Sunrazor
The Fly
For everyone else's benefit.
-3-
Bono leaned back on the pillows and closed his eyelids, which felt increasingly heavy. Well, guys, he thought. What now?
There was nothing.
C'mon boys. No ranting to do? No fucked-up wisdom to impart? Better get it out of the way now. I'm fed, watered, and quite well-medicated, and if there's nothing further, I'm going to go to sleep.
The soft, cautious voice answered him, echoing up through the back rooms of his mind.
Observe, consider, decide.
He waited. There was nothing. Only that, and nothing more. The line from The Raven seemed to drift up from rooms even further and colder than the ones from which the voices came, and Bono shuddered.
Good Christ, I really am losing it, he thought, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. I'm hearing voices in my head. I'm talking back to them. I'll be seeing them sitting on my fucking legs next.
No, the voice replied, sounding a bit annoyed. You're not insane. Not yet, anyway. Because you know the voices inside you are still you, however separate and alien we may seem. And yes, you may be seeing us before this is all over and done with. And yes, that may signal the end of your sanity. But that doesn't matter, really. This may not end up being about sanity. What it may end up being about, Bono, is survival. So shut up, and observe, consider, and decide.
Survival? he screamed back, unaware that he had begun to breathe fast, and that sweat was beading on his forehead. Why would it be about that? I'm fine! I'm in good hands! I'm being taken care of!
The voice said nothing.
Bono let out a shuddering breath and relaxed. Okay. Okay, you win. What does all that mean? What do you want me to do?
Just what I said.
I don't fucking UNDERSTAND what you said!
Yes, you do. You're in a potentially dangerous situation. You don't know how dangerous just yet, but I think we can all agree that you aren't exactly sitting pretty here. Do what any intelligent person would do in a dangerous situation. Analyze it. Observe facts, consider options, decide actions.
No, he cried, shouting it down increasingly dark hallways and shadowy rooms of his mind. I'm tired. Then, inexplicably, The tide's coming in.
Then just do this. Run down what you know. Just that, then I'll go away.
Fine.
He moaned, and shifted slightly. His legs grumbled sharply and were still again.
I know that there's a bad storm.
I know that my legs are broken, although I don't yet know how badly.
I know that I'm still in Washington. In the Cascades, somewhere.
Did he know that? Surely, if he'd been driving, he wouldn't have gotten out of the state. Surely not.
What were you driving AWAY from? What about that?
The voice was harsh, unexpected, unfamiliar. He gasped, and shook his head slightly.
No. No. No need to go into that. It's the past. It has nothing to do with where I am now.
He continued the list, which was now taking on a mantra-like feel. It calmed him, and dulled the clamouring voices in his head.
The light was slipping out of the room, and the color went with it. He turned his head to the left, and saw that the snow had, for the moment, stopped. Through the frosty glass he could see the setting sun, little more than a line of brilliant crimson on the horizon. To the right, he could see the beginnings of what looked like mountain peaks, tree-covered, and blanketed with snow. He raised his head a little, and, looking down, could see what looked like a valley, deep and full of snow. So he was on a hill, then. Quite a high one, it seemed.
All the world was white. It was almost startlingly beautiful, and he could feel tears pricking his eyes.
I know I'm scared. I'm scared that she IS crazy. I'm scared that I'll die here. I'm scared that I won't see my children grow up, I won't hold my wife again, I won't laugh with my friends, or stagger home half drunk and half asleep, or stay in an empty studio until the wee hours of the morning, desperate to finish a song that just isn't the way I want it to be, I won't, I won't, I won't?
I know I want to go home.
I want to go home.
Quietly, he began to cry, and squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to sleep, but it was a was a long time before the tide came in and the black waters closed over him.
****************************
Again, feedback and/or offerings of immortal souls are appreciated.
------------------
"It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything." - Fight Club
"Here's where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don't forget. Forget that there are places in the world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside that's yours, that they can't touch. That's the beauty of music. They can't take that away from you." - The Shawshank Redemption
"All God wants is a willing heart and for us to call out to him." - Bono
"Ohh!!! Egyptians!" - Me, on AOL IM
-3-
Bono leaned back on the pillows and closed his eyelids, which felt increasingly heavy. Well, guys, he thought. What now?
