Sethra turned and departed after placing the crate uncerimoniously on the floor.
I traced her footfalls into the distance, as she made her way back down the stairs.
I fought back a pang of guilt as my body ceased shaking, somewhat grateful for the break in the incoming vibrations.
She returned with a bundle of packing material, and tossed it on the bed.
There was something about the way she moved today.
Purposeful.
Deliberate.
I was becoming increasingly more unsettled as I watched her.
As she separated the cotton into pieces, it became apparent why she was making me so nervous.
Not once since her arrival did she look towards me, or at least, where I was looking from.
Her eyes were taking me in, in my entirety; The spark of recognition that usually played across them, was absent.
I waited dutifully for her to greet me.
.. and waited.
But it would never come.
She finished pulling apart the material and made her way towards me.
Carefully, she unscrewed the cap and lifted off my shade.
The urge to writhe my way to freedom was overwhelming; and unnecessary.
No matter how I fought to struggle, her hands continued towards the bed, my shade gently grasped between them.
All I could do was watch in silence, as it was gingerly placed atop a pile of packing material, the excess wrapped around it and stuffed inside.
When Sethra finished, I could feel the packing surround the dome as it rocked lazily on the bed.
I pleaded mentally, knowing what was to come.
Soon thereafter, her outstretched arm sailed towards me. The touch of her giant hand almost causing me to pass out completely.
A few moments later, I found myself placed on the bed, ready to join it's fate.
I stared, searching for some sign this was all a big practical joke, but her gaze remained steadfast upon her work.
Without hesitation, her fingers quickly worked the packing material around me.
Around my base, and around my stem.
Tightening here..
Stuffing there..
She continued her way up past my body and over my wooden face.
More and more until I could feel it was enclosing me completely.
I could barely feel her hands around me anymore.
A few more layers and nearly all traces of light were vanquished.
The packing pulled and constricted as she lifted me up. Gravity twisted and turned as she examined her handiwork.
Satisfied, she slowly lowered me into the crate.
I could feel her add more packing and felt her place my shade inside to join me.
It had all happened so fast.
I sat, caught between stimulus and disbelief.
Alone.
Shocked into stillness in the muffled silence.
Only when the lid to my box was being secured did the moment finally catch up.
It was true.
..I was a lamp.
The mental blockades of denial came crashing down, unable to maintain their validity..
..I was a lamp.
..I was a piece of furniture.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Breakfast at Tiffany's Part 2
Breakfast at Tiffany's
When I came too, my brain was alight with a flurry of new sensation. I could barely concentrate.
I floundered between the incoming waves of stimulus to take in my surroundings.
I was no longer in the work room. I had been moved to our bedroom.
The length of the mattress extended off towards the far wall.
The familiar wood of the night table peeked out from beneath me.
Hanging overhead, a hemisphere of what looked to be colored glass, sat obscuring my view.
My subconcious mind struggled to escape, even before my forward thoughts realized what I was seeing.
It looped over the possibilites again and again, trying to make some sense of it.
Trying to escape the truth of what it was seeing. What it was feeling.
The lampshade hanging above me, was my own.
I could feel it. It's surface. It's imperfections. It's shape circling behind and beyond my peripheral.
The wind from the far window passing over it's surface.
Just like the metal sphere that I became. That became me.
Each tick of the clock created new connections. The separation between it and I pared down to nothing with each passing second.
I could feel my legs, and how they blended with the base they were affixed to.
How my arms extended up, beyond my view, the bulbous form of a lightsocket where my hands should be.
I could feel the grooves where a bulb would sit, and the protrusion of what felt like a switch.
Like a blind mans fingers upon a new face, my mind traced over the contours of my body.
Piecing it together.
Shakily repeating in it's disbelief.
...I was not a lamp.
Time and again I would search for some way to prove the sensations false, and fail.
...I was a not lamp.
...I was not a piece of furniture.
