present, rolling in ultra-slow motion.
No air, no up or down. A rag doll on a spin cycle: his tears invisible; his cries unheard.
That pain, dwarfing every other feeling. Had it been there a moment or forever?
He just wanted it to end. And finally, after rising to a blinding crescendo of agony, it did.
Blissful nothingness swooped down from the heavens above and engulfed him.
His return to consciousness was gradual and unexpected. As he became aware of himself again, it was as a detached series of thoughts and memories floating in the darkness. The echo of his torment remained in the background: a low hum, gone but not forgotten.
It was this way for some time. Then, hidden within that low hum, he began to hear the faint murmur of something else.
Was that someone whispering?
He had to strain to hear it, so quiet was the sound. But the harder he concentrated – the more he strove to tune in – the louder it grew, until eventually he identified a voice, androgynous in tone.
It took longer still to comprehend the actual words, delivered in a sing-song manner that was neither quite human nor robotic. At first he heard what appeared to be gibberish. Another language perhaps, but not one he recognised. And yet as he focused his mind on the sound, piece by piece, word by word, he gradually began to understand.
It was one sentence, repeated on loop: ‘Follow the light to its source and find yourself.’
Light? What light? There was only darkness here.
Wasn’t there?
He looked all around. Saw nothing.
And then the briefest flicker of white in the far distance.
It was barely anything – and yet it was something.
Something that wasn’t pain.
A purpose.
Friday, 20 July 2018
What time had Mike started drinking? He’d seemed merry when Lisa had got home from work, but she’d let it go. It had been nice to see him smiling for once, even if it was artificially induced, and she’d assumed he’d only had a couple of beers. It must have been considerably more than that, though, for him to be so far gone now.
It was no secret that her husband liked a tipple; in recent weeks, they’d spoken several times about how the frequency of his drinking had increased since he’d stopped working. She’d voiced her fears that it was getting out of control and he’d argued otherwise. At best, this had come in the form of calm reassurances that he wouldn’t let it escalate too far. At worst, it had been a slanging match, with him shouting at her to get off his back and her calling him an alcoholic. Not that Lisa actually thought he was. Not yet. She just wanted to shock him into cutting back before it really did get out of hand. But maybe she’d misjudged the situation.
‘What’s wrong?’ Mike asked. ‘Don’t you like it here?’
Lisa wanted to point out that he was slurring his words, despite the fact it was barely 8 p.m. and they were still waiting for their starter to arrive at the restaurant. But at the same time she didn’t want to ruin the evening. He’d arranged it as a surprise to celebrate their wedding anniversary: an unusually thoughtful gesture. So much so that when he’d told her this morning, before she’d set off for school, her initial response had been to wonder what he’d done wrong and was trying to make up for. She’d not vocalised this, thankfully. Nor had she expressed her concern about the cost of a decent meal out in Manchester. They could barely afford to get takeaway in their village; never mind get a taxi to and from the city centre for the privilege of enjoying overpriced food and drink. That was the cold hard truth. But she’d weighed up the matter at work, where it had been the final day of term before the summer holidays, and decided to throw caution to the wind for once and enjoy a rare night out.
So Lisa had dug a pair of heels and her favourite black dress out of the wardrobe; she’d used the curling tongs to add some life to her dull, limp blonde hair for the first time in ages, and made more than the usual cursory effort with her make-up. Mike had worn the smart navy shirt she’d bought for his birthday, swapping his usual jeans and trainers for chinos and tan brogues.
But she couldn’t enjoy being with him when he was so plastered. He might be sitting up straight and behaving himself so far, but his eyes had gone – and that was never a good sign. Being out with her husband in that state was like riding in a speeding car without a seatbelt on.
‘Hello? Earth to Lisa.’
‘What was that?’ she replied at last, shaking her head in a bid to focus.
‘I asked whether you liked it here or not, but you were miles away. What’s up?’
‘Oh, nothing. Sorry. I was thinking about work.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
‘No, it’s not important,’ Lisa fudged. ‘It’ll take me a few days to switch off, that’s all.’
‘I apologise if I’m boring you,’ he said before taking a long swig from his pint of lager, his eyes darting around the restaurant, looking everywhere except in her direction.
Lisa took a deep breath. Things were on a knife edge already, which did not bode well. Thankfully, a young female waiter turned up with their starters. She beamed a toothy grin at them. ‘Hi, folks. So who’s having the butternut squash soup tonight?’
Lisa raised her right hand and smiled back as the girl presented her with the large white bowl, two-thirds full with its steaming orange contents and central swirl of sour cream. ‘There you go. Enjoy.’ She turned to Mike. ‘And the beef carpaccio for you, sir?’
He smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Lisa noted her husband’s eyes lingering a moment too long on the waitress’s ample chest, on display in a partly unbuttoned white blouse, as she leaned over the table with his plate. How embarrassing, she thought, her fingers squeezing her thighs under the table. The girl looked young enough to be his daughter, for God’s sake. And Lisa couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at her with that degree of lust. They’d barely touched each other in months.
She bit her tongue, lowering her nose over the soup bowl instead to breathe in the aroma. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said. ‘That smells delicious. Yours looks lovely too. Excellent choice coming here, love.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘Why not? You springing this on me is a lovely surprise. And of course I’m not bored. I just need a little time to get into school holiday mode. You know how it is.’
‘Not any more,’ Mike said.
‘Oh, come on. Let’s focus
