I noticed something very
strange during the bus journey to the university library yesterday
morning. As I passed by the student houses on the main road it appeared as
though the white wooden frames on the bay windows of the terraced houses had
turned a subtle shade of pink. Not red or cerise, but the lightest shade of
pink. At first I thought that there was a discoloration in the window of the
bus, but when I focused on a window frame for a few seconds the pink colour
seemed to fade into the frame until it returned to its usual shabby white
colour.
This isn’t the first time that I’ve noticed this 'pinkness' in and
around objects and I would be inclined to think that I am seeing auras, if only
I believed in that kind of nonsense. But my other thought was much more
repulsive; have Luke and I indulged so much in our over-exuberance that the
residue is bleeding through into other parts of my body? God forbid, my eyes? It
is a ridiculous notion I admit, but it turns my stomach nonetheless. I prefer
to believe that I am seeing auras or that I am developing problems with my sight.
I really should shut down my computer and go outside.
I mentioned this peculiar ‘pinkness’
to Luke when we were alone together in Elmfield House later that afternoon. He was
unable for account for it and he suggested that I should pay no attention to it,
so I will heed his advice as he has been consistently accurate with his advice so
far and he has put my mind at rest on several occasions when I have voiced
concerns about physical or behavioural abnormalities that I have noticed about
myself. For instance, a few weeks ago I began to experience a bizarre set of
symptoms that would normally send me running straight to a doctor. These
episodes typically begin with a white smoke-like substance that hangs in the
air before my eyes and clouds my vision. My head becomes heavy, I feel tired
and I become incredibly dizzy as though I am in danger of passing out at any
moment. This dizziness is accompanied by the feeling that I am ‘fading out’ and
disconnecting from my surroundings and I sense the presence of a wet and musty
substance at my back accompanied by the stomach-flipping sensation that I am quickly
falling backwards into it. When I spoke to Luke about these dizzy spells he
laughed and said that ‘weird and wonderful feelings are part-and-parcel of
being a woman’, but when I pressed him further on it he confessed that he
regularly experiences the same symptoms too. He calls it ‘the malaise’ and he
warned me that these episodes will increase in frequency over time because I
will have more memories to dwell on, more worries, more regrets. He also said
that ‘the malaise’ is not only a sign that emotional and psychological changes
are taking place within my mind, but it is an indication that chemical changes
are taking place within my body...
I am never sure how to respond to
the blasé way that Luke makes
these kinds of worrying comments; it is as though they are entirely acceptable aspects
of everyday life and I am foolish for being anxious about them. In fact, Luke’s lack of concern for his own
wellbeing - combined with the dark themes running throughout his poetry and the
manner with which he introduces
the most heretical philosophies into our discussions as though he is simply
discussing the weather - is causing me to worry about his state of mind. He often
switches from melancholy introvert to outrageous extrovert in the blink of an
eye but his character has been much more unpredictable recently, even manic at
times. There is something wild in his eyes that both intrigues me and makes me
fear for his sanity. And this odd behaviour is creeping into our email correspondence
too. For instance, the email that I received from him this morning did not include
the usual photographs from our sessions but instead it contained several
horrible pictures depicting a demon-like creature seated on the chest of a
sleeping person. Luke may believe that he is consoling me by demonstrating that
my night-time encounters are not uncommon, but I find the pictures to be very disturbing
and far from reassuring. Even the accompanying poem has a sinister edge that
comes directly from the darker side of Luke's personality…
Supper with
Heylel
I am the light-bearer.
I herald the first sun
And my armour shines in the light from your prayers.
I am the watcher.
My eyes weep and burn in the light of day
And my skin gathers dust, hair and memories.
I am the son of man.
A vile and pestilent sack of gasses,
Stripping carcasses and breathing poisons.
I am your mother,
Your Father, your God,
But never your child.
I am the blood wolf.
I herald the first sun
And my armour shines in the light from your prayers.
I am the watcher.
My eyes weep and burn in the light of day
And my skin gathers dust, hair and memories.
I am the son of man.
A vile and pestilent sack of gasses,
Stripping carcasses and breathing poisons.
I am your mother,
Your Father, your God,
But never your child.
I am the blood wolf.
And I will drive away the good shepherd
And devour you all.
And devour you all.
