Save yourself

Here I sit. Here I muse.

But tonight, I am not musing. I am not even pretending to muse.

I am staring, not at anything, or anyone, not even into the middle distance, or any kind of distance what so ever, but into a strange kind of wasteland, populated by lost souls with empty hearts.

The landscape is bleak, if bleak is not too tame a word for this grey so filled with heaviness it barely stands. It blinds my eyes, after a while, as snow blinds when the sharp sun hits it like lazers, though I continue to stare and stare and stare until a salt wetness turns my acid green eyes to a vapid Atlantic blue.

I wonder if they can see me, those desolate creatures. I wonder if any will recognise me, when my eyes are the wrong colour and my words and stilted are leaden. I wonder if there is a barrier I may cross to reach them, or if I have the energy to vault it, could I see it.

And what would I offer them, even if I did?

There is a voice behind me.

'Save yourself' it urges, 'before you become one of them.'

I protest. It does not listen.

'Save yourself. Some souls will be forever lost. There is nothing you can do.'

I know that it is right. I will try to wrench my gaze away and turn to the bouyant, hopeful voice that smells of fresh springs and new beginnings, laughter and crystal and white sheets and somehow utters the saddest words I have ever heard.

'There is nothing you can do.'