Monday, 9 January 2012

Voyage I – Coming to

Feels like I’ve been here a very long time. Why have I just accepted this state of affairs? I don’t know these people – I’ve been sitting with them for time untold, we’ve even spoken a bit, but I have no recollection of what we said. We smile and nod when we see each other but everything moves away as I try to grasp it. A girl in a grey outfit brings me a drink on a small tray. It’s perfect – the best coffee I ever tasted and yet oddly spiced. Am I being drugged?
I can move. I bring my arms out and sit up. I appear to be in some sort of steamer chair, snugly wrapped in a quilt. She smiles at me encouragingly and suddenly I have this feeling of having lost something terribly important. I've lost everything. There’s no one I know here and I know it’s not possible ever to see the people I do know ever again. I'm a snowflake in a whirling sky.
‘Are you feeling a bit more awake today?’ she says in a voice so gentle it hurts.
‘Where am I?’ is all I can say – she can’t hear me I’m speaking so quietly. I try to collect my thoughts better. ‘I don’t know anyone’ I say, choked up. ‘These people...’ I point vaguely at the other chairs ‘...are not mine.’
She looks down at me – a mother’s pity in her eyes, and yet I don’t know her. Why should she care? It doesn’t feel real. And yet I can’t help needing her to stay with me. She turns, I think, to get assistance and I try to implore her not to leave me but my voice is lost in the wind. (Why is it so cold? It’s arctic here.) I turn and look at what seems to be the sea, although all I can see is a frozen, misty grey haze. A fine frozen wet is stinging my face. My body is warm and relaxed. There’s nothing to see.
I think about my body and it feels very small and weak, while my head feels huge and wobbly – I can barely lift it, just roll it from side to side. I look at the other people on either side of me, similarly arranged in rugs on deck chairs and I feel this strange glee rise from my solar plexus to my head and I giggle a little to myself.
‘This must be what it’s like to be a baby’ I think. ‘Maybe I’m a baby now.’

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A life backwards

It's in the nature of blogs of course that you come across the latest postings first (or you find yourself in the middle.) Normally it doesn't matter but if you want to read my novel in order, the first installment is as you'd expect, the oldest posting.
Thanks for your patience.