The Heart Is But A Child...

The Heart is but a Child

May 4th 2011

Word Count: 1,104

         I awoke, my skin deluged with perspiration. I knew my nightmare was not false when the dreaded, beautiful breathing began to perch its way into my ear. I felt convulsions arise in my esophagus and my alveoli felt corrupted. I did not dare to move, or else I would wake up the hideous, enchanting beast resting beside me. My ligaments were like snakes, biting into my bones and almost teasing me to act. However, I managed to strike my bottom lip with my teeth and regain focus on the situation. I glanced around quietly, and found the barn to still be silent and the yard pristine. I then deduced that it was still a virgin morning, free of penetration from all sound and interruption. The saying that after every night is a dawn may have ample truth to it, but its figurative meaning fails when the dawn is more dreadful than the night.



         The hideous, beautiful beast next to me slumbered silently while shivering from the tickling chill of the morning. Without making a sound, and not even daring to breathe, I shifted my cotton blanket from my crying legs to cover the angelic, demonic creature next to me. I was astonished, curious, but above all, confused. In hindsight, I should have been able to guess that it was inevitable, but I just could not bring my gastric acid to drop down. It was like a python, attempting to reach out of its captivity and meet the world. The realization of my deed provided a caromed sensation in my gut, thereby sickening me further.



         Looking outside, the satanic red sun gleamed at me with pride. I felt ashamed; horribly, I came to the realization that the saint-like sun was too disgusted with me to even creep its innocent rays of sunlight to the breathing being besides me. I knew I was too far to be redeemed; there were too many deeds gone unpunished. The sun was being lenient for all I have done for its name, but it would not grant me even the slightest pleasure of keeping me consoled in this horrific nightmare. It knew my weakness, and was exploiting it.



         With that thought, I suddenly felt calm. I began to notice a trend occurring often in my life. The  most sincere, bright, and beautiful things often are the most dangerous. Fire, for instance. It's man's greatest tool to some, and to others, a nice insulator. However, it's beautiful. It's a mystical sight, that has captivated men for centuries. Even the smoke it gives birth to end up beautiful. But its dangerous. It leads all creatures that walk this planet to it's beautiful exterior. No one can prevent the seduction of its swaying dance, and its multicolored rainbow. Its power too, is almost surreal. The fact that something so beautiful can hold so much power is above any paradox, mystery, or pun; on the other hand, it is a conjecture, a hypothesis, and a thesis.



         Suddenly, the majestic beast next to me mewled like a kitten, and inadvertently clutched onto my bare arm. It sent a neurotic blast, reminding me of my nudity and vulnerability. In fact, this vulnerability was the reason I am in hell today. Had I been stronger and younger, I would have been able to protect myself from this fire and be safe in my own water. My age has since long turned white, and the black clouds of youth still elude me. My heartbeat has began to accelerate, becoming a derivative from velocity and running faster than any carriage. The color of my face has started leaving, and in fact, despite my growing age, I have become afraid of the prospect of sleeping alone. Yet, I knew what I had done was aberrant; it was unheard of and completely unacceptable.



         This fire has caught me within it's innermost flame, and I had to douse it, but I did not realize that by dousing this flame, I only increased it. It defied most laws of science. In all my years as the professor of this beast, I have taught that to extinguish fire, you need water. While in all technicalities, I did not use water, I still believed I could decimate that fire once and for all, but unfortunately, I only enlarged it. I blame my age; although it leaves me with an ironic thought. While I have become older, my heart has remained a child. It is childish and inexperienced.



         I was unaware that my heart could be so stupid and inept. I was under the impression it would be pious and pure like I was. Instead, like a child, it forces me to listen to the noise it makes. For some reason, like a child, it pays attention to the most senseless of talks for no reason at all. Like a child, there is none more bastard than it.



         I must stop it, must interfere with its childishness. I must teach it to mature, else it will face betrayal when it is as old as I am. However, like a child, I am afraid of love.



         The thought hit me like two molecules colliding with each other; like my heart, I am a child. I was led to believe something that did not, and should not, exist. I walked blindly, believing I could trust others. I threw away anything I did not like and jumped right to it, not caring if I got hurt. I was a child, and I could just shed a few tears and a kiss would make it all better. It was a sojourning ideal, that unfortunately perished the moment it was conceived in my mind.



         I was a mere scientist, working in a laboratory. I did not realize that my childishness would one day leave me in hell, leave me to rot, and leave me to be castigated. I did not care necessarily for myself, but beasts like the one slumbering gently next to me are always the victim. And through logical reasoning, if the beast is the victim, it makes us both look like perpetrators. Society's sense sometimes scares scientists similar to myself.



         I decided right then. I would spend this time in my imprisonment in hell, and hopefully raise my heart. Raise it right and proper, and allow it to mature. I will need its strength for when I cut my last bridge, I will drown in this volcanic pit of fire. After all, like the beast has said so many times herself, the heart is but a child.