Sunday 3 February 2008 photo 4/6
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Learn to be Lonely He crouched, a shadow among the shadows. The edge of the building dug into his feet. It didn’t matter. If he had his way, soon none of it would matter. Sounds of the city floated up the thirty stories to meet his ears. The roaring of traffic, the shouting of voices, clangs, clatters, splashes, crashes. None of this registered. Not for him. For him, it was as though he were in a void. Not that he couldn’t hear anything. Oh no. He could hear his brothers just fine. “Donatello! Dona—” In his mind’s eye, he could see it again, replaying over and over, like a broken record, only with video. His orange-clad brother’s voice cut off in an instant, one eternally long instant, by a simple chunk of stone. Crushed. One moment. “Mikey! NO!! NO!!!” The voices continued to play in his mind; his fist gripped the hard concrete. He didn’t even realize that it was biting into hands, drawing blood. “My son!” “Mike!” Then it came, a sound that Donatello had wished he’d never heard. He still didn’t believe that it hadn’t been a horrible nightmare. Three anguished cries of pain, three voices raised up in terror. To be cut short. An explosion, from which they didn’t escape. Couldn’t escape. Donatello could. He did. He wished he hadn’t. He replayed the battle scene in his mind, putting together all the facts, turning it over and over, like a stone, examining it from all angles. One question haunted him: could he have done anything? Would they be alive today if he’d done something different? It all happened so fast… He couldn’t go back to the lair. Not without them. It had been two days. He couldn’t even move from this spot. He wasn’t aware of his the pangs of hunger attacking his stomach. “Donatello! Dona—” “Mikey! NO!! NO!!!” The sounds, the deafening shrieks. They wouldn’t stop. They attacked his very soul. It wouldn’t matter, not for long. In a few minutes, he would be nothing but a lump on the ground. That’s all he could be. For him, the next sunrise didn’t exist. Donatello leaned forward. The warm air from the city streets rushed up to meet him, calling to him. Beckoning him downward. It promised peace. Peace that would never be his, unless he let go… A sound traveled on the breeze, clearer than the others. Music. He almost didn’t hear. He was almost beyond hearing. Beyond thinking. The shriveling of his heart reminded him that he certainly wasn’t beyond feeling. Every fiber of his soul cried out in anguish. His family was gone. Yet, the haunting melody stayed him. Child of the wilderness, Born into emptiness… Donatello leaned farther out, the breeze blowing dry his wet, tear-stained cheeks. Learn to be lonely. Learn to find your way in darkness. His grip loosened. Nothing would stop him; he believed the promise of peace on the wind. Who will be there for you? Comfort and care for you? Who indeed. In his minds eye, he saw the burned and tattered remains of a red mask. A sob escaped his lips. Learn to be lonely. Learn to be your one companion. How? He asked the music, ragged breath entering his lungs. How? Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the streets far below him. How? Charred skin, black-crusted katana. No life. It all passed through his vision once more. Never dream out in world There are arms to hold you, You’ve always known Your heart was on its own. The music wrapped around him. It squeezed him, like a pair of friendly arms. Held him there, killing him almost with its joviality. Dragging from his already cried-out eyes more tears, hot and stinging. Crushing the breath from his chest. A twisted scrap of wood, black and crumbling. So laugh in your loneliness Child of the wilderness. Learn to be lonely. Learn how to love Life that is lived alone. The swell in the music brought to Donatello a new clarity of mind that he hadn’t had in days. He took in a deep breath. Listened. Surrendered. Let go. Learn to be lonely. Life can be lived, Life can be loved Alone.
Annons
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