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| The Dark Corridor | |||||||||||||||||
| By Laura Jayne-Anne Comer | |||||||||||||||||
| Imagine your home in a city. Imagine the city with no daylight, peace or love. Now imagine the city as one half of the painting, as a body short of life: something missing. It nags you inside eats away at the only thing that makes your identity, personality. The thing that makes you do as you do and think the things that society would hide from. | |||||||||||||||||
| The nagging stopped today. | |||||||||||||||||
| You are aware of the missing thing?s identity. You are determined to find it. Nothing will stop you. No laws, morals or common sense. Being aware of this ?gap? drives you. | |||||||||||||||||
| It is tomorrow. The plans you had for the day are abandoned. In their place you are lost in you thoughts. You fall into a deep slumber. | |||||||||||||||||
| You arrive inside your essence. Darkness lights you down a corridor. You know it well. The darkness symbolic of the city atmosphere; the corridor your life, ongoing and your sanctuary, familiar, safe and predictable. The corridor runs on and you are gliding blindly along. | |||||||||||||||||
| Something aches inside you. You listen to it?s words. | |||||||||||||||||
| ?Open your eyes? A million whispers echo and the corridor throbs. It does not want you to open your eyes. You sense this and look harder. Either human nature or the realisation that the darkness has something to hide, makes you do this. | |||||||||||||||||
| A twinkle, a pinprick, a speck of dust perhaps, catches your attention. As you focus on this it grows, opens, spreads, is given life. It?s beauty overwhelms you and your heart skips a beat. | |||||||||||||||||
| You are mesmerised and engrossed by this light. | |||||||||||||||||
| You feel as though everything in your life is calm, perfected. You feel beautiful and you realise your vanity, jealousy and impatience drives you into an ocean of evil and negativity. | |||||||||||||||||
| You feel ashamed and the dazzling sphere of light closes around you in sympathy. You are forgiven. | |||||||||||||||||
| Everything jilts and it is the next day. | |||||||||||||||||
| Do you ignore the aching persuasive, the nagging or complete the painting and give the body a life. | |||||||||||||||||
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