| The Gate of Horn Surfacing |
| This story shall be updated as it is written. Surfacing is a working title and will probably change in a short amount of time. Should you have suggestions on a title, or if you like it's current title, please let me know! |
| PART ONE: Civil Reticence and New Solace I The fire consumed the small village in a matter of seconds. The inhabitants hadn�t time to react, though had they been granted such, it is difficult to believe that they would have taken advantage of it. The luminescence in all of its power, vibrant expressions of yellow and orange dancing rhythmically to the loud silence, outshone the unnaturally blue sky, the flawless green grass that evenly covered the earth, and the dark, bare flesh of the children, their features contorting and undulating before becoming all together unrecognizable. Soon, the colors fused in a swirl of ambiguity and the scenery dissolved into nothing more than glowing embers amid the fiery ash. Daniel sat back and watched in tormenting tumult as the painting was erased, leaving only the chalk dust as evidence of its existence. Miranda turned over in bed and gazed at the emptiness of its opposite half. She had not seen her husband in almost a week; he remained secluded in the den on the third floor. He had not eaten in three days, though she continued to leave the meals by the door. The doctor would arrive the next morning, and then she would insist upon some change in Daniel�s current lifestyle. Another tear fell to the damp pillow. Pacing the floor, Daniel began to consider a new piece: A landscape perhaps, though a bevy of such works had already cluttered the room. The cathedral which could be seen through the sole window of the den was glowing in the late night; Daniel could see the flickering motions of a large group of candles, the walls dappled with vivacious light. He had painted it twice already, neither any better than the other. Neither any good at all. His pacing was slow and sullen. He stopped only once as he heard the lithium tablets, which had spilled to the floor some nights ago, collapse beneath the weight of his feet. He picked up the remains of one pill, examined it for a moment, and then shoved it into his mouth, swallowing coarsely. II Daybreak greeted Daniel swiftly, though he had not slept save for some half hour. There came a knock at the door around seven, and despite the lack of introduction by the perpetrator, he knew very well it would be the doctor. He was due for his regular inspection, and Daniel had failed to take his medication regularly as he was directed. He felt inhibited by them. They seemed to impede the flow of creativity that Daniel reveled in during his mildly manic states, though he was well aware that he was far from any mania. He sat back in the recliner which faced the window and stood juxtaposed to the crude fireplace as the second knock resounded through the small room. He still held a paintbrush in his hand and his eyes seemed to fade into some new space as he gently bit the handle�s tip. He had become briefly transported to some timeless frame of mind where the visual world slipped from him and he was left with nothingness. The endless oblivion pressed upon him though he could hear muffled voices calling from a distant place; one that was nonexistent for just a single moment. He did not fight his loss of consciousness, rather he embraced it as he knew it would not linger. The third knock startled him to his senses, and he hastily pulled back the wooden door to reveal an aged man with a developing paunch. He was frowning in a queer way that made his eyes narrow and his forehead furrow in no particular pattern. Daniel turned from him and moved back to his chair at the opposite end of the room. The doctor moved into the den and began scrutinizing it. He was followed by Miranda whom appeared meek and timid in demeanor. She stared helplessly from the threshold at her husband whose gaze was fixed through the dirty glass of the window. Doctor Fenton took a seat slowly at a table which was cluttered by masses of paper covered in a near illegible scrawl. He began to sift through them, occasionally pausing to attempt to decipher the written works. Daniel heard a sheet fall to the floor and shifted his gaze to the man who was now bending uneasily to retrieve it. �That�s not your concern,� he said, flatly. There was no force or sense of exasperation in his tone, but the doctor pulled back from the table no less quickly. �Have you been taking your meds, Daniel?� the doctor inquired, shifting in the small, wicker dining chair, which groaned beneath his weight. Daniel did not respond, rather his eyes returned to the window. He exhaled softly. �Judging by what your wife has told me and your apparent state at this point, I�d wager not.� Fenton cocked his head toward his left shoulder seeking some explanation. Daniel exhaled again, this time a bit more sharply, irritated. �Would you mind telling me why you won�t take them, Daniel?� His glasses sat on the tip of his nose in the queer way that you saw on elderly women whose eyes had grown weary of peering through the lenses. They were meant for reading, Daniel noted, though they perturbed him nonetheless. Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his recliner, opened his mouth and then closed it again quickly, as if he meant to speak but then thought better of it. His gaze did not travel from the doctor but his focus became lost again, this time, however, more aware of his surroundings. Fenton cleared his throat bluntly, adjusted the frames of his glasses and silently remained hell-bent on receiving his requested response. Daniel could see the doctors patience withering. �Of course I have,� was Daniel�s response and it took Fenton a bit by surprise. Daniel exhaled heavily again, this time as though he had been holding it for a while. Fenton frowned again and then inquired, �You have been taking the lithium then?� Daniel nodded. �Everyday.� He continued to nod, perhaps to convince himself that he was telling the truth. �Then, you wouldn�t mind if I checked your blood pressure and the dilation of your pupils?� It was phrased as a question though truly was anything but. Fenton was already moving toward him with an unreadable expression donned, his hand in his bag fumbling for some tool. Daniel turned toward the window again, but closed his eyes. He was not concerned; rather he was mildly aggravated by the presumptuous manner of this man. His head fell limp toward his left shoulder as the doctor took hold of his opposite arm and wrapped it in the Velcro-lined nylon band. He managed to hold his eyes steady as Fenton peered into them; his forehead furrowed once again, his own eyes strained behind the dull Plexiglas of his lenses. �Follow the light with only your eyes, please,� he requested of Daniel, whom obliged as best he could. Fenton pulled back shortly thereafter and studied his patient for a moment, his eyes flickering across the man�s body as though searching for some incriminating fact. Daniel returned the stare, somewhat insulted. A long silence ensued before Fenton spoke, and when the sound of his voice did finally pass his pair of light, dry lips, it was both somber and impatient in tone, though it lacked any commandment. He spoke softly and frankly, his face unreadable to Daniel. �You are dying, Daniel, by the will of your own hand.� It was a statement behind which there was vast evidence, and they both knew as much. There was a small pause. �Not physically, of course, as I�m sure you realize. Rather, it is a gradual internal erosion of the mind, of rationality. You know well enough that sustaining stability is possible, even likely, though you choose to relinquish that freedom for reasons which I will allow to remain your own. �I am not here to engage in any type of conflict, but I will be blunt and say that this has become a waste of my time. I come here twice a week and find your medicine strewn upon the floor, your wife complaining that you remain secluded in this unkempt room, papers and unfinished paintings stacked with little organization and no attention. Why do you have me come when you are not interested in your own betterment? �I do not expect a reply, for I know you have none. I will return on Monday, and if there is no improvement, I will terminate my services, and give you the solitude you desire. That�s what you want, isn�t it?� He turned to Miranda and shook his head. �I apologize, Ms. Thorne, that you are coerced to endure this. I pray that Daniel comes to his senses for your sake. If only for your sake.� And with that said, he departed the room hastily, high on the adrenaline necessary to put forth his thoughts. Daniel scowled at the place where the doctor once stood, and Miranda left the room quietly, tears settling at the crook of her cheekbones. III Daniel�s apparitions came strongly that evening, more so than usual as often they appeared transparent or faint, but tonight were fully formed and palpable. Dozens of men filed into the room decked in black business suits, some holding briefcases, others carrying large presentation folders. They took their seats at a long, makeshift, oaken table, setting up easels and organizing portfolios, some scrawling hurriedly on yellow, ruled note pads. Daniel remained motionless, watching, though inattentively. When all of the council had arrived, an elderly man whose brown leather wingchair stood at the head of the table called them to order, and the men complied almost subserviently. He spoke of past confluences and outdated subject matters, throwing in stale anecdotes sporadically, which often received soft rolling laughter, before addressing the issues at hand. Daniel�s face grew pale when his name was mentioned; his hearing sharpened and his focus, which normally went astray in times like this, was precise and clear. A man (no particular man) stood back from his chair and set his easel with the painting Daniel had created the previous night. He cringed at the sight of the African children, their skin a gleaming black-blue in the midday sun, the homes standing outlandishly large and refined for the time and place of the portrait. He wondered how it had come into this man�s possession when he had burned it not twenty-four hours ago. The revealing of the painting sparked rapid and hushed discussion amongst the men, all of them shaking their heads or averting their eyes. Daniel felt his stomach churning, his heart fluttering. The man at the forefront of the table lowered his head for a moment, and then looked Daniel in the eye, scorn masking the meek, elderly face. Daniel leapt to his feet and pressed himself against the back wall, his eyes wide with disbelief. �Daniel.� The man�s speech was slow and icy. He cocked his head to one side, his lips merging and shifting to form a queer smile. Daniel fell to the floor, curled in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. Tears fell from his eyes to the cold, dull wood of the den floorboards. He began to speak, but his words were muted and slurred, little more than prattle. He heard Miranda�s name pass his lips as he wept before his displeased father. �What have you to say, Daniel?