Read Online Hold the Light by Ryan Sherwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ryan Sherwood
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proved harder than its departure; everything human inside his chest beat for only her.
No matter how callow or abundant his emotions, the gift struggled with his feelings, taunting and influencing what happened inside him. It seemed to study his every notion and mimic his reactions, trying to fit in. After the gruesome night on the porch, all that was inside of Mural, everything he thought or did, felt as if he had little or no part in it.
If a feeling came to him, there was no way for him to be sure it was genuine.
Most of his sensations felt skewed or mangled by the gift. The stubborn feelings it radiated swayed him heavily for the first month. After a week it began to pity itself, constantly moaning in melancholy, yearning for its home, wherever that was. After two weeks, Mural struggled to find where it was stolen from. The gift began to resist him with such vigor and passion that he started to pity it. He wondered how to set it free. So alien was the feeling between them that the first time he sneezed, he kept his hand far away from his lips, hoping it would shoot out. But it burrowed deeper within him, further down than his past heartbreaks, and it rested in his guilt, sharing space with his shattered soul.
After a month, survival was trying in every aspect. Mural sat in his living room chair, shivering and shaking with each stir within him. An everlasting cold possessed him. His convulsions became uncontrollable and ice water seemed to have replaced his blood. Time stretched into oblivion as Mural stared into his fireplace at ashes he could identify with. He was banished, never wanting to walk the streets again, but he attempted it nevertheless. One day he ventured out. His hatred for solitude forced him to his front door, pushing out into the fresh air he'd missed for so long. He had walked no more than twenty yards when his body began to shiver uncontrollably. The sidewalk began to vibrate at first as he reached out for the brick wall to keep steady, but the wall shook as well. His weight quickly became too much to bear as he fell into the brick and slid down to the ground, quivering in the fetal position. Mural's arms and legs curled up into his chest and his fingers jittered. His head jolted up, stretching to the end of his neck like it was trying to run away. Mouth open wide, without trying to make a peep, a scream skipped past his mouth and leapt right into his head. He began to cry, coiled up within himself like a snake.
Then he abruptly stopped and went stone cold.
An onlooker with very acute vision would have seen a thin blue streak soar from his face. This beam shot away from him and left him lifeless. He became a pale, crumpled ball for a few seconds until the streak returned with the same speed it left. Mural woke with a jolt of a horse kick. His eyes fluttered vehemently trying to gain bearing on where he was, as if he himself had left. The alien mass in his chest grew heavy, resettled in its newest home, and left Mural confused. Weak and battered, he rose and hobbled home using the wall as a brace, feeling his way down the coarse brick towards his doorstep. While walking up the narrow stairs into his home, images began to pop into his head. A barrage of images slid before his eyes, playing out a violent show of murder, one he hadn't remembered committing. It was fragmented with settings and areas that he had never been to, with monuments that he recognized, but had never visited. As the flashes slowly became even more familiar, more intimate than deja vu to him, Mural caught a glimpse of what he had become. Unnerved with the loss of control, not because of the murder, but because that didn't remember committing it, Mural began to shake. He was losing his grip on the gift nestled in his chest, trying to decipher it from his actual memories.
Mural's maroon leather chair was the only place comfortable enough to keep his thoughts away from suicide. He would live to see Veronica again. Just the
No matter how callow or abundant his emotions, the gift struggled with his feelings, taunting and influencing what happened inside him. It seemed to study his every notion and mimic his reactions, trying to fit in. After the gruesome night on the porch, all that was inside of Mural, everything he thought or did, felt as if he had little or no part in it.
If a feeling came to him, there was no way for him to be sure it was genuine.
Most of his sensations felt skewed or mangled by the gift. The stubborn feelings it radiated swayed him heavily for the first month. After a week it began to pity itself, constantly moaning in melancholy, yearning for its home, wherever that was. After two weeks, Mural struggled to find where it was stolen from. The gift began to resist him with such vigor and passion that he started to pity it. He wondered how to set it free. So alien was the feeling between them that the first time he sneezed, he kept his hand far away from his lips, hoping it would shoot out. But it burrowed deeper within him, further down than his past heartbreaks, and it rested in his guilt, sharing space with his shattered soul.
After a month, survival was trying in every aspect. Mural sat in his living room chair, shivering and shaking with each stir within him. An everlasting cold possessed him. His convulsions became uncontrollable and ice water seemed to have replaced his blood. Time stretched into oblivion as Mural stared into his fireplace at ashes he could identify with. He was banished, never wanting to walk the streets again, but he attempted it nevertheless. One day he ventured out. His hatred for solitude forced him to his front door, pushing out into the fresh air he'd missed for so long. He had walked no more than twenty yards when his body began to shiver uncontrollably. The sidewalk began to vibrate at first as he reached out for the brick wall to keep steady, but the wall shook as well. His weight quickly became too much to bear as he fell into the brick and slid down to the ground, quivering in the fetal position. Mural's arms and legs curled up into his chest and his fingers jittered. His head jolted up, stretching to the end of his neck like it was trying to run away. Mouth open wide, without trying to make a peep, a scream skipped past his mouth and leapt right into his head. He began to cry, coiled up within himself like a snake.
Then he abruptly stopped and went stone cold.
An onlooker with very acute vision would have seen a thin blue streak soar from his face. This beam shot away from him and left him lifeless. He became a pale, crumpled ball for a few seconds until the streak returned with the same speed it left. Mural woke with a jolt of a horse kick. His eyes fluttered vehemently trying to gain bearing on where he was, as if he himself had left. The alien mass in his chest grew heavy, resettled in its newest home, and left Mural confused. Weak and battered, he rose and hobbled home using the wall as a brace, feeling his way down the coarse brick towards his doorstep. While walking up the narrow stairs into his home, images began to pop into his head. A barrage of images slid before his eyes, playing out a violent show of murder, one he hadn't remembered committing. It was fragmented with settings and areas that he had never been to, with monuments that he recognized, but had never visited. As the flashes slowly became even more familiar, more intimate than deja vu to him, Mural caught a glimpse of what he had become. Unnerved with the loss of control, not because of the murder, but because that didn't remember committing it, Mural began to shake. He was losing his grip on the gift nestled in his chest, trying to decipher it from his actual memories.
Mural's maroon leather chair was the only place comfortable enough to keep his thoughts away from suicide. He would live to see Veronica again. Just the
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