it’s siren’s song of comfort. I slowly waddled upstairs and around the corner into the bedroom.

“So, I was able to read the cereal boxes and labels of most of the cans, I think.” I said while removing the decorative pillows placed neatly on our king-sized bed.

“That is so good to hear.” Miranda replied halfheartedly joyous.

I could tell she was upset that I wasn’t fully cured, but I remained positive to help her understand that all will be better soon. We laid under our soft blankets, cuddling one another. My arms wrapped around her from behind, I slowly guided my hands to her legs and tickled her to a pure state of relaxation. I could feel her frustration of my inability to see slip away as her eyelids grew heavier. She was asleep within minutes. I continued for twenty.

The ever-persistent rain had remained beating down upon the roof and trees outside all day. Mud puddles had began forming in the garden, but with how hot the summer was, excess was welcomed. I contemplated reopening the window, to hear the sounds more clearly, but I fell victim to the sandman’s spell before I could make up my mind.

That night I dreamed of something I had never thought I could imagine. I was in the walls of a dark and long hallway with not much in it. The walls around me smooth and reflective; it was basically a mirror in tube form. At the end of the room, was a door that never opened, but beyond it I could hear the grumblings of two, maybe three voices. In between their incoherent conversation was the stomping akin to that of a unsavory upstairs apartment neighbor. I’d usually think nothing if it, but for some reason I feared those steps. With every new set, my heart began to race at the thought of them opening those doors and showing themselves to me. I couldn’t take it anymore and began shouting, trembling with fear.

I was quickly awoken by Miranda who had shook me awake. I was halfway crawling out the window, drenched. I looked back and she was horrified, latching onto my shirt, pulling me back in. It took me a moment to realize all of this, when I did, I made my way back inside and shut the window. Miranda ran and grabbed me a towel.

“I was having a strange dream.” I described my dream to my wife in the best detail that I could at the moment. She was perplexed by how the two incidents were connected. She helped dry me off and get me warm.

“So I don’t understand, were you crawling out a window in the dream?” She asked.

Before I could answer, a flash of lightning followed by a rumble of thunder. This time was different than any lightning I had ever seen in my life. The flash was a bright green that illuminated the trees and land out the window instead of the sky. As for the thunder, it remained at a steady rumbling hum for a minute coming from the direction of the green light. We were stunned by what we were seeing. The window was fogging from our breathe so we cracked it enough to see outside.

I did my best to watch, but any amount of vision couldn’t deny that this was a strange occurrence. We watched for several minutes, observing the strange oddity deep into the forest. The light was persistent in it’s glow, but the sound would alternate in it’s pitch from time to time. Miranda and I remained silent, barely breathing the entire time we watched.

All of a sudden in an instant, the humming stopped, and the light shifted it’s focus towards us, our home. We shielded our eyes, but peeked through our fingers. That was when we saw it. Running faster than any athlete could, weaving through the forest floor, sometimes jumping off of a trunk for speed, and it was coming straight towards us. I quickly shut the window and bolted the lock. Whatever was headed towards us was fast and it didn’t take it long to reach the garden fence. I shut the blinds in hopes that that would somehow protect me from the whatever it was outside.

We heard a bang followed by a crash downstairs. It was in the house. The security alarm system began yelping, ringing in our ears. I ran up to shut the bedroom door, bumping the foot of the bed on my way and grab a bat beside it. Just before I slammed it shut, I heard the creature downstairs screeching along to the alarm, as if it was speaking to alarm. I slammed the door and backed into the chair where my wife usually reads. She was crying under the blanket. I wanted to join her, so I did.

It began it’s ascent up the stairs. The sound. It’s feet. It was exactly what I heard in my dream. The alarm finally shut itself off and I could hear it talking to itself. It was the same sound I heard in my dream. I was sobbing, shaking with fear when I bumped into my wife’s foot uncovered by her blanket. I shook her, stood her up and told her to hide in our closet. She resisted, but I finally got her in behind the door and I stood, ready to fight and slightly blind.

The creature scratched on the wooden bedroom door. It could hear me or smell me or whatever it was doing, it knew exactly where I was. It didn’t kick down the door, or blast a hole through it, but it instead turned the doorknob. I had forgotten to push in the button to lock it.

I readied my swing when it pushed open the door. I wiped away tears from both eyes, which cleared my vision a little more. I saw it standing there, hunched over with scales all over. It’s face covered in holes, in the center two large, clear eyes that blinked alternately. A large mouth, filled with teeth stayed agape, dripping fluids all over the floor. Tentacle like limbs had no significant placement on its body. It slapped on the floor with it’s constantly moving ‘feet’ tentacles. Standing seven feet tall, the creature purred at me, unmoving from the beyond the doorframe. We had a stand off for a moment before I made my move.

“What the fuck do you want?” I yelled.

It did nothing, it remained a statue. I repeated myself. It screeched back. I let out a scream and rushed it. I made two steps before it shot out one of its slimy tentacles around my neck, holding me in place. The smell was a horrible, rotting carcass smell. I gagged, but couldn’t restrain and vomited on its arm and myself. It pulled itself in closer to my face. It was observing me, looking for something. It starred for a while before it chirped with delight, raised a small tentacle and quickly slid it behind my left eye. I felt no pain somehow, not even when it yanked my whole eye out. It observed my plucked eye, dropped me to the floor, and then headed back down the stairs. Miranda rushed out the closet, and saw me bleeding from my eyes for the second time in a week.

I was calm and without pain, which somehow transferred to Miranda and we were both fine with what had happened. We heard a crashing coming from outside the window again, and we walked over to look. The one was making its way through the broken doors while another was sliding all along the floor and walls of our backyard. They soon both began speaking that incoherent mush again before quickly scurrying off towards the green light.

Not too much time passed of us starring out into the darkness. The green light began to flash, the thunder grew louder and stronger, knocking books off the shelves. The power shut off. We were in total darkness as we watched the dark object rise from the ground, hundreds of feet away, blowing branches and rain in every direction. It was high in the sky, hovering for a moment when I closed my eyes, well eye. I was back in that dark, mirror place, but this time It wasn’t as clear. I heard the creatures talking again, and a whirring sound. Before, in my dream, this place sounded distressed, incorrect. Now it was complete, whole somehow. A few more glimpses and it was gone.

Miranda and I cleaned up the bedroom in silence. We mopped up the water and blood and drool of the creature, fixed our bedroom to the best of our abilities. We would clean the downstairs in the morning. For now, we would sleep.

Every night since that night, I will take one meaningful look out our wide, french windows, making sure that flash of green hadn’t returned. I lay in bed and listen closely for that rumble that shook the walls remained gone. When I would finally shut my eyes and fall to rest however, I would hope I’d see that place one final time. That last chance to see something that no one could define. An otherworldy place.

#short story #scifi #horror #short-story #comedy

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