The Prankster , From my Journal

Discussion in 'Fibromyalgia Main Forum' started by bpmwriter, Sep 7, 2005.

  1. bpmwriter

    bpmwriter New Member

    Imagine a wall filled with body parts. Not real body parts. Images arranged in a sprawling puzzle. You wake to this puzzle every morning and find yourself consumed by it intricacies until late into the night when your eyes grow sore and red but you can’t sleep. It’s your body and it’s not working. You want to know why. You want to understand so you can fix it. Many of the puzzle pieces have lost their shape; their malformed and it’s hard to tell what they represent and where they fit anymore. There’s gaps large and small and always in different places.

    There are other images, less grotesque; kind faces that want to help. These pieces, like the pills bottles too, fit somewhere in the cracks of the puzzle like plugs in a levee on the verge of breaking. Often they’re temporary and change with the season. You accommodate the puzzle’s whims the best you know how. They’re dynamic and ever changing while you remain static, gazing at the puzzle, tired and hurting, waiting for the riddle to win like it always does.

    In a fleeting moment of clarity, some long-lost survivalist instinct spurs you into action. You begin feverishly working on the puzzle. You know you’re moving too fast, you will pay for it all, but the answer is closer than ever. The puzzle is so big now you have to pace and reach, stretching sore muscles to their limits but it doesn’t matter because it’s all fitting together. You keep moving while you can. There’s some logical explanation to all this. You will overcome and be whole again!

    An insidious giggle echoes from the four corners of the room. You freeze, clutching a piece of the puzzle, your heart, to your chest. The prankster dances in. A slippery, faceless child, he delights in the game. Tugging on one piece of the puzzle he can bring the whole thing down and that’s exactly what he does, just like he always does, leaving you hunched over amongst the wreckage. Pieces lie strewn across the floor as a thick fog presses in against the windowpane. All you want to do is lie down. Perhaps you can dream the pieces back together? But you can’t sleep. And the prankster giggles one last time.
  2. elsa

    elsa New Member

    And oh so true. Your description of the prankster sent
    a chill up my spine. Hearing the Prankster's giggle through the thick fog just sealed the deal and sent me running for the bed to hide under the covers!

    I do so love to read ... probably 4 novels a week. You certainly got my attention with this. I prefer to focus on your talents and the emotions they evoked then the apptly
    described life with fibro. After all, reading is my escape
    and favorite form of entertainment. LOL

    Thank you for posting this. I'm going to creep down the stairs and re-fill my coffee cup ... you can be sure I'll
    be checking under the staircase and around every corner ...