Moments

The following is the final post in this blog. It is an emulation of Mrs. Dalloway by Virigina Woolf. It focuses on the concept of a changing identity, and going through horrific events, and trying to rebuild.  While you are reading this, if you could follow this link and play it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRxJgbpdFMg (you may have to skip an ad):


Moments
After Mrs. Dalloway.


Part 1: "She did not pity him, with the clock striking". 
An alarm rang. It was annoying to be up at 8:05 a.m. How Adam savoured weekends; times where one could wake and not be bothered by anything else, not a family member, not an alarm clock, just peace. He only have a week left before this ended. But, he wanted it to finish now; he could not stand to sit around and keep waiting. Suddenly, his dog barked. Groaning he stood. He needed to feed his dog, so he set about making his way down the creeky staircase; into the dim living room. No one had cleaned the windows for years it felt like, and upon every surface lay a thin layer of dust. Invisible to him at this point. A magazine lay open on the table. A headline lazily read, an article skimmed. A book half finished sat on top. Another attempt at a story. Notes scrawled in the margin made the book look loved. It wasn't. He hated it. It was another story about stupid people drifting through life interrupted by impossible problems. Dealing with problems no one deals with; an unreal image of the world. He looked at the book and thought to himself, "What will people think of us when they uncover all of this? We didn't give them Shakespeare, or Homer? What, the fucking Jersey Shore?" He smiled at his inside remark. He face was tired, but still had some warmth left. He didn't smile often, all his friends said this. He was a sullen guy, he shouldn't be so grumpy. Quite frankly, in his mind, quite a lot of bull shit. He smiled when he was happy; he wasn't that happy very often.
A loud bark woke him from his musings and he continued to feed the dog; carefully giving him the right amount of food and water, then, after the dog had devoured the small portion it had been given, he let it out. The dog rushed into the light, quickly overwhelming Adam's senses. He sharply closed his eyes, and as he opened them again, he gazed the world as new once again; noticed a bee buzzing close to his door, a wind that blew a branch ever so slightly.  Flowers had begun to spread. He took his small notebook out of his pocket and began to note these things before getting frustrated. He whipped the notebook to the ground; furious with himself and observations that could not capture an entire moment, could not describe the buzzing of the bee and the smell of the flowers and the taste of the cold crisp air and the sound of the dog's panting or the light caress of the wind on his face or the million other things he felt at this moment. He whipped the door shut, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He would not be able to share this with anyone. He could not communicate...he could only observe...he could not act...only be acted upon. A clock struck loudly behind him. It was his mother's, a family heirloom in a grandfather clock, set next to the bookshelf in his mother's library. He did not want to think about that...but its incessant ticking always brought him back to it. Always grounded him in this old house he wanted to leave. He could never seem to cross this threshold and get away from the ticking. He heard it everywhere in the house and it followed him outside of the house. He hated the clock, but they didn't let him get rid of it. He just wanted to shut it off but they told him not to. Suddenly another loud bark shook him out of his dreams. A disgruntled dog had been left outside, and wanted to rectify this situation. He looked at his hand as he opened his door. It seemed too old to be his, too wrinkled to belong to an 18 year old...but perhaps because of what he had gone through...the clang of the alarm woke him once again, and he quickly went upstairs.
"Mixed in an ethereal way with clouds and wisps of smoke".


Part 2: "Mrs. Dalloway decided to get the flowers herself"
He did not want to be late. As he stepped into the shower, the torrent of water running down his hair into his face, drowning him, cleansing him felt wonderful. He stepped out of the shower, and staring at his face in the mirror was annoyed. He bent into the mirror, looking at a small blemish before opening the closet and taking some extra strength anti-acne cream to kill it. In all the photos he used to see his father had acne. He refused to accept it, and tried to cleanse himself constantly. The cream left scars on his face, which he began to accept as an identity of his own. Adam, the man who frowned, fed a dog, wrote and killed zits. He was proud of that title, at least a little bit...he had forgotten which stains on the mirror (which also hadn't been cleaned in far too long) were from water or bursts of pus from his face. He quickly dressed and looked at himself again. He felt like a different person; in different clothes, people are different. They can hide that way. When one is naked and alone, they are vulnerable, not able to protect themselves from themselves. One can hide blemishes with hairstyles, one can hide weight with clothes, one can hide a scar running up one's chest from their nape to their neck with a shirt. He wasn't Adam the killer of zits in clothes. He was Adam, the high schooler. Indeed, he looked the part. As he left the room, the clock crashed again. Louder this time, he thought. He walked out of his house, and into the small side street. Pebbles washed beneath his feet, the gravel street felt like a sinking trap. He didn't want to get caught in. The blaring of a siren at the bottom of the street sounded. His back stiffened. He did not like that sound, not since...the clock crashed again. Or maybe it was his imagination. Either way, his thoughts went back to the path and to the sun and the warmth. He left the small side street and entered a far bigger, busier street. Cars flew past and he felt invisible. In fact, he liked the invisibility, it made him feel safe. He could be himself, and no one would notice. If he cried right now, no one would care. He would not even notice himself... He pulled out his recently retrieved notebook to write that down. He liked the warmth of the leather in his hand as he felt the cover slowly. Then, he quickly opened past the first two pages, he did not like to read those anymore...and over to a later page. "I feel safe when I'm alone" he scribbled. He heard ticking and was reminded that he would soon be late. He finished writing his note, and raced across the park. He did not stop to notice flowers like he usually did, did not feel the breeze. He was late and he had something to do...
"Died up among the seagulls."

Part 3: "Fear no more the heat o' the sun"
The doctor was waiting...he sighed. He didn't like the next patient who was coming. He couldn't stand him, in fact. Ever since his parents had died...he had been difficult; years had passed, and yet the patient had not managed to move on. The doctor had gotten his profession to help those in need, but the patient wanted no help. He refused to talk, merely sat there for the hour and then left. The patient always made notes in a little leather bound journal the doctor had told him to keep. It must've been his fifth or sixth by now, considering how much he wrote. He noticed that he never wrote on the opening pages, or at least, never in public. The Doctor wanted desperately to help...but he could not. He drummed his pen against his hand. His patient was late...then, suddenly, as the church bell announced the time, the patient stormed into the room, looking wild frenzied. For the first time he opened up, almost shouting. "I want to be alone! It's safe! It's safe to be alone! I don't like others and they don't like me" with that, he spun on his heels, his shoulder length brown hair whirling with him. "Fear no more the heat o' the sun!" He shouted as he left the office. Adam spun down the stairs away from his doctor's office. He needed to get home. He burst home and the dog lazily greeted him. He stood in the doorway...heard a clock strike...stripped naked (he had no need to hide his identity anymore) and closed the door behind him.
"For there she was".