Living with a Fear of the Metaphorical Darkness

So, gin and tonic in hand, I wonder about the topic of today’s post. Do I free write? No, because that comes up with some serious shit. Like good serious shit, not seriously bad shit, or at least I like to think so. OK, I’m almost free writing now as I tend to swear a lot when I do that, which brings to light a topic I have just thought of – why do I swear so much when I write? I mean I never, like really, never swear in real life conversations! Like really, I can’t remember when I did. Actually I tell a lie, it was around 18 years ago when I was in 2nd year of school …

So, just to give you an idea, here’s a little text I ‘free wrote’ the other morning for my book (yeah a book – I know right?!). This could be embarrassing as I haven’t blogged ‘raw text’ before….

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“What are you afraid of Aeva?”

Benn looked at her, peering over the rim of his glasses while slowly, gently stroking his soft, short beard. Jesus, he fitted like a glove into this role, she thought. This squinting annoyed Aeva. She wished he’d just take his glasses off and not have that uncomfortable half gaze like somehow whatever stood within his glasses’ focal distance was still more important than what lay beyond it. He made her sit there and bear everything and practically wrench out her soul, not that she did, so why didn’t he take off those god damn glasses?

“Everything,” she replied, dismissively. Within herself, her fear tightened its grip a little.

“Are you afraid of,” a slight pause, “me?”

“No.”

Inside, she almost laughed. Almost. At least she wanted to, but nothing came.

“Then you are not afraid of everything.”

“But I’m afraid of the fact that I’m not afraid of you. It all leads to the same thing.”

Had she said too much? Really, all it came down to was just ‘one thing.’ But it formed and dictated everything. This time though, he didn’t pick up on her words.

“But you’re not afraid of me. Why?”

There it was again. She saw it. That look in his eyes. It gave nothing away. She could not tell if he cared or whether it was pity. It could have been disappointment, it could have been hatred and it could have been interest as much as it was disinterest. Whether he was in the present or whether he was elsewhere, she could not gauge. At first she accepted it as kindness and his gentle nature but now it frustrated her that she could not read him. She could read Gael. She could read everything.

He repeated himself, somehow bringing her back from the road she was starting to venture down in her mind. Everything eventually led to the same thing – a long dark winding road with sharp chicanes which whipped out of nowhere to take her crashing into a new dark reality. Everything somehow led to the fear of that road. At the end of it she knew, Gael was there, waiting, like he always was.

“You’re not afraid of everything if you’re not afraid of me.”

Fuck you, she thought. Fuck you and all your incessant questions. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Inside she riled yet outside, outside there was nothing. Benn knew nothing of what she had been through. He felt nothing. He had no idea of what she felt inside, how she was dying, not from some diagnosable physical illness but from a desperation and desolation, from a darkness which consumed everything. There was no light at the end of the tunnel nor did she particularly feel that there should be. There was no hope, no optimism, no point. He sat there somehow believing everything was perfect and everything was meant to be and could be, perfect, or somehow at least liveable. There was no emotion or feeling in his voice. He just didn’t ‘get it.’ He was there pretending to be all goodness and light. If he thought himself a light then he was the insipid light of the moon, she thought, with it’s merely pale reflection and that begrudging face looking down and mocking her, peering over those half moon glasses. It was an apt comparison, she considered briefly. He pretended he could light the way, but really the darkness was still there. That was where she lived. She was afraid of the darkness, of the shadows. He just made bigger shadows and everything had shadows. His insipid light only accentuated the size of them and lured them further out of the black hole they came from. Over the last month her strength was waning and despite her anger she felt it come again – the dark fear inside her was growing and no thanks to Benn, his questioning had awoken it.

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OK I maybe lied a little, again. (Does that mean I lie when I write too?) A little (read: a lot) of editing may have taken place. But the gist of this post is, that I swear a lot when I write. Maybe I think it conveys anger more, or feelings in general, or maybe I think it is more realistic of real life, I’m not sure. I’m calling this excerpt ‘Everything.’

Now I need to go and focus on something more productive.

Let me know what you think! Would love to hear your thoughts on the matter!

Annette

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