Listen.

For the first time, I'm uploading something very different: this is a creative piece from my latest english exam paper. The topic for my essay was 'Write a story titled 'Listen' in which the protagonist becomes the antagonist or vice versa. Create a sense of timing and setting.'
So here goes. 

Listen.

Listen very closely.

Can you hear that feeble sound, like autumn leaves crunching crunching underfoot?  Can you hear the light footfall coming your way?

Keep listening. 

Can you hear raspy breaths like a hot summer wind blowing against rags?  Can you hear the rhythm of the breaths as you hear them approaching you?

Close your eyes and listen.

The darkness is closing in on you but listen or it will swallow you.  Close your eyes tight and hide in the darkness beneath your lids for that is your only solace.

Listen- what do you hear now?

The footsteps are coming closer.  The breaths are growing louder.

What else do you hear?

The slow thudding of your beating heart like a sledge-hammer in your chest.   

The darkness is warm around you; yet you feel shivers running down your spine.  Your fists clench in anticipation but instead of feeling any hope, all you feel when you do this is sweat and anxiety.  Your knees are shaking now and your lower lip is faintly trembling.  Sweat gathers on your forehead like fresh dew might, in the mornings on young green leaves.  Even in the darkness, your face is visibly losing colour.

Keep listening.

As I watch you, I wonder, do you feel any sense of remorse for all that you've done?  Do you  remember now, in this moment, that all the women you slaughtered just to see their life and blood ebb out of an incision you made; stood right here before you- just like this?  Does it thrill you to take their place, in the way that it thrilled you to put the women in this place at all?  The sweat beaded on their foreheads too and mingled with the tears on their faces.  Did you care?

You should have listened.

You should have listened to them screaming and crying, praying and pleading.  Instead, all you did was hear them.  It excited you, to see them before you silenced them forever.  It was music to your ears, to hear them cry and scream.

I know all this because I listened.

You have shattered families, you have shed blood that left children orphaned, parents child-less and husbands as widowers.  You carefully picked out women with complete families in their homes and love in their hearts.  You meticulously hunted them down, drew them out and walloped them in your darkness.  One quick incision to the life force at their throats and you would let the darkness swallow them forever.

I just saw your eyes flutter wide open in terror.

You can't see anything in the darkness.  Has realisation set in on you?  Do you know why you're here?  Something about the amount of fear I see in your eyes and your quickened thudding heartbeat amidst all this silence, tells me you do.  Don't struggle, your hands and feet have been bound as tightly as you bound the women you killed.  Don't try to scream, your mouth has been gagged because if you scream, you won't be able to listen.

And you need to listen.

Listen to the now faster falling footsteps. 

Listen to the low, throaty chuckle as it comes your way. 

Listen to the raspy breathing almost at you ear.  Listen to the hum of metal as it callously cuts the air, it hasn't touched you yet.

Keep listening.

Listen in your own head to all the screams and cries and pleas of all the innocent women whose lives you took.  Listen, now, instead of hearing them.

Listen to the tears rolling down your cheeks and listen to that scared little heart of yours, pounding away within your chest.

Listen, for I am coming.

Listen to my footsteps.

Listen to my breaths.

Listen to the hum of steel as I send your own instrument of joy, your way.

Listen until the darkness swallows you like it did all those women.

Listen to the heart beating in my chest for all the women you slaughtered and all the women being killed out there.  These killers are going to have to start listening to Me soon.

For now, You listen.

Quicksand.

A friend of mine by the name of Svojas once said 'We all start off on the same boat, without a paddle. Its up to you to take that risk and jump, slowly making your way to the bank. They might call you stupid, forget about them, at least you know where you're headed.' 

He was right.

Do you have the strength to swim out of Quicksand, though?

In the jungle, the mighty jungle:

He had come too far, walking by himself-
Only grasping on to the hanging vines and  branches that he called 'Friends'.
He had come too far, walking by himself-
Trying to find happiness on the way in the same roses that pierced the hands he held them with.

He had  come too far, camouflaging himself-
From the hungry beasts and treacherous birds of feather that flocked together.
He had come too far, camouflaging himself-
Trying to be someone he isn't, feigning pride in what he was trying to become.

He had come too far to see the Quicksand ahead of him.

One foot in, two feet in.
Legs in, torso in.
Up to his neck, in.
Only flailing arms above his head, waving like a white flag.

Now that he was in the Quicksand,
Stuck in sticky Conundrum-
The vines and branches were too far to reach.
The roses were too high up their stems, he could only grab at the thorns.

Now that he was in the Quicksand,
Barely breathing, drowning in Conundrum-
The cawing birds he'd wanted to be a part of, sung merrily of his fast-approaching demise,
And the hyenas he'd once tried to be a part of, stood by the edges of the quagmire baring their teeth.

He was moving too fast in the Quicksand,
Trying too hard to convince his Friends he was one of them.
He called out to the birds, he grabbed hard at the thorns;
He proffered himself to beasts staring at him hungrily, hoping for a miracle.

And then a miracle did come-
Realization.

He put down all he had on him,
Got out of the shoes that he'd been trying to put himself in for too long.
He began to relax and slowly,
He began to let go of his camouflage.

He began breathing,
And very slowly began moving forward.
He lay back and began slowly wading
Towards the muddy shores of the quagmire.

One arm out, two arms out.
Torso out, legs out.
Up to his toes, out.
Only his past self and all that he had carried were now left drowning in the Quicksand.

Epilogue:
In the jungle, the mighty jungle
He walks. 
He walks hand in hand with his new Friends, those who trust in him;
Those who hold his hand for who he really is. 
He's left the hyenas, thorns and vultures behind, 
He's left behind the ghosts of his past. 
Now in the jungle, the mighty jungle, 
He walks.

Masks.

So many times, different events and people change us- some for the better, while some for the worse. But the worst kind of change is when we are  forced to forget or suppress our true selves to bear with the chilly wind of Reality. The worst kind of change occurs then, when we have to put on a Mask.


She knocked,
He let her in.
He opened the door wide,
unsuspecting of treason.

And then another came by,
He opened the door again.
He let this one in too,
And then the next ten.

The door he opened was in his face slammed shut,
so many times that even he couldn't remember.
The day came when it broke, eventually
He couldn't put it back, piece it together.

And so, he set to work- he made himself a Mask,
made it with his own bare hands and a barely thudding heart.
A Mask so strong that it couldn't be shattered;
it took time- but of him, it eventually became a part.

No more doors, no more scattered emotions
At least none that the world could see-
Not even his lover who whispered she loved him,
Though he knew she didn't as much as he did, she didn't truly.

Unlike the people that came and left,
the Mask stayed sturdy through all the hurt.
Strengthening its already firm hold over him,
Leaving him of emotions, seemingly, a dearth.

But nothing can ever be that good,
Oh no, the Mask was far from perfect.
He suffocated in Sadness, drowned in Loneliness inside;
While pretending to hold his head high and back erect.

He cried from within the Mask, silent tears
That couldn't from the grasp of it, flee-
His face inside the Mask, grew contorted with pain;
Lips bitten down to maintain the secrecy.

He couldn't risk the heartbreak
Of everyone leaving, he told himself.
To keep from that, the Mask must stay on-
For now, the secretly beating heart must be put on a shelf.

-
I wish I could hold his hand
And tell him there's another way out, he's gotten it all wrong.
I'll then hope that my words penetrate his Mask
And he'll take it off- allowing me to see that beautiful face I haven't seen in so, so long.