Is your mind a friend to your spirit? Mine isn’t, and I feel that my internals have jumped from the highest building available to them. A foreign spirit exists in me, within me, like it’s their empire. Why did I allow? I didn’t, it just didn’t ask for permission. Imprisoned by my biological body, I feel it lacks the sense of inevitability of resurrection. I am looking through my eyes, but not my vision. I am typing with my fingers but not my motion. I am with me, but not my creation. I am being directed under an influence (Do I want to escape?).
I was there- right there- on my bed (until I wasn’t). A noise rang in my eardrums, and there I was captured, locked, and under captivity, forced to go through the torment behind the lids of my blind eyes. It was a well-designed setup, in the very place I am staying now. The lights had been changed- the overall ambience of the place had been severely distorted for the worse. Pungency floated through the air. The lights just got dimmer, the ether got heavier.
Both my unconscious and conscious hearts practised being an extraordinary drummer out of the blue, and as I already said, I had no grip on them. My co-inhabitants were not in their usual habitats (Was I Alone? Maybe, maybe not).
My already possessed eyes informed me of their sighting of two bizarre women in our hostel. I conveyed that information to our warden. She acted unperturbed, making me swallow a gulp of my saliva mixed with revulsion and malaise. Jerking it off (or just pretending to), I headed towards my room with steps wobbling more than a drunken man’s. It seemed my gut had exchanged places with my brain, and my cerebellum was kidnapped, but the kidnapper doesn’t demand money; rather, a plethora of sensibility, which obviously can’t be traded. Hence, I swayed my way with half-lost locomotive senses (What more will I lose?).
As if from nowhere came the intuitive notion of my supposed distressed mate. She was there, but I couldn’t see her, or maybe the eyes could but didn’t inform me. Whichever may be the case, she appeared like glitches and I couldn’t help the already cognition-twisting visions of mine. Then something pulled my encephalon and tied a rosette out of it. She got pushed off our balcony- like a flash. Her neck snapped in the slowest pace you could ever imagine- ah, the dynamics of time.
The road which led to our door, painted itself in the darkest hues of red and crimson and black. Her blood was so black? Who could’ve ever thought? Darker than the place under my bed. One of us was dead already. I have seen corpses (many actually), but not a fresh one. This was my first time actually encountering one fresh out of the oven- crisp. My eyes (under my influence this time) stood riveted in awe (wonderful fear or fearful wonder?) A minute passed- the cold, black body turned itself into a magnet for the people, like a fish for the cats.
I gained a new experience in life (doesn’t matter whether in phantasm or verity), but my limbs were disoriented at that instance. I had no mother, no father, no guardian angel behind me to command me my next actions, but it was there, on my left, on my right, behind, under, and above me. There was no escape. I might be the next, or may become it. I had turned sober way back. But the intoxication never left me. It was there, feeding on the parasites of my demented cadaver. I felt something drop from my eyes (For her? Nah). I feared my future.
Although I knew the escape was to just wake up. I felt terror consume me wholly. For I knew, I had no control over myself, even if I wanted to run, I wouldn’t be able to, as there’s no damn way- nowhere. I was well aware that it would follow me everywhere I went. So I stood there. Not blinking even once. Such a picturesque moment in front of me, how could I blink?
Dead women are beautiful. I dreaded what was inside her and where it might go. Another one from our trio was missing as well. I knew this was a spectre, encircling me, hiding behind the curtains, the people, the wall, the floor. I had to go somewhere, somewhere where this won’t find me. With a perfect cinematic slow motion, I turned back, only to find those two eccentric women climbing up the walls of my room. That’s it. It’s time to remind them whose vision drives this. This frenzied hand caught their hair, with a robustness of almost tearing those off from their ugly scalps.
Summoning the holy trinity, my incantations slapped the satanism out of their vessels. Like coward dogs, they fled. Like a hero mid-climax, I was wearied, and I think my heart had pumped the most in its whole life. Not even two breaths, and my next dare was standing in front of me. The third one of our diabolical trio. Pretty. I wonder why the phantom had to hide under the bodies of people to stand in front of me. Bloody gutless creature. Began the war (of two opposites or contemporaries?).
I believe I was bipolar because why would I be both terror-stricken and heroic at the same time? She climbed on me, and I let her. It thought it had incarcerated me and had the perfect grip on me. But did it really? I need to reclaim the narrative. I cast spells on that entity (never been fonder of mantras). There happened an enchanted scene. Her tongue was curved back, and the bottom of her tongue was towards me- onyx black. Fuming with rage, it used all its supernatural powers to get rid of me. You know now who was under captivity. The power of divinity won’t let that petite creature breathe now.
Each time I chanted, clutching her neck at the mercy point, like gripping dawn before it shatters into light, the ink in her tongue rose and descended like a vile pulse. I dragged her by her hair to a temple and threw her across the threshold. All this valour couldn’t be contained in my consciousness, so I did what I should have done a long time ago- wake up. My poltroon reality swept into sleep paralysis in broad daylight (never wanted a nightmare to come into existence more).
Philosophers see dreams as a gateway to your psyche- the ‘you’ without presuppositions. What if the ‘you’ has no consciousness? Phenomenology doesn’t work for phantoms. You never know if you fear or are one. You will never know what your true self is. I am being directed under an influence, and I don’t want to escape.
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