I didn’t feel there was much to smile about this morning. My head felt like it was filled with cotton wool when I climbed out of bed and a shower didn’t blow them clean. The words came surprisingly easy but the fuzzy head remained until a power nap late afternoon.
Today, I ensured I wasn’t distracted by other things. Words came first. I got in early and was lucky enough to hook up with Nichole to write the first 1K stretch. Rus was still man-at-large at that stage. (Thanks to the epic time difference I’ve just passed the baton to him now to begin his 3rd day!) However I did wait until the end of the day to finish off my words, determined to get all the other chores out the way first.
What was the best bit of today: feeling like I was actually writing. I got a total immersion morning and the sense of being in the flow of things, rather than forcing words onto the page, gave the impression of writing. And in doing that, in being in the rhythm the words, there was raw beauty. Or perhaps it was hitting the dark stuff.
I’ll leave it for you to decide!
A bell sounded, two short rings. The gaslights dipped and extinguished, plunging the room into darkness. The light from the candle lit a column of air above the desk and Tabitha saw in the liminal space where the light became dark, a bell, attached to a cable, hanging from a hook and beneath it, an hour glass secured within a metal frame. The bell rang a second time and Tabitha moved toward the corner, ignoring the pull in her guts that reminded her she was terrified of the dark. Tabitha took the candle and climbed onto the chair, deciding she didn’t trust the stability of the desk and reached the candle up into darkness to confirm what she thought she had seen. The cable jerked and the sound of the bell filled the room again. The hourglass turned and the floor shuddered. Tabitha reached out to steady herself against the wall, the chair beneath her moving as though it were on wheels. A cold draft whistled through the room, bothering the candle flame and Tabitha was torn between keeping her balance and protecting her only source of light.
The smell of ozone and oil stole away that of emptiness that had permeated the room and Tabitha shuddered. Somewhere beyond her room, she could hear gears straining and grinding. Tabitha fought to hold her bladder as the floor shook, the hungry draught snapped at the candle and the smell of ozone burnt her lungs leaving her gasping for clean air. She fought the sense of trapped within a meat grinder, on the verge of ceasing to exist. And then as suddenly as it began it stopped and everything was still and silent. The only smell, her nervous sweat filtering out from the soaking seam of her dress, when she climbed down off the chair. First she carefully placed the candle on the desk and only then, did she pull the heavy velvet curtain aside.
Beyond the window, where she expected to see the muted monochrome of the fancy gardens and the expanse of lawn, where the pinprick of stars and the breath of the moon had fought the sodium glow of the city’s lights and the world had been when she walked in less than an ago, nothing existed. A darkness of the most intense hue it existed as an absence and hurt to look into. A darkness that inhaled you. Dissolved.
Her fingers, alabaster against the nothingness, splayed against the icy glass in a wordless plea. A stop-motion SOS to the world stolen away.
Desolation and abandonment poured in and filled her like a waiting amphora before her thoughts could reconcile the real with the surreal.
Where had she let Ramsey take her?
CUMULATIVE WORD COUNT: 10359