Scott Gibson

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For seven nights I didn't sleep, babbling from a broken computer raided my head, i'd lost control no sign of soul. I'll get up and work to silence the din. It didn't work but it beats lying in the psychedelic darkness of history.
In front of the machine's glow I edited my dreams until they became my existence. "Do something you enjoy", someone said, i'd forgotten what I liked to do...that was a low point.
I switched on the games machine, playing with my eyes closed I thrashed everything in my path - a pointless Zaitoichi - but it whiled away the hours. Daylight came but the bustle frightened, even the park was nauseating with life. I trapsed in doors thinking of death - a sweet release seemed cliched - daytime TV made it tangeable.
If i don't sleep by Tuesday - that's it i'm doing it. I'll sit in that park and leave a reminder. As the kids play on the swings i'll be suffocating - envying the swans forcing back stale bread.
Monday came and still no change - blind determined stubborn replaced by fear excited dread. I picked up a book about a young woman fighting the devil in a bid to prove people, for the most part, are good. I read from start to finish in 2 hours - the woman won of course. Then something changed - an energy of some kind entered the room, rage and freedom combined, a battle commenced.
It was Tuesday and I still wanted to die, regardless of this unseen battle. The whirlwind only excacerbated my desire for peace. My woman called the hospital - a mental retreat. We took the bus - I had a packed bag. This is it, i thought. My bit-part as Jack Nicholson had come. I wasn't really mad, I thought. I'll be here to save someone else's day while I live on with my curse. Not to be, they wouldn't let me in. I looked at the nurse with dough-filled eyes, pleading for some respite - his return gaze suggested "pull yourself together, man" like he'd seen much worse.
My woman seemed more upset than me, thrashing her arms with what am I supposed to do. I'd long since lost her before then. We stood at the bus stop numb, waiting to go back. I looked at the hospital, the sunset was heavenly and blinding of high summer. I turned towards our house, thundery purples and blues gathered - time to face the music I guess.
"You'll have to call the doc in the morning, get something sorted," she said. I'd already tried their medicine and I didn't want to speak to anyone, what a waste of time doing that. Instead I sat and let the battle rage in my front room, spirits flew, the walls shook, voices booming from ear to ear. An old woman was standing at the window, staring into my room; she was catatonic - turning like a sun dial as the day turned to dusk. I could hear her voice but not her words, somehow it made me smile - then it came, that voice again, "It's ME", it said. An old friend I hadn't seen in 20 years. A feather fell from my shoulder, i watched it drop to the floor - I was waking up