The last section of wall

Still no sign of you, though in just twenty minutes the final section of wall must be sealed, after which I may never hope to hear from you again.

I look at my watch. Twenty minutes of hope is a long time. The alternative is an eternity of no hope.

Nineteen minutes and thirty seconds of hope. Still a long time.

I have sentries posted, right along the wall, all of them alert for any message or sign you may send, which will be rushed immediately to me. All other work is cancelled. I do not intend to miss your final message. 

The electric storm sends tremors through the world. My troops, hardened though they are through years of bitter conflict, shiver with naked fear. I feel their stares, they are worried, anxious that the last section of wall be sealed before the storm tears everything apart.

Meanwhile there is nothing for me to do but wait. Watching the world flicker in the storm-light, I ponder the state of things. Why does there have to be two sides? It makes no sense. Who cares who’s left or right, does any of that nonsense really matter? This stupid war, this stupid turmoil, separating us forever.  

Nineteen minutes of hope. Hope that I shall hear from you, learn that you’re safe, for now at least. Hope that the storm will abate, that there will be peace on both sides of the wall. Hope that, well, who cares what exactly. Just hope.

But the wall must be completed. Even if it means sealing off my only means of contact with you. It can wait no longer, the divide has become too great, the wall is our only hope of peace, the only chance that order shall return, that chaos shall abate. For this is a war that no side can win. We are too evenly matched for one thing: my side with the great creatives, the ideas that power the engines of war. On your side the great leaders, the practical men of war, the doers, the fighters.

Stalemate.

There is a whisper of gossip among some of the distant sentries. I immediately send for the news, but when it arrives it is nothing more than some sexual tittle tattle, the trivia of life. The sentries cease gossiping, fearing my intervention. The resulting silence bristles with the tension of inactivity. Every crackle of the storm clouds turns a thousand eyes to the gap in the wall. To my gap in the wall. Our gap. The gap I refuse to fill. The gap I must fill.

The senior builder approaches. He says nothing, he doesn’t need to speak. We share the same mind, his fears are my fears.  He need not doubt my word, the wall shall be sealed.

Three seconds of hope are all that remains. Two. I no longer remember what I am hoping for, just grabbing the last opportunity of hope while I can. One second. Nothing. An eternity without hope awaits me. Awaits us all.

I nod, giving the order. The wall will be sealed and our worlds divided, finally, forever.

With the wall complete the conflict in my own mind will cease. My behaviour, medical experts assure me, will change from raving to just plain odd. My body will judder with the occasional conflicting orders, sometimes grabbing at the world with two hands, sometimes failing to grab at all, but my body will get by, flourish, in fact, without the raging turmoil of two imploding, competing brains. The electrical storms will end and peace will return.

With luck, I am told, I will be allowed to leave hospital. I'll be taken off the drugs, given a chance to return to the community. The wall, they tell me, can achieve all these things. It is only when the two sides of my mind are allowed to intertwine that turmoil reigns.

So there is hope, for my body at least, albeit none for the mind. 

But I shall miss you. I shall miss the raging, electrical turmoil of your company.

I shall miss the intimacy of our war.