Book of Lain (completed prologue) unedited
The Book Of Lain
The world is in a perpetual fog. We hover in obscurity, ignore our fellowship, and kiss our drink glasses with more commitment and care than we do a lover. We lose ourselves and drift away from childish things, intoxicated with lifes interruptions. When was joy abandoned and purchased, sold, traded in for the banality of the chains that enslaved us, the same chains that drank our dreams, imagination and wishes dry.What happened to us? We revel in our labour at the success of what happiness can be purchased. We toil to provide for our children, all in the belief that we are building them the life we never had. And then we will complain, in the bedrooms and sanctuary of partnerships, of how the children are not like us. Why do we look to save children when our own cowardice stops us in the plea to them to save us?
But maybe this is all too preachy. Too cynical. Maybe my friends, with their new cars, boats, travel accounts and trophy wives are truly happy. I don’t know. I am only suspect from the hints they have given me.
For me, I want to spin in place again, until Im dizzy. I want to go back and feel the snows as they were. I want to hold my fathers hand, remember its warmth , before I knew its poison. I wish and dream for those childish years, when I knew nothing...and everything. I need the world to be big again, when memories were building in the distance walked, and my mind pushed everything aside for play. I wish for those things again, today, but I know that should I spin in place, giggling like a seven year old, raise my hands for balance until my mind is inundated with drunken joy, and fall down, I will surely be arrested.
I want to go back, but of course I cant. Not really.
But if I could...
I would have kissed Veronica a second time near the merry-go-round.I would have sat longer on my mothers lap and not squirmed to run. In the winters I knew, I would have shared more of the blankets with my younger brother. I would not have tried to save that castor oil in my cheek in the avoidance of swallowing. I would have cried more and let it go, rather than live the war of suppression each child keeps. I would have told my grade six teacher that I truly and deeply loved her. I would have asked her to marry me. I would have lived each day as its singular life, rather than the countdown of my own.
But I cant go back.
When the thought comes to me, in poetic longing, there is always one spear that javelins its way to the back of my skull, and I thank God for where and when I am.
Because if I could go back, I would be destined to live it again. And I cant do that, not in a million lifetimes.
But if I could....I would have run away with him and saved him from his life. No matter what it took. I would have helped him to another world, far and away from his own. Maybe I should have let him jump from that bridge, and maybe that would have been better.
Time, it seems, is a never ending burning wick, with the promise of a cleansing explosion that never comes.
For some, they are simply condemned to its burning.
Anyway, this is the story of Lain.
Lets call it fiction.
There is no way in hell that anyone would believe it anyway.