Back to the Forest

by themanfromlevion

Read the previous story here: https://ohmynatis.wordpress.com/2017/04/15/fever-dream/

The Reckoning Day #3

I soaked in the sunlight, feeling its familiar warmth all across my body, a warmth that was quite different from the searing pain that I had been in for so many hours past. Now, after food, washing, and some movement, I felt human again. Well, as human as I ever felt.

What the fuck are you always talking about?

I froze in the middle of a deserted street. What was I talking about? What was I doing?
Where are you going with this? Who are you talking to constantly with that funny little questioning voice over and over?

I…

Who are you narrating to?
This is just…this is just the way people think. This is just the way-

No, no. Nobody narrates their life as they’re living it! Oh! Could it be?
 I shook my head. I wasn’t going this path again, no.

Aw, poor little Ari.

I started walking quickly away from town. I had an idea of what was coming, and I couldn’t face it, I couldn’t do it anymore.

Haha! This is exciting, isn’t it?
I started to run, run, run faster and faster, trying to outrun my thoughts, trying to outrun what I didn’t want to hear, what I don’t want to go through again.

Run, run, run! Go faster!

 I ran into the woods near the town, and I began to run down the rough path there.

Oh, look out for that branch there!

 Frantic, I looked up only to trip and go sprawling headfirst to the ground. I groaned in pain.

You know what they say, you can run but- well, I guess you can’t run either!

Shut up, shut up, shut up!
I’m a voice in your head, aren’t I? So I guess you need to shut up.

 No, I’m just going to ignore it. I got-

–Can you really ignore something that you’re actively acknowledging to say you’ll ignore it?

I got to my feet, goddamnit. I’m fine. I’m fine.

The only people who have to tell themselves that over and over are people, who are, gasp, not fine!
I’m fucking fine and I’m fucking walking deeper into this forest. Oh Natis, this forest, it has so many memories, so m-

And what fine memories! Of your greatest work in fact.

No, I don’t want to think about that right now. No.

Whaaaat? Could you possibly be ashamed?
NO! Don’t you fucking dare say I’m ashamed of it!

Hey. I’m just saying what you refuse to say.

 STOP! I almost sobbed. All this while I had been stumbling around, voices echoing back and forth in my mind-

Hey, back to my original question: Who are you providing all this context for? Who’s here besides me?
I ignored the voice and looked around to see where I was. When I did, I forgot to breathe. I was in the clearing where I had written most of my last work, where I had spent endless days and nights poring my heart and soul onto the page.

That’s beautiful. How did that work out for you, by the way?
No. No.

Did the, ah, stories you told get much attention?

 Shut up. I practically sobbed as I slid down my favourite tree, knowing what would come next, bracing myself for it.

Because that’s it, isn’t it?

…

Ohhh, no more begging? I was enjoying it.

Get on with it.

Welllll, if you ask so nicely.

…

You know, if you aren’t going to say anything, then this becomes rather strange. So why don’t I take over your meaningless narration? You know, so your imaginary listener doesn’t feel left out.

 

I don’t care.

Good to know! I jumped up, stretching my limbs out. Hey, everybody, I’m Ari now! So let’s do it, huh? Let’s tell you all the big secret Ari, oh, ahem; I have been unwilling to tell you! I’m so excited! What about you, voice in head?

I don’t care.

I threw up my hands and whooped. Freedom was good.

Ah, yes. Our story. Well, our story is actually a story about stories. I guess you could say…the story of the story is the story. I giggled. Then I turned to the tree I had been leaning against and stroked the bark lovingly. This tree had seen me through so much, oh my. It had watched me while I had destroyed myself for something so truly beautiful that even I had loved it…but no else cared about.

Some people do care.

Oh, yes. Some people do. You can count those people on the fingers of one hand, can’t you?

…

And there is! The true problem. The reason you “can’t” write. Poor little Ari is feeling ignored.

It’s not that.

Oh, yes, yes. Let’s now talk about your illness and your loneliness. All its life, poor little Ari just wanted to be heard. All it wanted was to be loved, to have people listen. To not feel, sorry, I’m tearing up here; to not feel so alone. I mean, is that too much to ask?
No.

Of course it is! The world owes you nothing, you dumb piece of shit. You’re alone, and we’re alone, and none of us are really there for anybody else.

I refuse to believe that.

Oh, of course. If you believe that, what point is your worthless life, right?
What point is anyone’s life?

 Oh, there’s plenty! As long as there’s a drink to be had, as long as there’s somebody left unconquered by my lust, as long as there’s poor willing saps to be swindled out of their money with garbage that’s easily produced, there’s plenty left in life!
You disgust me.

 Then why don’t you do something about it? Oh, that’s right, you can’t. Because what will you do when no one’s listening? I could scream right now and no one would hear. If a storyteller stands in the middle of a forest with no one around and reads out a story, is the story really being told?
Yes.

Excuse me?
I said yes.

Suddenly my head jerked up and I stared at the tree. Images and memories flooded my brain, of writing, of crying, of laughing. Immense joy flooded my body at the memory. I didn’t understand what was happening when my mouth opened, unbidden, and words spilled out of my mouth:
“I have magic. I have stories.”
I tried to close my mouth, to stem the flow the words, but they could not be stopped. I was not the one who was speaking, and then, suddenly, I was.

“When I first come to this forest, I was broken, but through the very act of writing, the very act of telling my story, I was healed in a way that I could not have been before. That was the reason I wrote, and that was exactly why the story turned out beautiful, not because I wanted it to be. That is the true magic of the story. That is what is important. And in the end, I have no choice but to try and let that be enough.”

There was silence for a few moments.

Goddamn it.

I smiled and left the forest. But the Forest would never leave me.