Sunday, July 27

Past Lives PART 8

As time advances skin shrivels and memories faint. Our past becomes this pair of binoculars that see shattered images of our life, which sometimes look like dreams. Might seem like other people’s dreams. People as familiar to us as ourselves. Perhaps ourselves in other lives. Our life in Past Lives. This is one of the past life stories of David, a 35 years old Australian who tries to understand himself through Past Life Regression (PLR).



David’s Past Lives is a collection of stories that stretches over different historical time lines, continents and blogs. This will be the 8th. For life number 1 please go to PART 1 - Lillys Life, Australia




" I can't move my arms. I'm trapped. Water is rising to my neck. Mama…all I can think of is mama…and Lilly……."





Dr. Marlowe: Where are you, David?




My ears are subdued by this voice that speaks from beyond my reasoning: w-h-e-r-e-a-r-e-y-o-u? I hear it, and almost distinguish the letters and their sense, but when it finally reaches me, I lose it.




I open my eyes and everything around me is blurry.




It must be this wine. Although the bottle seems rather trustworthy by the looks of its label: 1956 Romanian wine - 16 years old. I’m only 3 years older than this wine, is this supposed to make me better?


Now I remember.


I’ve been out drinking all night. Oh sweet Bucharest October. You always sweep me off my feet…13th October 1972. But whatever happened to the 12th?


Of course, it’s all coming back to me: I was at that precious winery on Victoriei sipping from grapes nipples all night long. Morning Dawn… what an explicit name. I took this bottle on my way out. And there was this girl too…We even kissed... I love my life!


Only I’ve had too much to drink this time. Oh my head hurts like crazy. I need to pull myself together.


What time is it? My watch has stopped. Oh Dear God, have you been drinking, too? I don’t remember dipping my watch hand into the big wine barrels. And even if I did remember, I would deny it with the grace of the great artist that I am.


Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhh.


No time for yawning. I have to get back to work.


What was I thinking? Drinking recklessly. My character depends on me. And so do the poor ignorant people that are depending on my writing.


Open the door! You hear me? Open the door you little rat. If you ever want to be writing that piece of crap you so call People’s Column you’d better move your fingers towards the knob and open this door at once.


I’m Coming! What is the matter?


Are you Matei Limpezeanu?


Yes. The one and only. The artist.


Well I’m afraid your artist days have just finished. Put a shirt on and follow me.


Hey. Is this some kind of joke? Are you the police? The militia?


I am a respectable citizen. I have just got back from Paris where I have studied violin and I recently landed a spot on the national philharmonic. I’m on my way to being first soloist.


Yeah, yeah. I’m impressed. Not. I know you’re just this up and coming young journalist dreaming to be playwright. Besides, you should have thought of your career when you were feeling my boss’s daughter last night. Remember? Morning Dawn? Not only have you made a complete arse of yourself, but you also left there with Clara. My boss’s 16 years old daughter. Where is she?


16? So she’s the same age as the wine. Now that’s more than a mere coincidence. Where is she by the way?


Dead. She was found dead on an alley close to Victoriei about 5 hours ago. That’s pretty close from here. Guess what? In less than an hour you’ll be dead too.


Wait a minute. Let’s not get hasty here. I don’t remember anything from last night. I mean, I remember leaving MD with a girl and a bottle of wine. The wine is still here as you can see. But I can’t remember bringing the girl here. I guess she got lost on the way.


This is not the time to be funny Mr. Journalist. Although I’ve heard you’re struggling with your new material. Your play that’s supposed to bring down The Boss? Aren’t you a little young to be playing with the big boys? This is not the high school theatre, you know?


OK. Now I get it. It’s that boss. Hey listen let’s be reasonable here. You don’t need to hurt me. I don’t know anything about no girl. Clara is a nice name. I might use it in my play. If only I could finish it. This character is killing me. Instead of me giving birth to him, I guess he will end up ending me. The never-ending-hard-filling blank page is like a lustless virgin woman. Like Clara come to think of it.


You could turn out a good writer. But who am I to say when I bring in bad news: you won’t finish the play cause I’m about to finish you. There is no Clara. She’s just a pretext. Move! Get dressed and let’s go.


Ooo. There’s no need for a gun. I’m moving. I’ve heard about people disappearing, I even had an act on the subject prepared for my play. My character, a journalist as well was going to disappear and big fists were shoved in his mouth. That’s a metaphor believe it or not.


Very close to reality. Only you’ll have a gun shoved in your mouth. It’s the way it has to be. Scum like you, pretending to reveal the truth disgust me. Too bad you’re only 19. you could have made a nice party member. Maybe could have written some nice hymns for the boss. For children to sing each year on the 23rd of August!


I’d rather end up like my character. And like Clara.


