Jordan Belville
Stories (2/0)
Into the Void
The wind whipped the strings of my hoodie against my face as if trying to strangle me. I stood at the edge of the cliff, close to the mountain peak. All was silent, minus the occasional shrieks and howls of the wind. It felt as if everything was still. Like a presence pressing upon my head and heart. As I gazed over the precipice viewing the trees and empty space that separates me from the bottom far below, I am overcome with melancholy. The wind slowly fades out of hearing, and I listen, its my heart beating, the blood pulsing through my veins, my breathing which has become less. Little by little all sound fades away into the nothingness as the last ray of twilight disappears beyond the horizon, stealing the golden paint from the skies and splattering it with blacks and blues. I feel the presence of it. The lack of life. The oppressive feeling of separation. The desolation from the music of life cut off. The vacuumed chasm below me. L'appelle Du Vide.
By Jordan Belville6 years ago in Poets
Washed Through
There I stood, numb, in the dimly lit shower. The room was filled with hot steam that covered the mirror, and the water cascaded onto me. Drips of water ran down my face and off my nose. The longer I stood, the less numb I felt. The humidity was pressing against me, filling the empty space with sustenance, while the shower floor collected puddles of dirty water. Not physically dirty, but the soiled sin filled mind getting washed away. The longer I stood, I began to realize that it wasn't the steam or water filling the void, but the one who whispers into my ears at night. The one who greets my waking breaths with sound and light. The one who spreads a fog among the forest trees bathing it in mysterious wonder. No. I wasn’t numb at all. The shower tempo had not changed, but the beat of my heart had, the space around me became heavy, heavy with emotion, as if something electric was sitting in the air, waiting to burst forth in. It wasn't water that streamed down my face anymore, but tears. As I now sat, in the mechanic rain, eyes closed engulfed in blackness hearing the water splashing against my ears like violent drum beats, it all seemed to fade… hope came to me, in the rhythm of my soul. “You can do this”, he gently said, “You are not alone….You are loved..
By Jordan Belville6 years ago in Poets