How to Destroy Angels all started here, and now I’m considering scrapping this whole chapter. Or at least the first half of it, because it drags on a bit and perhaps it’s a little self indulgent. Agh, I don’t know…
My first memory is of falling.
The fall wakes me from my dream. It is a cruel awakening. A black widow tickling the roof of your mouth. A hand pushing you under water in the dead of winter. The upstairs neighbors blasting Celine Dion at 8am. Reality snatches me from my warm bed, claws skewering through the meat of my shoulders. It shakes me and tells me ‘what I believed I was, what I thought I had, it was all lies.’
But what were those sweet, delicious lies, exactly?
There is that initial denial, the disorientation, that moment of suspension on the bridge between dreaming and waking. Where reality swings fractured and insane thoughts seem rather plausible. But the first step off that bridge, that reluctant toe dip into the cold waters of reality, that’s where the panic resides.
I have to pay for my sins. Whatever they were, I have to pay for them with everything I am.
Somewhere beneath me coils a giant serpent, it’s jaw unhinged, its mouth open wide, waiting to swallow me whole. This endless blackness, this eternity of nothing, this is my new truth. The dream was the promise that the impossible is possible, it was the place where nothing begins and nothing comes to an end. I knew all the secrets of the universe. I knew love. And I knew the power of life and death. I knew all of this and it all slipped away like sand between my fingers