Immersion
Silence. Incredibly deafening it turns out. Even more so than screaming.
She’d heard screams. Screaming upon screams upon even more screaming. Screams of pain and screams of horror. Screams of desolation. Screams of the horror of heartbreak. Somehow this was worse. This was louder. This was quite unbearable. It was so loud she could not think or comprehend or imagine or believe. Nothing other than this silence banging in her ears. At least in the midst of the screaming she could somehow still think and feel and wonder. Truth, it was mainly about the screaming but still it counted. But now all she could hear was the deafening thud and thrum and drum of silence. It was tormenting and boring at the same time. How could something be so loud and so torturous yet also be so mind-numbingly dull simultaneously? She‘d never liked the silence of being alone. Too much space for thinking, for remembering, for brooding. The past that depressed her would come flooding back. Ancient wounds of years ago would become as fresh and as raw as if they occurred simply moments ago. She’d obsess over things she should have said but didn’t and things she said but shouldn’t have. Replaying them in her mind, like scenes from a play. All the embarrassing and tortured and humiliating moments of her youth. Like anxiety played directly into her mind's eye. She’d then imagine all the things she should have said or done or been if she had only been more confident or sharper or quicker. Or crueler. But cruel she had never been, even to her own destruction. She replayed all those lost opportunities; some lost no fault of her own. Her faultlessness didn’t make the regret taste any sweeter. All the freedoms she had been denied or been too afraid to chase. All the love she was not permitted to pursue. Regret brew hotter in the pit of her stomach and it burned her. |
Louise Leddington-Clarke
is a business manager in Construction where she is surrounded by very grumpy and very muddy men. She has a lifetime of fascination with all types of literature and is frequently to be found wandering around the Historic Docks of Gloucester in a daydream. She lives with her husband and two maniac little fluffs who swear to be cats. |
There was a hum to the silence now, a throbbing.
She remembered all the love she had been told she had but never felt. She’d felt like she was going crazy and then only crazier still. All the moments of almost grasping freedom only for it to be wrenched away in the name of ‘being taught a lesson’, for it to be taken away at the last instance ‘for my own good’. The gut-wrenching horror of knowing that this could be her existence for the rest of time. Until she died, cold and grey. Untouched and unwanted. Unfulfilled and dry.
She had all the freedom in the world, for a time at least. She had lived and lived to the fullest. Loved and travelled and touched. She’d seen sunrises, sunsets, oceans, colors so vibrant they burned her eyes and she had relished them all. She had struggled too of course, all that time in isolation and darkness had ill equipped her for the civility and non-civility of the world but with help from her new friends she had adapted and adapted quickly. She had always been a quick learner despite what they had said. But she had become too greedy, too hungry, too comfortable in her freedom.
It was the desire not to be cruel that scuppered her, that ruined her. She’d been kind to a friend who did not return it in kind. The greediness of man always did win. She had shown kindness and pity to a dear friend, welcomed them into to her home. How could she have been so foolish, so forgetful. After her they would always be. And found her they had.
Returned she had been, to be cut off from the world in the name of tradition. In the name of doing her duty. She had run from it you see and that could not, would not be forgiven. Punishment would be swift and cruel.
It was not religion that punished her, they had none. But the rules of the Family must be obeyed. She had run and shamed them, and shame would come swift upon her head. They stuck to the old rules, she was a woman and as a woman of the Family she would remain.
Depression always came upon her after time spent alone. Even after she had escaped her enforced captivity and run towards her own life and towards the sunlight, she still avoided solitude. Too many loud memories. Too many things said that could never be undone. Far too much hurt. It would follow her about like a black cloud above her head and only time would wear it away. So, she walked through crowds and through cities, closer and closer to danger.
Sometimes she would gaze at girls who had not been born as she had. She would wonder at how carefree they were, how their smiles were so easy and their futures so clear. No anxiousness or sorrow in their eyes, just hope for a future that they would live. A future of their own.
And now she could not escape being alone. The final brick had been laid upon her prison and the deafening silence had fallen. A small slot for food that would be bricked up itself in time. She could not hear a thing, not a thing and it made her want to scream. Not that the screaming would drown out the silence.
They said it was a temporary punishment, that if she obeyed then she would be freed. But she knew that to be a lie. There was no freedom, no escape, no ending of this torment. If miraculously they actually kept their word there would still be no escape, no freedom. She would still be followed and forced and imprisoned until the end of her days. A wasted life of regret and emptiness. Never would there be a chance again to run, to re-join the world. To live as she wanted to live. And if she could not have that she would rather die.
Her life would be her choice and she would take the only choice she had left.
The food came through the gap and she turned to the bricks. Her life would be her choice and then she would be free.
She remembered all the love she had been told she had but never felt. She’d felt like she was going crazy and then only crazier still. All the moments of almost grasping freedom only for it to be wrenched away in the name of ‘being taught a lesson’, for it to be taken away at the last instance ‘for my own good’. The gut-wrenching horror of knowing that this could be her existence for the rest of time. Until she died, cold and grey. Untouched and unwanted. Unfulfilled and dry.
She had all the freedom in the world, for a time at least. She had lived and lived to the fullest. Loved and travelled and touched. She’d seen sunrises, sunsets, oceans, colors so vibrant they burned her eyes and she had relished them all. She had struggled too of course, all that time in isolation and darkness had ill equipped her for the civility and non-civility of the world but with help from her new friends she had adapted and adapted quickly. She had always been a quick learner despite what they had said. But she had become too greedy, too hungry, too comfortable in her freedom.
It was the desire not to be cruel that scuppered her, that ruined her. She’d been kind to a friend who did not return it in kind. The greediness of man always did win. She had shown kindness and pity to a dear friend, welcomed them into to her home. How could she have been so foolish, so forgetful. After her they would always be. And found her they had.
Returned she had been, to be cut off from the world in the name of tradition. In the name of doing her duty. She had run from it you see and that could not, would not be forgiven. Punishment would be swift and cruel.
It was not religion that punished her, they had none. But the rules of the Family must be obeyed. She had run and shamed them, and shame would come swift upon her head. They stuck to the old rules, she was a woman and as a woman of the Family she would remain.
Depression always came upon her after time spent alone. Even after she had escaped her enforced captivity and run towards her own life and towards the sunlight, she still avoided solitude. Too many loud memories. Too many things said that could never be undone. Far too much hurt. It would follow her about like a black cloud above her head and only time would wear it away. So, she walked through crowds and through cities, closer and closer to danger.
Sometimes she would gaze at girls who had not been born as she had. She would wonder at how carefree they were, how their smiles were so easy and their futures so clear. No anxiousness or sorrow in their eyes, just hope for a future that they would live. A future of their own.
And now she could not escape being alone. The final brick had been laid upon her prison and the deafening silence had fallen. A small slot for food that would be bricked up itself in time. She could not hear a thing, not a thing and it made her want to scream. Not that the screaming would drown out the silence.
They said it was a temporary punishment, that if she obeyed then she would be freed. But she knew that to be a lie. There was no freedom, no escape, no ending of this torment. If miraculously they actually kept their word there would still be no escape, no freedom. She would still be followed and forced and imprisoned until the end of her days. A wasted life of regret and emptiness. Never would there be a chance again to run, to re-join the world. To live as she wanted to live. And if she could not have that she would rather die.
Her life would be her choice and she would take the only choice she had left.
The food came through the gap and she turned to the bricks. Her life would be her choice and then she would be free.