There was nothing.
C'mon boys. No ranting to do? No fucked-up wisdom to impart? Better get it out of the way now. I'm fed, watered, and quite well-medicated, and if there's nothing further, I'm going to go to sleep.
The soft, cautious voice answered him, echoing up through the back rooms of his mind.
Observe, consider, decide.
He waited. There was nothing. Only that, and nothing more. The line from The Raven seemed to drift up from rooms even further and colder than the ones from which the voices came, and Bono shuddered.
Good Christ, I really am losing it, he thought, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. I'm hearing voices in my head. I'm talking back to them. I'll be seeing them sitting on my fucking legs next.
No, the voice replied, sounding a bit annoyed. You're not insane. Not yet, anyway. Because you know the voices inside you are still you, however separate and alien we may seem. And yes, you may be seeing us before this is all over and done with. And yes, that may signal the end of your sanity. But that doesn't matter, really. This may not end up being about sanity. What it may end up being about, Bono, is survival. So shut up, and observe, consider, and decide.
Survival? he screamed back, unaware that he had begun to breathe fast, and that sweat was beading on his forehead. Why would it be about that? I'm fine! I'm in good hands! I'm being taken care of!
The voice said nothing.
Bono let out a shuddering breath and relaxed. Okay. Okay, you win. What does all that mean? What do you want me to do?
Just what I said.
I don't fucking UNDERSTAND what you said!
Yes, you do. You're in a potentially dangerous situation. You don't know how dangerous just yet, but I think we can all agree that you aren't exactly sitting pretty here. Do what any intelligent person would do in a dangerous situation. Analyze it. Observe facts, consider options, decide actions.
No, he cried, shouting it down increasingly dark hallways and shadowy rooms of his mind. I'm tired. Then, inexplicably, The tide's coming in.
Then just do this. Run down what you know. Just that, then I'll go away.
Fine.
He moaned, and shifted slightly. His legs grumbled sharply and were still again.
I know that there's a bad storm.
I know that my legs are broken, although I don't yet know how badly.
I know that I'm still in Washington. In the Cascades, somewhere.
Did he know that? Surely, if he'd been driving, he wouldn't have gotten out of the state. Surely not.
What were you driving AWAY from? What about that?
The voice was harsh, unexpected, unfamiliar. He gasped, and shook his head slightly.
No. No. No need to go into that. It's the past. It has nothing to do with where I am now.
He continued the list, which was now taking on a mantra-like feel. It calmed him, and dulled the clamouring voices in his head.
The light was slipping out of the room, and the color went with it. He turned his head to the left, and saw that the snow had, for the moment, stopped. Through the frosty glass he could see the setting sun, little more than a line of brilliant crimson on the horizon. To the right, he could see the beginnings of what looked like mountain peaks, tree-covered, and blanketed with snow. He raised his head a little, and, looking down, could see what looked like a valley, deep and full of snow. So he was on a hill, then. Quite a high one, it seemed.
All the world was white. It was almost startlingly beautiful, and he could feel tears pricking his eyes.
I know I'm scared. I'm scared that she IS crazy. I'm scared that I'll die here. I'm scared that I won't see my children grow up, I won't hold my wife again, I won't laugh with my friends, or stagger home half drunk and half asleep, or stay in an empty studio until the wee hours of the morning, desperate to finish a song that just isn't the way I want it to be, I won't, I won't, I won't?
I know I want to go home.
I want to go home.
Quietly, he began to cry, and squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to sleep, but it was a was a long time before the tide came in and the black waters closed over him.
****************************
Again, feedback and/or offerings of immortal souls are appreciated.
------------------
"It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything." - Fight Club
"Here's where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don't forget. Forget that there are places in the world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside that's yours, that they can't touch. That's the beauty of music. They can't take that away from you." - The Shawshank Redemption
"All God wants is a willing heart and for us to call out to him." - Bono
"Ohh!!! Egyptians!" - Me, on AOL IM
