Emmanuele Massimi
This is where my bio should be, but alas, is not.
Emmanuele Massimi
This is where my bio should be, but alas, is not.
This is where my bio should be, but alas, is not.
This is where my bio should be, but alas, is not.
It was fine, he thought, it was going to be fine. There was a certain sense of unease somewhere around the pit of Lothar's stomach. But, strangely enough, it also felt kind of good. He felt like he was in the grip of two contrasting forces, but the more he tried to understand them, the more the lines between them would become blurrier and blurrier. This was concerning, he'd always seen himself as someone aligned with what is good and upstanding, but right now he'd completely lost his bearings. It was as if the clear waters he'd traversed throughout his life had suddenly turned turbid. He was now a lost, stranded man, and could no longer care for crossing the waters in a straight line, no, this was about making it to the other side. He had to survive, in whichever way. Nothing else mattered any more, and somehow, this felt good. He could recognise good at least, in these stormy waters. He had to let that feeling guide him, his only anchor. In that sense, then, he had no choice but to pull that lollypop out of that little boy's firm grip. Yes, on the surface, this was very easy to do, but hardly anyone could imagine Lothar's internal turmoil. The little boy was surely stealing the show with his screeching and gnashing of teeth, but no matter, it was going to be just fine. Sugar was helping, as ever.
The first thing I noticed was the frothy foam, it took a while before I allowed it to gently caress my feet. I guess this is what initially reassured me that it was going to be fine, that, really, this creature was friendly, after all. It was at that point that I noticed it was beckoning me. I could feel my fear seeping into the effervescent water as it left my body. Was it wrong? Was it reckless to feel so strongly about something I was told before I could understand a single word was our sworn enemy? I welcomed its embrace and a sense of shame overwhelmed me: I was betraying something, someone, everyone. But there was no going back now, and I let it envelope me, as I gradually disappeared into its wet embrace. And I let it hold me and carry me. I felt so light, and so free. Was this the feeling that they wanted to prevent me from experiencing? Or were they themselves afraid of it, rather preferring a life of strict rules and stability? But it was in that moment that I realised I could clearly distinguish between truths and beliefs, and that I felt like I was shedding all of my beliefs. They were floundering in the muddy floor that was quickly getting farther and farther away from the tip of my toes. There was no going back now, I couldn't look at myself in the same way, and I could not longer take them seriously. Conversely, I had to go back and confront them. I had to show them that there was so much more to life than what's in your head alone. But the ocean was pulling me in, farther and farther from shore, and hard as I tried to kick back and change course, soon enough I was a dark dot in the endless blueness. Looking back, this must have been the most liberating experience of my life: I knew that from the deep, a force was guiding me to my next destination, and that all I had to do was to let go. And so I did.
He could always see the faint starlit halo when he closed his eyes. It was like a streak of silver linings marking the colour of his destiny. Light blue on silver blue. He knew every time that his life made sense or that it would surely make sense, as if the vaults of his eyelids were etched with the map of his fate. They reflected the deep pools of his soul into which he could simply let himself go and be carried by the tide of infinite space and time: a soul has no temporal coordinates, not a beginning, not an end.
The horses in the stable went wild; they knew of the coming storm. They were pacing nervously at first, but soon enough they started rearing up and neighing vigorously. There was something in the air as dusk drew near. You could almost smell it in the acrid scent of the earth and the grass. But no one was paying attention to the stables or to the horses. The house was alight with joy and comfort this New Year’s Eve, people enjoying each other’s company and food, the chit-chat echoing the clinking and tinkling of cutlery and plates. But none of this could placate Jessie’s strange sense of uneasiness, as she stared helplessly at the last specks of red streaking the horizon, elbows on the porch railing. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she knew something was amiss. Darkness was fast approaching and she felt a sudden sense of dread as gust of chilly wind messed her long black hair. “Jessie! There you are! Come back inside, the karaoke is about to start!” “Yesssss mom, but I will record you and dad this time, no excuses!” “We’ll see, we’ll see…” As she turned around to close the door, she glanced at the sky again; it was dark just enough now for the realisation to sink deep: somehow, she knew that this last day of the year was going to be the last day she would spend with her family.
Back home after another sleepless night at the A&E. Of course I was classified blue. By the time they saw me, the morning sun was coming in almost perpendicularly. Everything is fine, apparently, I must be imagining my excruciating leg pain. Next time, I might as well suffer sleeplessly at home than on some squalid plastic chair in a drafty room. Horizontal vs vertical agony.
Another week of nonstop torment. My leg won’t let me rest, it’s all I can think about, day and night. But especially at night. Doctor says it should settle soon, as he can find nothing wrong with it. Small victory: I was prescribed physiotherapy. I wish I could go today, but guess what, I need to wait one week for my first appointment.
My leg is now a throbbing rod of lead. I need to drag it across the floor, which of course amplifies the pain and extends it over a longer period of unsteady steps. The physiotherapist has twisted my leg in all sort of ways, and said that despite my visible discomfort, my joints look very healthy. I feel like I should congratulate myself for such healthy physique. But I’m still aching really badly, so one for another day.
I was assigned a bunch of physio exercises to “ease the discomfort”. If anything, and if you can believe it, my pain has gotten worse. In the past few days, I’ve noticed — unless my hollowed eyes are also failing me — that it’s acquired a slightly purple tinge. Time for a dermatologist appointment.
I think I might need to get my eyes checked, after all. The dermatologist said both my legs look absolutely fine. She can’t see any colour differences between them, and said they both have a very healthy hue. That’s quite reassuring, but I’m also pretty sure my left leg is getting purpler by the day. I was given some hydrating cream to help ease my alleged pain.
Totally non consequential, but I also made a point of getting my eyes checked. My vision is 20/20 on both eyes. I’m the picture of health.
After my nth visit to my physiotherapist, I was advised on the challenges of chronic pain, that is, how the brain can trick us into feeling pain even when there are no physical symptoms. In the meantime he didn’t seem to want to acknowledge the fact that my left leg is now dark purple. I brought my eye test results with me, but he didn’t want to see them either. I think it’s time to sign up to a mindfulness meditation course.
Turns out, it’s quite hard to learn how to be mindful when one of your leg is dynamite. Observe your pain, they say, but it feels more like I’m a speck of dust slowly coasting the mouth of the event horizon of a reality-eating agony. This sounds way cooler than it is, by the way. Either way, I believe I’ve reached enlightenment: I will pay for private healthcare.
My private GP seems to have acknowledged that my leg is now almost black. By “acknowledged” I mean that he didn’t tergiversate, immediately change topic, or leave the room. Nope, I’m the proud owner of my very first prescription: paracetamol.
It looks like there is such thing as death by paracetamol overdose. Oh, and by the way, I forgot to mention that I’ve been actually dead all along. But things have turned out well after all: my leg pain is gone, in fact, I no longer have a leg, or a body. But I feel so healthy.
An eye for an eye was never so literal. You should have seen the two of them, newly-made cyclops, eye-gulping, face-eating creatures made of the stuff of nightmares, licking at their blood-stained teeth, in a dance of agony and bliss. A hand for a hand, yes, a wry symmetry the driving force of their mutual demise. You should have heard the cheers of the crowd of spectators: horrified, galvanised, bloodthirsty as the two mutilated bodies rolled in a pool of gore, tarmac, and mud. Nobody knew what had started it, and it didn’t matter, the show was on. But not a peep came from their gnawing jaws. A medieval-grade extravaganza that was all the more sinister with the methodical silence of these writhing men. Or what was left of them. Not much by the end of it.