The Way Home

And I can’t get it straight, can’t get it straight, can’t get it straight. And I could be anywhere: orange streetlights and road works. Though my feet tell me this is the way home.

My mind is elsewhere, wrapped cosily in the misunderstanding of the fantastic; my body trapped forever between this surreal, and this reality. I walk with my coat unfastened, wishing the cold of the night to penetrate deep beneath my skin and wake me from my confusion. My skin burns from the cold, but the warm air forced between my skin and clothes causes a tepid friction. I am both gliding and ungainly, walking homeward with certainty, lost with the loss of sugar. My brain is away. I might be dreaming. The cold air upon my face is a distant reminder that I am not.

My eyes capture the light between two separate moments, and they are joined now forever by the sharp glimmer of the camera. The light trails between these moments and scars the image irretrievably. My pulsating mind is the instigator of these scars; the blur in between; the struggle between light and darkness pervading each day, unobserved. My feet break caverns into the ground as I walk, falling deeper; my mind alongside the moon, tethering my palpitating body to its unimaginable heights. A marionette. A patient.

More steps and I am anywhere, unaware and vigilant. My numb fingers try the same key in the lock once, twice. The door will not open, and I am smiling. But somehow again the door is open… the bright light of the hallway permeating my skull; I am pulled sharply from the water, am woken from the extraordinary dream. Suddenly I wish to close my eyes and become reabsorbed into the terrifying unreal. Instead I find the cold comfort of home.


27 thoughts on “The Way Home

  1. I know that you’re busy, and your time is limited, but I have some recognition along with a challenge at my site for you. If you don’t have time for the challenge that is fine; I understand. I do think you deserve to have your fine work recognized though.


  2. Cool post. Not to be a complete nerd, but the picture style along with the diaglouge reminded me of a game I downloaded the other day called “Trauma”. Maybe you should check it out! It’s not your normal everyday video game.


  3. See, before I realized that I was much better at finding pseudonyms for the term “awesome boner,” this is what I tried to write like. Kudos. This post rules.


  4. Another great read, I loved this;

    “My feet break caverns into the ground as I walk, falling deeper; my mind alongside the moon, tethering my palpitating body to its unimaginable heights. A marionette. A patient.

    How do you come up with some of this stuff? Are you sure you’re not a famous writer who changed her name and enjoys entertaining us all through the blogging world?


  5. I know the experience of a hypo very well, unfortunately (though I’m not diabetic) and yep, you’ve described it well in this. My own brain goes rather beyond this point though – I couldn’t get prose out of one of my own hypos (during or afterwards) if I tried!


    1. Thanks, Val. It was very hard to write this because, as I’m sure you’re aware, describing a hypo is almost impossible. During a hypo, I’m virtually incapable of logical thought enough to tell someone, and afterwards it’s almost like I’ve forgotten!

      My brain also goes much further beyond, aswell… there’s been times I’ve just been walking around, apparantly quite normally, but with my brain having entirely shut down. It’s only when someone tries to talk to me that they realise I have no idea what I’m doing! Those are the worst ones, because I can never quite remember what’s happened and I always need to sleep for a few hours before I feel better again.

      Even though it’s awful, I’m glad you know the feeling too. Not to sound too dramatic, but I’m glad someone else can understand the undescribable :) Thanks for the comment!


  6. Another awesome piece! The descriptive nature of the writing draws you in and they go well with the photos, as without this writing the photos would be the type that’d appear on crimewatch on a reconstruction,

    “It was just another drunken night after work, she walked home alone in the rough area of town when suddenly 18 men jumped out and beat her down then took her purse.” :D


    1. Thank you, wastelandexplorer. This is the first time I have used images in my blog, so I appreciate your feedback! I have to say that I am quite happy with the photos; they come as the result of using the camera without the flash in dark areas- it really makes the lights come alive.


    2. Well the photos added an ability to immerse oneself in the words, to feel what is shown.


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