Crown of Thorns

Chapter One: Once Upon A December

I shut my eyes.

My eyes were shut. Upon opening them, the faint smell of blood in the room washed away as the filter placed on the world shifted from white to black. I was falling again, through this familiar tunnel deprived of all senses - yes, this was the world which my mother drew on the back of my hand. Colored illuminations like those fireflies I saw last summer circled around my fragile arms and ankles, a spiraling kaleidoscope of millions of incandescent lights converging into a slide of stars downwards into an abyss of emptiness. Closing my eyes to brace for the fall, the lights became doves whose wings' fluttering sounded through the tunnel, as echo upon echo acted as a rustling call.

A sense of longing spread from my heart to my chest, adrenaline acting in my mind as a pounding bass line. My hands, hands which so desperately wanted to reach out and grip hold of anything, sprung out from the air at my sides and flailed wildly before me, trying too despairingly to hold on, to reach him, my father, father come back -

I lower my arms to a more welcoming gesture, a smile wide on my worn out face.

"Father, I'm here!" I called out, a phrase my voice had grown tired of saying, "My arms are wide open; I'm here to take you home - "

As if this scene were a script from a play, the air which had whipped my hair so senselessly became arms which reached out and smothered my vocal chords, hands grabbed my wrists and dragged me downwards and away from the sun that was above, the sun that was my father. Faces of people who couldn't reach their loved ones as well, appeared at my feet, their expressions empty, their hands still pulling me towards that emptiness which was the underneath.

My eyes, which had grown blind from crying, streamed remorse down my face and my hands, my hands, felt like they needed a decent washing, to wash the shame which coated and clung tightly to them away from my sickly, sweaty palms. I jerked my elbows out of their reach, kicking at their hands, slapping at the air of shadows and ghosts around me. Sitting up, I tried to stretch my knees, trying to stand, trying to wipe all this salt off my face -

"Please let go of me. I need my father back. You know how that feels, don't you?"

One by one the shadows around my apparition shied away, some of which nodded before stepping back and into the darkness, while others gave a faint smile before fading into the air. The blackness which I'd been falling through slowly morphed into a cerulean sky, with the faint scent of a salty breeze in the air - my fifty-foot drop became a gentle float down. For the briefest of moments, I cherished that cloud like feeling, just like I cherished my last day of middle school - just noting that this moment was something worth remembering. Yet within seconds I was plunged into the freezing waters of navy blue.

It was like I'd entered a second layer of the dream; a veil had now been wrapped around my eyes as I struggled to break free and breathe. The coughing ritual began; I pounded my chest, wriggling my feet, my arms flailing wildly, attempting to get water out of my lungs. Stopping to think, I cried out -

"HELP ME"

- though my shouts and screams became only bubbles in the dark sneering waters, my body stopped moving in an attempt to drift my way back towards the top.

Though of course, because of the fickleness of the dream world, I floated downwards to a far deeper layer of darkness instead, until I realized that my back had made contact with hard sand. Bubbles began rising from my lips as I struggled to keep them from leaving my lungs, my nostrils struggling to keep the tasteless waters around me from entering my mouth, filling up my stomache. Seaweed began encircling my ankles in much the same way the shadows had done before, only this time, I understood that they had no mind of their own, no conscience for me to break down and gain sympathy from.

The weight of the massive waters above me shoved me down, as I felt myself engulfed in some sense of tranquil darkness. I relaxed my arms and shut my eyes, allowing the water to drift me away and forget about everything.

"Sorry papa," I heard my childhood self whisper, "Sorry I failed again."

I opened my eyes, sitting rigidly straight up from my dreaming posture before. My hands were shaking as I tried to position myself to stand, my palms clammy and sweaty. As I reached up to touch my cheeks my fingers were met with tears dripping down my flaking face. Wiping them off hurriedly I run my fingers through tangled knots and strands of chocolate brown.

I felt elated. I felt like those times when you feel someone tap on your shoulder or call your name but when you turn around to see who they were - they're gone. I grabbed my most prized leather bound notebook from underneath my bed and began writing under the light of only the moon which shone through my bedroom window. I jotted down a list of words besides numerous others -

- father

- drowning

- darkness

- tunnel

- falling

I did so while humming. I did so while murmuring to myself, trying to steady my hands from shaking the very ground on which I sat.

Grabbing a red marker, I circled the sentence right in the center of the paper -

"WHERE IS HE?"

He is here - in heart.

He is dead - in mind.

He is gone - in life.

Reaching up I felt my fingers grow moist from my eyes which had began their practice of crying once again. Slowly the hiccups began their turn of forcing down my sobs, the rising and falling of my chest shaking my shoulders uncontrollably. The whimper which I had barely let out before began coming out as cries and gasps and further heaves and pounding of crying.

Sad. Just so sad. Sad.

A sense of pure sorrow washed over me as I struggled to release my regret to the tranquil room whose silence I was intruding. Reaching for the box of tissues underneath my bed, I quietly wiped my eyes and murmured,

"It's okay now, Lavie - dad's just not gonna' come back. It's not like you're gonna' die or anything."

My feet made contact with the cold mahagony, my hand rested on the wooden bed frame for support. I stood and fingered for the light switch in the darkness, only to stop abruptly and allow my hands to fall to my sides.

Conflict rose in my mind, a stirring dilemma in my chest. I reached for my bedroom door, and turning the doorknob, pushed it open. Treading lightly I walked to my mother's room, my right hand raised at the handle, ready - but I stop once again. I couldn't tell her, I realized, I couldn't bring myself to pain her once more. I couldn't return to the warmth of my bed sheets, though, knowing of the dangers which came by falling into dreams. I took a step back towards my own bedroom, quickly got dressed, and sprinted down the stairs towards the basement.

Putting on my apron, I stepped into the pantry to retrieve my supplies. Placing the flour, eggs, milk, and numerous other items onto the kitchen counter, I smile to myself, and turn the radio on softly.

Feeling the music flow through me, I hum along to the tune of an old 80's song, immediately feeling more at rest than I did before. Grabbing an empty bowl, I cracked an egg and mixed in the milk. Yes, this was how it should be, I thought, there obviously was a reason why I'm doing this for a living.

And so I baked and baked and baked until even from within that dusty old basement of dad's I could see the light of day come through the cement cracks near the stairs.