"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"
(Abandon all hope, ye who enter here)
Judecca
In darkness, oh sweet changeling child, I reside. Entombed in her swirling mercies, encompassed by her icy mass, I find my hope; my home awaits me here. For many, the thought of change can both provoke and inspire; yet not so for me my muse. From gilded egg in nest, usurped by clawing grey-beaked magpie, to lonesome, perilous child of dawn, I changed. Grew in despondency, in insolence and in fervour. Grew on, through spiralling waters of adolescence, towering cumulus of adulthood, fettering pools of senility. Now it is here, amongst the forlorn and the forsaken I lie. From beginning to end, an inevitability.
There comes a point in ones life that one can see, for better or for worse, a sermon of mistakes illuminated, a point at which the thick walls of the darkened cavern in which you have wasted a lifetime are splintered open. Blinding, piercing, yet strangely humbling. Light is cast forth. In its presence you shrink.
AcheronIt was with screaming agony I was delivered into this world, with every held breath and talon like clenching of the fist taking a seeming age. My mother tells me of this afterwards, memories barely recalled, fleeting smile lighting her features for a moment. I ask her more of course, but she remembers little. I don’t press her, now isn’t the time. I listen intently; rare pools of clarity are seemingly worth the trouble. She drifts back into her thoughts and I allow my thoughts to wander with freedom.
The winter sun poured through the sole window, loaning the barren room the slightest hint of warmth, and carving deep silhouettes upon the whitewashed wall.
Within a minute this sun-induced trance was broken, the incessant trill of whistling permeating the walls like mildew. Slightly off tune, and reassuringly familiar, the sound broke into the daytime lull, and I got up and walked the six and a half feet to the kitchen area. Not exactly six and a half feet but close enough. The kettle had boiled; already cooling rapidly, steam dissipating as if it never existed. I considered putting it back on to boil, but modern warnings against excess energy use and other such offences dissuaded me and I drank the coffee lukewarm. Milk, two sugars, if you’re interested. I didn’t offer her any, knew from experience she wouldn’t want it. I returned to the window, coffee in hand. I sipped slowly and considered the view.
One metre wide and one metre high the window was the sole opening onto the outside world, shedding light upon an otherwise cold room. Outside the street was busy, cars filled with people, yet untainted, filled with ambition, hopes and dreams. Young people. Inside the room had a distinct feeling of neutrality about it, carried a certain emotion, reminiscent of another time, and another place. I couldn’t quite place it, so I stopped trying. I turned my attentions back to the muttering skeletal figure, entombed in the bed, asking her gently if she needed anything. Another stream of abuse was my reward, so I returned to her bedside, and allowed her words to wash over me, scathing but ineffective. I had learned long ago how to deal with my mother.
Judecca Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.
Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.
Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.
Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.
Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.
Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.
Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.
Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.
Intravit autem Satanas in Iudam qui cognominatur Scarioth.Traitor.
LimboI struggle with her, month after month, ignoring her abuse and accepting her subsequent apologies. The same ritual, repeated every day, doing what I can for her. A pointless charade. She recognises me less and less, acknowledges my presence only slightly more. Yet I struggle on. I wash her, wiping her papery skin with soft sponges, checking the temperature of the water before lifting her slightly and cleaning three days worth of alcohol riddled sweat out of her many creases. I bring up food, anything she requests, and if she doesn’t, I guess. I go shopping daily to buy fresh food, things I knew she likes, or would have once. It is relentless, but I try.
Always swore I’d never do it you know. When we first realised, when she realised, she told me. Before it had properly set in she told me. I remember it clearly, and I promised at the time I wouldn’t. I promised her that I’d live my life and forget about her, but I knew deep down I couldn’t. The maternal bond, it seems, cannot be broken. For better or for worse.
When she was officially diagnosed, ‘negative’ schizophrenia, it came as little surprise to me. She hadn’t been the same since the accident; she blamed herself. She blamed herself and so she drank. There had been whispers that she wasn’t ‘right’ for as long as I can remember. Swirling memories of forgotten nights and drunken misdemeanours clouded my childhood, but the fact remained. When she was sober, she was my mother. I remember little of those years; about as much as she does I would think. Still, what I do remember is of little significance, and as such I care for her now without antipathy. I listen while she rambles, I answer her questions and I sooth her fears. All in all, I have little choice in the matter.
