The Synopsis, or expectation of what I hope to achieve in the story:
The story consists of journal entries written by Hugh, a nihilist, who is in a mental institution. He receives dreams and encounters a world that is far more than he knew or expected. Through this he gains understanding of the gospel.
The Dream Journal
Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind and said:
“Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?
Dress for action like a man;
I will question you, and you make it known to me.
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its measurements—surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
On what were its bases sunk,
or who laid its cornerstone,
when the morning stars sang together
and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
“Or who shut in the sea with doors
when it burst out from the womb,
when I made clouds its garment
and thick darkness its swaddling band,
and prescribed limits for it
and set bars and doors,
and said, ‘Thus far shall you come, and no farther,
and here shall your proud waves be stayed’?
Job 38:1-11
Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher,
vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
What does man gain by all the toil
at which he toils under the sun?
A generation goes, and a generation comes,
but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises, and the sun goes down,
and hastens to the place where it rises.
The wind blows to the south
and goes around to the north;
around and around goes the wind,
and on its circuits the wind returns.
All streams run to the sea,
but the sea is not full;
to the place where the streams flow,
there they flow again.
Ecclesiastes 1:2-7
The Private Journal of Hugh
October 1, 2015
Emptiness, All I can think of is emptiness. It does not bite. It smiles - an obscene, jagged and empty black maw. I have stared into its eyes, soulless paths into an infinite thick oblivion. It has a name, Nihil. Despite my injuries, I can feel it in my bones, a sickening malaise. My head throbs. I have a broken leg, a broken arm, and my skull is fractured. Doc says I was lucky. Nah, lucky is not the right word.
A storm was approaching this morning. When I saw it I found dread, No control. It was absolute, an immense black and boiling object pressing forward and unstoppable. There was an object that had pure power unlike myself, an insignificant piece of flesh quivering in the autumn air. This storm is very much similar to Nihil. It knows the smile - but it is its offspring, having the same vestiges of malignancy. But this menace does not smile, it stares.
I am alone, watching the rain as it sloshes across the window, smearing and distorting the city. Elizabeth, she would have found this beautiful. She always loved the rain.
I had a roommate earlier. He was Latino and barking mad I think. I had awoken with a yell from a nightmare. To this, he responded, “wwh-wh-wh-what-where-problem?” He had stammered and then started nibbling at his fingernails, gazing nervously towards my side of the room, looking this way and that, side to side. Shortly thereafter, the putrid rankness of excrement reached my nostrils. A nurse came in. She was rather portly but had a kind and endearing face.
“Oh dear!” She had exclaimed as she became aware of the stench. She followed my gaze to him and proceeded to amend the situation.
“Come, let’s get you cleaned up” she said in a voice as though to a child.
She gestured for him to follow.
I don't know why I am writing in my journal. Perhaps the feeling of writing is therapeutic, a release? But the dry whispers of the pen dragging across the paper is one of the few familiar sounds in this hospital. This pen scintillates under the lamp. Not too many with a nub anymore. I had felt the tip, nearly sharp. It drew a neat line across my thumb.
I have a pen...
October 7, 2015
I was not successful.
Despite losing a lot of blood, a nurse had walked in just after the act. I was revived by the hospital staff. They did not have room in the psychiatric wing for another, so I was moved. I was relegated to the St. Agnes's Hospital for mental disorders. It is out in the countryside and has a 15 acre property. The building has two wings that curl around the front courtyard, which has two grand elms, each in front of their respective wing. The gate was high, made of wrought iron, and joined with an equally high fence line that circled the property. The grounds were a vivifying display of colour, the grass a deep green and flower beds awash with the colours of violet, rose, and sunflower yellow. Something, I am told, meant as a mood setter.
No comments:
Post a Comment