� His tone suggested contempt without force. He pushed the wingchair from the table and stood, adjusting his blazer, and circling to the end closest to his son. His arms were crossed on this chest and his right foot crossed in front of the left. His thin white hair sat kempt above his steel blue eyes. His cheeks were slightly flushed, the sole indicator to Daniel that his father was more than the waxy, lifeless statue that stood before him. �What have you to say?� he repeated when his son did not respond. Daniel continued to purge incoherent apologies rather than excuses, tears trailing his cold cheeks in great abundance. �Speak like a man, you fool,� he exclaimed, his hands balled into fists, now at his sides, �I did not raise a baboon! How are you going to explain this�this disgrace to every art class that stole from my pockets, from your mother�s well being?� �Shut up!� Daniel shouted as loud as his breath would carry his voice. His breathing was heavy and quickened with a hoarse rasp beneath it. �I�did�not�kill her!� He wiped the salty water from his face in one undignified sweep of his hand. �I did not�� He closed his eyes and shivered slightly, regaining his composure. �You think�you think that I killed her? Is that what you�� �No. No, I�� �Twenty dollars a month I spent on that trash and all the while your mother was weeping silently in the dark of the bedroom, her body destroying itself, her mind decaying, never daring to speak a word for your sake. �Daniel loves those classes,� she would plead to me every night. �I�m fine,� she lied, when our financial well being was at stake. On whom should you place the blame, Daniel?� �I�m sorry, Daddy,� he said into his own arm. �I didn�t know.� �Did you bother to inquire? How often did you speak to your mother? How often?� �I tried�� �You didn�t. You hid from her. You know well enough; you didn�t want to see her die.� �I hid from you!� �Indeed? You have some gall, boy. I�m the only friend you have now.� The man was now approaching his violently weeping son. He grabbed Daniel�s arm and brought him to a kneeling position, though Daniel�s legs were weak and seemed to have lost their feeling. �Get up here, damn it!� he shouted. Daniel was shaking his head despite becoming stable on his knees. �No,� he said too softly for his father to hear. �We�re going to pray now, Daniel. We are going to ask God for His forgiveness�for your mother�s forgiveness.� Daniel watched the silent, expressionless faces at the table behind his father. Some were conferring to each other in whispers, other gazing upon him fixatedly. �Don�t look at them.� He took hold of Daniel�s chin and forced it to face his own. �Close your eyes, son.� Daniel shook his head more aggressively now. �No,� he said calmly, �I don�t believe in any God. There is no God.� The back of his father�s hand came so swiftly, Daniel had not seen it in motion. He pressed his own hand to his cheek where he could feel the blood rushing and the skin swelling with heat. He closed his eyes and continued to shake his head, his hand still consoling the blow. �I will not pray; you cannot make me. There is no God.� His voice began to rise in pitch and volume. �There is no God. THERE IS NO GOD!� He was breathing heavily and fell, face first, into the floor and then rolled to his side, shaking vigorously with each breath. The air was still then. The heat had thickened and Daniel could feel the dampness catch at the back of his throat. His screams had softened to a low mumble and he began to press his hands upon the floor so as to bring himself to his knees again. �Please leave me,� was the next coherent sentence to escape him, shuddering and breathy. He followed the floorboards to where his father had stood, but the polished black loafers had been replaced by a pair of smooth, dark, and bare feet, which Daniel�s eyes trailed upward toward the face of a beautiful woman dressed in a pink tank top and jeans that hugged her form, her black hair tumbling around her shoulders and her brow furrowed with thought. �Oh, I�m sorry,� he wiped the tears from his face and cleaned his hand dry on his pants, �I thought you were someone else.� He released a stale chuckle of assuagement and she smiled at him. Taken aback by her beauty, he dropped to a sitting position and asked �Who are you?� He didn�t care to know where his father had gone, so long as he couldn�t be seen. Instead of introducing herself, she extended her hand to him and he took it. She lifted Daniel to his feet with no sign of effort and then stepped back as an artist would do to study his subject. Still within reach, Daniel moved to touch her face, and though he knew she could be nothing but a vision, the tenderness of her cheek was as real as anything he had ever known. At that point he no longer cared to know her name. He simply reveled in her presence and the wonder she inspired in him. His hand moved from her cheek to her hair and he curled his fingers in it. She did not seem to mind. Daniel closed his eyes and let his fingers linger in the silk-like curls. She moved in closer to him and took his chin in her hand the way his father had but with no force. He reopened his eyes and watched as her flawless face moved in to his, and their lips then converged, their breath being shared for that single moment, and he wore her lips as his own. He did not take notice as she slowly vanished beneath the touch of his hand. [END PART ONE] |