Life/Death...(Part 5)

Dear Reader

‘Experience my Perception’. These were my first words in public and were enunciated in the sixth month of my physical form. Prior to that day I had spent time perfecting the English language, the phonetic tongue I happened to be born into, with hurried conviction. Making sure no human ear was within audible range, I practiced conversing to myself aloud. I needed to hear its pitch and resonance. Trying to overcome the pathetic size of my vocal chords, which instinctively made the voice sound weak and incomprehensible. I had too much to say to be enslaved by such obstacles that the human body confines one to.

I learnt to slow the voice, to articulate every intonation, it wasn’t exact, it sounded breathless, my lungs physically couldn’t hold enough syllables to perform longer words. I had to pause, inhale and expel the delivery spasmodically…
’Ex’…’pe’…’ri’…’ence’…’my’…’Per’…’cep’…’tion’, I undulated to myself. That, I concluded, would be my first comment to the humans who took it upon themselves to care for me, after my somewhat dramatic birth. I wanted something that would penetrate their thoughts to make these self-riddled individuals realize that perception formulates itself through the experience of Life/Death and until that experience has intertwined, perception will never occur.

Alas, the reaction I was hoping for did not materialize within them. Two things, instead happened. Firstly, they stirred in disbelief at how a baby of six months could speak and, without acknowledging the gravitas of my chosen words, tried to coax from me other words of lesser significance such as ‘Ma-Ma’ and ‘Na-Na’. And so for two hours I proceeded with their game. “What a clever baby!” one of them said. “Well, I do read poetry, he’s surrounded by books, so it’s only natural A_ should speak”, said another. “But he’s barely seven months old!”, a voice shrilled from the back of the room. “Nonsense! He’s a fast learner…say ‘po’ – ‘e’ – ‘tree’…” and so it continued. Me feeding their obesity of mind, whilst they swallowed every last morsel. The Ego, dear reader, can be selflessly selfish at times.

And secondly…well secondly from that day on, until I grew into my fourth year, I chose to not speak another word. Thus, shattering their hopes and aspirations of me ever aping their soporific ideas and beliefs. I needed silence. I needed time to formulate inwardly. Because, as I soon began to learn, only through quiescence can the self begin to understand its own unique simplicity.

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Dearest Reader

What a momentous day! She understood! It took a few attempts but finally there was acknowledgement. I drew with my index finger upon her forearm the word MOTHER, etching the letters methodically one-by-one. At first she repelled my touch; she doesn’t like me to approach her. Interaction has to be on her own terms, it must be peculiar and unimaginably horrific to have suddenly someone or something touch you when there is no way of anticipating contact. I think though sometimes she can feel my footsteps against the hard wooden floor as I carefully near her, but that’s only on a few occasions usually there is nothing.

Nothing but her sense of touch. Nothing but the ability to feel. And yet with the ability to feel nothing.

But on this occasion I am positive she reacted. Other times I have deluded myself in thinking she heard me or has winced at the acidity of the lemon juice I squeeze into her herbal drinks. But I have come to learn that these are just twitches and spasms possibly caused by the cellular changes occurring within her.

So as I drew the final letter of MOTHER upon the dried skin of her right arm she awoke from her slumber and raised her head and smiled. And then as if by miracle she tried to speak, her mouth trying to formulate some long forgotten syllable. There was no sound only a faint crackle of a whisper as if it were being expelled for the very first time. In drawing my ear close to her so as to discern what she was trying to say, I distinctly heard the word SON fall from those cracked lips. Every part of me froze as I digested those three letters that before now were forever lost. Tears streamed from my eyes as I kissed her lips moistening the aridity of their dryness.

So here I am now at my desk having cradled her to sleep, contemplating where to go from here. I must though sleep first; it has been an exhausting day.

Copyright © evolvingthumbs

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Tags:

death, life and novel