But no matter how many times the phrase was repeated, it did not change what I was feeling, or where I now resided.
In our room; on our bed table; holding aloft a lampshade like a prized possession.
The urge to close my eyes, to black out what I was seeing, was only met with stillness.
The failed attempt only serving to reinforce that which I was denying.
Sethra, as always, had spoken words of truth.
I sat there, for some time, teetering between shock and disbelief. My mind wrestling against what it was seeing, unable to fit it's current experience into a pre-existing slot of expectation.
I flipped back and forth between the benefits of acceptance, and the urge to fight the reality in which I was now ensconced.
The center of the problem, I believed, was that acceptance was winning.
The sensations that my new form was pumping into my conciousness, were stripping away all remnants of my old self.
The input was simply stronger.
Like a dream of a better place, the memories I grabbed at just didn't seem as real as the moment.
And the moment, as I was to learn, was far from over.
Before I could acclimatize, I was made quite aware of my body shaking. Lightly at first, the approaching vibrations coursed through me with increasing strength, eventually demanding all of my attention.
The footfalls crashed against the ground. Crashed against my mind. Each one more pronounced than the one before.
Heel toe.
Heel toe.
Each approaching step growing louder until Sethra entered the room, a wooden crate nestled in her arms.
...Continued in Part 3
I floundered between the incoming waves of stimulus to take in my surroundings.
I was no longer in the work room. I had been moved to our bedroom.
The length of the mattress extended off towards the far wall.
The familiar wood of the night table peeked out from beneath me.
Hanging overhead, a hemisphere of what looked to be colored glass, sat obscuring my view.
My subconcious mind struggled to escape, even before my forward thoughts realized what I was seeing.
It looped over the possibilites again and again, trying to make some sense of it.
Trying to escape the truth of what it was seeing. What it was feeling.
The lampshade hanging above me, was my own.
I could feel it. It's surface. It's imperfections. It's shape circling behind and beyond my peripheral.
The wind from the far window passing over it's surface.
Just like the metal sphere that I became. That became me.
Each tick of the clock created new connections. The separation between it and I pared down to nothing with each passing second.
I could feel my legs, and how they blended with the base they were affixed to.
How my arms extended up, beyond my view, the bulbous form of a lightsocket where my hands should be.
I could feel the grooves where a bulb would sit, and the protrusion of what felt like a switch.
Like a blind mans fingers upon a new face, my mind traced over the contours of my body.
Piecing it together.
Shakily repeating in it's disbelief.
...I was not a lamp.
Time and again I would search for some way to prove the sensations false, and fail.
...I was a not lamp.
...I was not a piece of furniture.
But no matter how many times the phrase was repeated, it did not change what I was feeling, or where I now resided.
In our room; on our bed table; holding aloft a lampshade like a prized possession.
The urge to close my eyes, to black out what I was seeing, was only met with stillness.
The failed attempt only serving to reinforce that which I was denying.
Sethra, as always, had spoken words of truth.
I sat there, for some time, teetering between shock and disbelief. My mind wrestling against what it was seeing, unable to fit it's current experience into a pre-existing slot of expectation.
I flipped back and forth between the benefits of acceptance, and the urge to fight the reality in which I was now ensconced.
The center of the problem, I believed, was that acceptance was winning.
The sensations that my new form was pumping into my conciousness, were stripping away all remnants of my old self.
The input was simply stronger.
Like a dream of a better place, the memories I grabbed at just didn't seem as real as the moment.
And the moment, as I was to learn, was far from over.
Before I could acclimatize, I was made quite aware of my body shaking. Lightly at first, the approaching vibrations coursed through me with increasing strength, eventually demanding all of my attention.
The footfalls crashed against the ground. Crashed against my mind. Each one more pronounced than the one before.
Heel toe.
Heel toe.
Each approaching step growing louder until Sethra entered the room, a wooden crate nestled in her arms.
...Continued in Part 3
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