JudeccaIn darkness there resides a beast, a beast so mighty that it cannot be overcome. Swiftly child, turn your head away from the light, embrace the darkness in all its sickening glory. This is where you belong. This is where I belong.
I deserve no better my muse, weep not over my fate, for I do not, and cannot weep for myself. I throw myself willingly into the perverted trinity of justice and punishment, bordered only by Brutus and Cassius; it is here I will rot.
IIStill facing the window, I find the view is old and tiresome now. Winter coats replaced with sleek city windbreakers, designed for the hectic lifestyle of the youth. I sip at my tea slowly, considering my circumstances. She wears thinly upon my patience now. Three years of constant care is taking its inevitable toll. I feel, at times, that there should be more to my life than her needs. But naturally I dismiss such thoughts and continue to help her, my mother, live life as best she may. I draw the blind down suddenly, loathe to observe the glowing happiness that wraps itself around the shoulders of every smug youthful high flyer. I feel, somehow, like I’m prying. A hidden observer looking where they shouldn’t, infringing upon someone’s private life. These happy, hopeful people have a life distinct to my own, a fact all too apparent in the fresh new Spring.
My thoughts are interrupted once more, this time by the insistent ringing of my mobile. I consider ignoring it momentarily, but, as always, reject the idea.
“Hello, Lauren Rush speaking”.
My voice trailed off as I realised who it was. A twinge of fear gripped me for a moment – he never rings during the day.
“What’s wrong? You don’t normally ring at this time…”
“Everything’s alright. Just needed a chat.”
“A chat? Couldn’t it have waited until this evening? Tomorrow even?”
“Oh right. I see. You’re with her right? And yet again… I get sidelined. Do you even remember what its like… to have a life of your own?”
“You know that’s not fair Jonny… I have all the time in the world for you, but during the day I have other commitments”
“And your own son isn’t a commitment?”
“Of course, you’re…”
“I’m what? Because the way you treat me, you seem to think I’m nothing!”
“You know…”
Even as I started to reply, to formulate what was quickly becoming another empty excuse, a harsh tone rang in my ears. He had hung up on me, again. These days it’s starting to feel like I’m fighting a losing battle. He refuses to understand my devotion to her, and to be honest, at times I almost agree with him. I turn back to my mother with a heavy heart.
JudeccaEmbrace your punishment for it is just.I embrace my punishment for it is just.
You are scum. I am scum. Traitor. Betrayer. Deserter.
Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Wash you those wounds within.Take back your silver and gold keys Angelus Mortis. I repent not.
I embrace my punishment for it is just.
CerberusShe sleeps. The room is silent aside from the violent hammering of freezing rain upon the roof and window. Looking out I can barely make out the cars parked on the right side of the street, closest to her window, let alone the world beyond. I feel more isolated than before, I resent her for it. She drives a wedge into my private life, worse now than she ever managed before. At least when she was drunk I could ignore her, but in illness, well, how can I?
Last night Jonny never came home, didn’t even ring to let me know he was safe. I don’t even know the names of his friends, let alone their phone numbers, so I couldn’t even ring around and find out where he was. I could have rung his father of course, but I doubt he would tell me anything. Wouldn’t want to lose the opportunity to win a battle, would want to savour my failure and rejoice in my need. I didn’t ring him. I sat at home, alone, and thought.
Recently I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Wondering how this became my life. Wondering if it was my fault, how I could change things. It’s a relief to allow myself time for such thoughts, but at the same time, the guilt overwhelms me. My own mother, and I see her as nothing more than a burden. I feel the balance between hatred and love swiftly changing, and I hate myself for it. Every pitiful sound she makes, every whimper and every cough, instils a further sense of loathing within me. For my mother or myself I do not know. I am losing myself.
JudeccaCiacco. You care only for yourself. Embrace the truth, there is nothing more.The darkness is moving, I have not got long.
PlutusI can’t do this anymore. I cannot be eternally confronted with this…beast. I look at her and I see her youth, my youth. A memory that clashes harshly with my present state. I used to have dreams; I used to have hopes, and fears and aspirations. I look into her raging eyes and I can only ask, what became of such childish ambition?