Take him boys.


I could not have put it better in my play. I guess I am the character after all.


You’re going to kill me on the back alley? Aaaaa!! What was that noise?


Hey, you’re hurting me. Oh. My head! I’m dizzy. I can’t hear a sound and funny enough I can still hear myself think. It’s so hot. This water running down the back of my head seems boiled. It’s going to burn me. If only I could remove it with my hand. It’s thick burning water. Oh no! It’s blood and there’s Clara..


To read PART 9 of David's journey you will be travelling to LouCeel, Illinois. David's next PLR Session is in the next couple of days so check back to find out where his past life journey takes him.

If you would like to contribute to the story and join in David's journey, please email lillyslife@gmail.com or go to The Red Chair Gallery.

8 comments:

Lilly's Life said...

I truly loved this story. You have a great talent and I have read it a few times now to capture every aspect of the story. It's almost as though you write in 3D and every time you read it something new is discovered. I truly like that level of complexity. Plus your sense of hmour shows through. Poor David, if thats what happens when you drink Romanian wine....come to think of it I enjoyed a drop or two myself when I visited Romania. I guess the 70s were still a time of much unrest and people disappeared for political reasons as well? I guess you were only a small child with the fall of the Iron Curtain in 89? I have visited Bucharest and Sibiu - beautiful cities. Cultural capital of Europe hey? I guess things are different now you are in the European Union and you can travel more widely and work anywhere in the Union? Anyway, thanks for joining in David's journey and keep in touch as I am sure you can participate again. And I truly hope you go on to study scriptwriting. Live your dreams!

Lilly's Life said...

Oh I just had one more question is the 23rd August like a liberation day or something of sgnificance to you? Just wondered..

redchair said...

Hi,
You did such a great job. Your story is wonderful! I really love the way your write. You focus on what the character is thinking and feeling in this horrific moment at the end of his life. We feel what he feels as he struggles to find clarity, sanity and remember what happened and what is happening in a drunken blur.

And, - you truly captured a hypnotic trance. You wrote your story the way our brain and thoughts drift. Wonderful.

Excellent job. I hope you had fun? Thank you for being a part of our tribe or writers. You made a great addition to David’s journey.
Vikki
________________________

Bună , Tu făcut such un mare job. Al tău poveste is minunat! I într-adevăr dragoste art.hot. way al tău a scrie. Tu focus on ce art.hot. character is thinking şi feeling înăuntru this horrific moment la art.hot. sfîrşit de lui viaţă. Noi feel ce el feels as el struggles la spre află clarity , sanitar şi a-şi aminti ce happened şi ce is happening înăuntru un drunken blur. Şi , tu truly captured ce un hypnotic trecere. Tu trecut vb. write al tău poveste art.hot. way our creier şi thoughts drift. minunat Excelent job. I hope tu had fun? Mulţumesc pentru being un part de our trib sau scriitor. Tu made un mare addition la spre David’s jurnal. Şi I hope this online traducător - does this correctly. I don't know un cuvînt de Român. Vikki

rocksnowhite said...

Ironically, 23rd of August honored Romania's escape from the fascist dictatorship and it has been celebrated throughout the communist one.

Eric S. said...

It was as if I was looking through his wine fogged and confused eyes. You made his youthful arrogance come out in such a masterful way. I'm sure in that era it was difficult to be young, arrogant, and believe you had all the answers.

I especially found it unique how you made his character in his play seem to collide, and join with his own personality. It is unfortunate that Matei will not be able to finish his play, now that he has the ending figured out.

Jules said...

Bravo!
I agree with Lilly and Vikki.
Job well done. I think I even felt dizzy when he did. Ha

I thought your character was great. He was brave up until the very end. (unlike me, I would have been begging for life) What can I say.... You did an excellent job!

queenlint1 said...

This is a stellar piece! I was intrigued by your use of a voice within a voice - Very "Noises Off" and a novel way to approach a character.

Also salient is your use of the unrest in your part of the world that has affected the voice and eye of so many writers and artists like the massacre in Srebrenica.

I reviewed several books of Z Budapest and note that her writing is often affected by the idea of fate putting us at the right and wrong places in time. Hers was being late for a political rally in 1956 Budapest where nearly all of the young people attending were murdered.

You have a gift. I'd love to see you keep after it as your voice and eye matures.

Blessings,
Dina

tashabud said...

I like your story very much. I felt as though I was alone inside a dark theater, watching the scenes played out in a stage. And there I was all crouched in the chair with my hands over my face and lips, feeling all the effects of your words. When your character felt drunk, I too felt like I was drunk. I love the dialogue between the two characters. I saw so much even though you didn't go into much detail in describing atmosphere and the setting of your story. Very well written.