Another non poem... this didn't end how I thought it would, and ended up being quite personal and possibly reveals more about me than I may decide I am comfortable with... but anyway, here it is.
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One night I had once again taken refuge in the cathedral. The air was relatively still, but warm, as I relaxed on a couch that had found itself to the centre of the main sanctum while I was away.
No company, but for the strange and wonderful characters in the stories of H.P. Lovecraft; they had sucked me into their twisted and alarming worlds as a teenager and now I visited them again from my protected safety. Even so… I did look up once or twice as the flickering of the candles in the standing candelabra cast morphing shadows across the floor.
Both strength and weakness can come from the understanding of the self, and the longer I had spent in the grand sanctum, the more painful that understanding had become, but the better I found I could bear the pain. My friend had not abandoned me, but I knew that if he too often came around I would continue to rely on him, rather than coming to rely upon myself. I could not help but wonder, however, if by spending time alone in these halls I may be creating for myself the persona of social outcast. That by taking time here I was abandoning my responsibilities and supplanting the difficult life with an imaginary one, instead of learning to cope.
As I reached the end of ‘The Shadow Over Innsmouth’ I fancied that I could see the ‘Deep Ones’ in the corner of my eye, so was very pleased to be distracted by the sound of a bell. Quite apart from being the sound of a church bell or gong, it rang like the little tinkling bell at the front desk of a hotel. The bell rang more than once, and I followed it to somewhere I had not been before, the door to the outside.
Half afraid it might be an anthropoid fish, there was a definite slight burn from adrenaline as I took the handle ring and pulled. It was stiff, but quickly gave, and I found myself face to face with my visitor.
Standing on the flagstones outside was someone that I recognised well; his name was Atlas and he was the alter ego I had created as a teenager, though here he seemed empty, his eyes fixed. At first I had found myself as him in my dreams; he had the strength of will and self I always wished to have. When I feel stronger he fades away, but when I feel weak, he appears again. Through him I’ve found a voice in difficult times, and found strength when I thought I had none.
Finding myself opposite him, myself even, was unsettling at first… but as I looked at him that fell away and I felt comfort. Comfort knowing that there was someone strong inside of me, even if that person had to look different. I reached out to put my hand on his arm, but he dissipated the moment that I would have touched him. I hope that means that I no longer need him, not that my strength has faded with him.
It won't let me have a blank signature ...