Traitor.Amongst the dreams and the promises,
Amongst the hope and the ideals,
Amongst the tears and hopelessness
Amongst the hate and the despair
Here lie the memories. There is nothing more.
Betrayer.I look into her tearful, hazy eyes. Emblems of lost youth, they expose nothing but her neutrality. Whatever it is I’m looking for, I do not, cannot, find. I’m grasping at memories lost, dreams denied, straining for some resemblance of my mother of old. I find nothing.
JudeccaDeath’s Kingdom of Dreams awaits us.
His Valley of Regrets engulfs us.
Our shadowy reality entwines us.
Emptiness embraces us.
We are one and the same.I am lost my muse.
StyxJonny has not yet returned. I am frantic with worry for him, and yet I sit here with her. What have I become? I no longer understand myself. My own thoughts are locked away from me, my memories locked in a room lined with burning regrets. I write this down my muse, in hope that it will fall into some sort of order, form coherent ideas. So far this has eluded me, but I continue anyway. Without hope we are nothing. The infinitely fragile hopes of our childhoods are shattered, so what are we now? I look at her and see no answer to my question, no piercing illumination of the truth. I am losing all that I love.
When I see her now, I pray for one thing, and one thing only. That I am not her. That I will not become her. No. More than that. That Jonny will not become me. This one truth pierces me to the core; it is all I know now. If Jonny is gone, perhaps this is for the best?
Traitor.As the tiny room descends into darkness, I lie still on the bed with her. She sleeps, but doesn’t dream. I wrap my arms around her, and want to sob. I don’t. She lies still, unfeeling, cold.
It must be hours before I awake, gently removing her withered arms from my sides. She is not yet awake, thankfully. I tiptoe downstairs silently. A decision was made last night, and there is no going back. I tear a page out of this very diary my muse, write on it one thing, and one thing only.
“Amidst failed dreams and crashing aspirations lies our pride”
I leave the note on the kitchen table, not for her to find, for she will not leave the bed, but for whoever next enters. I look around one last time and then I leave.
Traitor.
Betrayer.
Deserter.Killer.JudeccaConvert your soul from the sorrow and misery of sin to a state of grace. Redemption is your birthright.I cannot bring myself to do so my muse. My fate is well deserved. I lie amongst the forlorn and the forsaken, I will die among these empty men.
I am a traitor. I am a betrayer. I am a deserter.
I will rot in peace.
PhlegethonTime has passed since I last wrote my muse. Months. Jonny was never found, or if he was, I couldn’t be found for the news to be passed on. After I left my mother in her darkened cave, I moved away. I didn’t return for her funeral, although I mourned in private. When she died, I didn’t know her, she was nothing to me but a chilling premonition of what I could become. Her face, her body, was distorted beyond all recognition in my mind. Alcohol was her poison, and she was mine. In turn I fear that I was my sons.
Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Peccator. Peccator.I will not become my mother.
I will not become my mother.
Simple shepherd of thy flock come forward, step into the light my child. It is here salvation lingers.I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
We are one and the same.JudeccaPurge yourself child. Forget your sins and renew your memories. Purge yourself and drink.I shrink further from the light. This is my place now. I know nothing more than this. I will not drink. Lethe and Eunoë be damned, salvation lingers amongst the darkness.
MalebolgeI can take this no longer. I have become what I never wanted to be.
Purge yourself child.I will write no more my muse. Darkness dwells among fragments of memory, I have
nothing more. My memories are my salvation. Darkness is my salvation.
Purge yourself child.I will purge myself.
JudeccaIn darkness I reside. Entombed in her swirling mercies, encompassed by her icy mass, I find my hope; my home is here.Traitor. Betrayer. Deserter. Killer.
Judas.
I reside in the darkness for I deserve no better.
We are one and the same.We are one and the same.
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Hope ya'll like it. References are from Dante and the latin bible, I guess it wont make a huge amount of sense unless you fancy doing some www research on Dantes divine comedy but even so, hope you like it none the less. Any criticism would be hugely welcomed, and I'll do my best to critique anyones work who critiques mine
thanks for reading,
Ettie
xxx
