A friend of mine
recently published the first edition of her magazine, Blacklisted. I wrote a column
as part of the content, and now that the magazine has been printed, I'm allowed to
post the column on here!
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Limbo
Fire and Ice
The warmth of my bedcovers is like the perfect fire, soft light
flickering off the log-cabin walls. I could sleep forever on this recliner;
listen to the crackles of those everlasting flames.
Outside, the blizzard
rages. Volleys of ice pelt the windows; trees sway in the tempest. The
landscape is a piling blanket of white. Yet this sanctuary
cannot fall. It has everything I need to outlast the storm. Everything… except
a bathroom.
My bladder is a rising
storm cloud: mounting, murmuring. What better place to strike than the
roof of my refuge? Wood provides a hopeless defence, and yet the fire’s
embrace captivates me. To think that I must abandon this peace…
A ghostly wind preludes the
inevitable. One more moment, I say. One more moment.
Up above, the rafters
rattle and shake. The storm won’t pause for me, and even if I return this
serenity will be lost; sheer cold will render the fire useless. But if I stay? If I stay, this sanctuary will be destroyed.
I rise from my recliner,
relinquish the hearth and march for the door. Pulling it open amounts to
instant regret. The wind lashes at my skin like a thousand whips of ice.
Against them my garments are as rags, and my teeth chatter in time with the
rafters. Soon every bone in my body joins the chorus. Close the door,
they plead. Close the door and stay inside!
But a flash of light floods
the scene. It lasts half a second, yet it shocks my mind into high alert. There’s
a life to live; work to do.
But… can’t I just… five
more—
The clouds rumble in
protest, so deep that the very earth tremors beneath me. Keep moving,
they warn. There isn’t time.
There never is.
In that moment between
asleep and awake, the one thing wrong with life is the fact that last night’s
water wants somewhere to go. Each morning I’m reminded of the same truth;
every comfort is plagued by an equal and opposite tension. It’s only as I dress
that I realise the bedcovers were a prison - a comfortable and cosy prison. And
you know what else? I’m returning to that prison tonight.
