New Light (Part One) Chapter IA Chapter by TheJordBaker
This is the opening few paragraphs to a novel I've had in my head for 2 years but haven't had the discipline or time to write.
Moonlight; you hear tales of how it seduces creatures of the night. They obey it, bow and cry to it. The truth is the parts of ourselves we lose are all around it in the stars; our spirit, our soul. As I looked at the moon’s reflection in my bathroom mirror, its pure whiteness and mystery seemed to reflect the lifeless clarity of my eyes. Its vast snowy lies a perfect imitation of the blood-drained skin on the face of little more than a beast; un-human, un-dead. It’s all dried up.
I tapped the razor off the side of the basin three times, and ran the tap to wash the hairs away. Focusing all strength on not running the warm water over my face, no matter how long this stallion had braved the desert, he could not drink. I ran my fingers over my freshly shaven face, and wondered how misleading the term ‘freshly shaven’ now seemed to me, how real any of this failed to seem. I shook it off and the red ring faded back into my clear eyes. It almost made me feel human again. Almost. I studied my naked body in the mirror looking for signs of humanity, the hairs on my chest, scanning slowly upwards, the bony iceberg tips of my collarbones, the Adam’s apple which suggested I was at least once a man. The pin-precision scars to its left. My cold finger-tips caressed them and I winced, yet I felt no pain. Perhaps that is what hurt the most at that moment. These are the only scars I have that will never heal, and even they gave me no pain.
My sigh was as long as the night before me as I left the bathroom and threw on an outfit, smart-casual. Trousers and shirt, reasonably expensive jacket, no tie. I tidied my hair up as best I could be bothered with and sat on the edge of my bed to fasten up my shoes. My eyes were drawn to it, the newspaper peering its head from not quite under the bed, looking for me, checking if I’d calmed down enough to look at it fairly. We’d go through the same routine every night. It’d catch my eye, I’d start to read the article, crumble under the stress and throw it further away so I might never see it again. The London Times dated 21st January 2012. Three days after I had to leave. Leave for the good of us all. Leave everything behind. I can never go back. Whether I like it or not, this is my life now. I’m not necessarily alone, but I’m not loved either, at least not by these people, not properly. Would my family love me now? My friends, if they could see what I’ve become, what I do? That’s why I’ve held onto the article for two months I suppose, to remind me of who I am. But I can’t read it because I need to forget it all, move clear and start again as best I can.
© 2012 TheJordBaker
Sunderland, United Kingdom
AboutI'm Jordan and I'm 20 years old. I am a poet and recently released my first poetry collection on Kindle (These Waters), as well as having some poetry published in other formats. I have also written s.. more..