The Void

Once upon a time, there lived a man with a void in his heart. This void was the death of his wife.1

He walked in shadow, afraid to feel. He would not take sympathy, because it weakened the dams which he had built around his injured heart, and he would shun all those who came to offer it. Because of this, he was perceived as cold, and he was gradually left alone. 2

And so it was that it was not Time who turned his hair the colour of old iron and etched new lines upon his weathered face, but Grief. He touched the world through rubber gloves, afraid of the sensations which bare contact might invoke. He would walk alone in twilit forests by the silver lights of the stars and the moon, whose unearthly light seemed to drench the space between the twisted boles in atmosphere, so it was as though he moved through bitter-sweet syrup. And all the while, his grief was contained, and he did not know that it was biding its time, and growing stronger all the while.3

And although the sun shone for others, it did not shine for him.4

One warm, humid night, he chanced to climb a willow on a whim, for, although he did not know it, a part of him desired comfort within its branches. He sat there, wrapped in the void of his own making, and it occurred to him that the quiet of the night appealed to him. There was nothing to rupture his deathly calm, or to take him by surprise. Nature was eternal, and it would never leave him.5

But after he had sat there for a while, phantoms began to haunt him. Glimpses of faces and snatches of laughter would linger on the border of his awareness, and he closed his inner eyes and ears, so afraid to see and hear these tokens of the past. He sought escape in the outer world, and as he cast his eyes about him, they caught a shimmering iridescence through the drooping leaves, which he recognised as water.6

He was covered in a thin layer of perspiration, and the thought of bathing appealed to him greatly. He climbed down from the tree and headed in the direction from whence he had glimpsed the glimmer. After ten minutes of walking, for it was further away than it had seemed, the tall pine trees stopped abruptly, and he arrived at the sandy shore of a vast lake. Its surface was like a mirror: still, calm and tranquil, and the night sky was reflected perfectly upon it.7

He let his robes fall to the ground as he approached the water, which did not lap at the shore. He began to walk into its depths, and ripples emanated from his feet and legs as he waded deeper and deeper. The water was freezing cold, and although the temperature had come as an initial shock, he was soon glad for the coolness, as the night was warm indeed.8

He waded in to a depth where he could comfortably submerge himself, and ducked his head under the dark surface. The moonlight shone through the water and illuminated the rocky floor of the lakebed, and the water was pale silver. But before him, the depths of the lake yawned black like an abyss. He brought his head up out of the water and gasped into the silence. The water felt cool and cleansing, and he let the drops trickle freely down his face.9

But after a while, he found that the drops had not ceased falling, and he found this strange. But then, upon raising his hand to his face, he realised that the water was flowing from his eyes, and that he was weeping. And then he felt it. There was a faint rippling sensation in his chest, which was ominous, for he sensed that it was merely the vanguard, or harbinger of something far greater to come.10

Abruptly he realised that the water was responsible, and, shaking, he began to push for the shore, cursing himself for wading so far in. But the water seemed to grow thinner, so that he could not push himself with any impetus, and all the while the storm was growing stronger and stronger in his chest, gathering force unto its self like a brooding tyrant.11

His foot slipped awkwardly on a moss-covered rock, and he twisted as he fell into the silvery water. Time stopped while he was submerged, for suddenly the storm hit him like a sledgehammer, and he was inundated with sensations which pummelled his long-standing walls into oblivion like they had been made of sand.12

It was as though he had been hit by a tidal wave, and all physical awareness left him as he was swept away by the currents of his own emotions, and it seemed to him as though the laughter of his wife was a part of that flow, leaping and intertwining its self about the foam. She had had such joyful, spontaneous laughter, and he had loved the pure sound of it. Her bright, brown eyes appeared before him in a memory, as they gazed, soft and loving into his own, and he recalled the soft brush of her lips, and the last, lingering kiss which they had shared.13

But then, abruptly, these images were swept away by an inner howl of grief, as he recalled her hand slipping from his own as the ocean had borne her away within its heaving embrace, and the look of eerie calm which he had seen in her eyes before she had gone under. He raged within himself at the unfairness of it all, at how he had found the love of his life, the person who had finally made him feel whole, only to have her ruthlessly swept away from him by the whim of an element.14

Images, smells, sensations and sounds saturated him, and it often seemed as though the feelings which they invoked revelled in their newfound freedom, and that he was on the verge of being swept away by them. But then, eventually, they began to calm, and he began to come back to himself, and he opened his eyes to find that he was once again facing the abyss. He became conscious of a great burning in his lungs and a desperate need for air, but although he could never be sure afterwards, he almost fancied that he saw the face of his wife smiling from the darkness.15

But the need for oxygen was overpowering, and he wrenched himself around as his feet found purchase on the rocks again. He pushed, and his head broke the surface, and he gulped down the life-giving air in great gasps as he stumbled up the bank and collapsed on the sand. He lay there like that for a while, simply breathing. After some time, when he had calmed, it occurred to him that something was different. And then he realised that he could feel again, which was something he had almost forgotten the meaning of, locked in his state of self-imposed numbness.16

He rolled on to his back, and for the first time in a long time, he appreciated the quiet beauty of the night sky, and the Milky Way which curved across it. And then, he reached a determination to treasure the good moments which he and his wife had shared, and he knew that she would not want him to live his life in a state of numbness, for she had loved him, and she had only ever wanted him to be happy. And he could not shake the feeling that she had been with him in that lake, and that her spirit had come forth to aid him, and to put something right.17

And then he smiled, for he recognised the calmness which he had seen in her eyes before her death, and he knew that they would meet again soon.