Journal Free Writing – A piece describing the detachment of a writer from his creative place as a result of a natural closing event in his life. In this circumstance, it would be the ending of an academic semester.
“Silence, Silence you beasts!” the writer cries out. Weeks ago the writer entered the sacred chamber, wishing to find the depths of the white hot core. At that time the place seemed mysterious and worthwhile, and as if only good things could come from it. Now the writer is plagued day and night by the characters who enter and exit The Zone freely. It was such a difficult task to open those doors, it took weeks of trying to convince the doors to open and day after day many attempts were made to practice opening them. Now it is as though the doors are permanently open. The enemy the writer wishes to silence are the voices in his own head, the forbidden world that was unleashed.
The writer’s primary task in The Zone is finished, rapid access to the characters is no longer desirable, but they keep coming. The writer no longer visits the core, because the core comes to the writer. Day after day, night after night, anytime the writer is in the dark, or is in front of the liquid crystal glow, they come back. All of the characters that have been dug up from the core present themselves openly. For several days the writer has tried to silence the voices, and usher the beasts back to their cave, but they simply will not go.
The writer sits alone in the dark. A young French speaking gentleman with a Quebec dialect appears beside him, speaking phrases that the writer does not know how to translate, but yet understands with absolute clarity. The message seems to be “for silence, you must visit where the voices are loudest.” The writer brushes off the advice of Jean-Pierre and continues sitting silently in the dark. Jean-Pierre sits too.
Out of the darkness behind the writer appears a sixteen-legged bug the size of a small dog, two brothers, a couple, and a character resembling himself, but very different. The writer doesn’t notice the presence of the characters, until one of the brothers stands beside of him with a spoon of red sauce. The brother speaks to him, “hey, try this sauce.” The writer knows the brother, and exclaims, “ERIC!” Eric jumps back near his brother. The writer turns around in his swiveling chair. He sees all of his characters assembled behind him, in an infinitely deep darkness packed in tight like molecules of diamond.
The writer looks to Jean-Pierre, the character still sitting beside him. He gives a thought to the advice given to him before. The writer ignores the characters and spins himself vigorously in the chair, back to his desk. The monitor before the writer glows brightly. Focus is obtained. The writer stares intently at the flashing cursor on the monitor and begins following the familiar path back to The Zone. The orchestra begins to play, and the characters follow the writer through the darkness and back into The Zone. The instant the writer sees the white hot core, the characters are mysteriously gone from behind him. The writer takes a deep breath and marches with a determined stride directly into the core, he is absorbed into the glow of the core.
The doors open immediately for the writer and a familiar voice announces “Welcome back, stranger”. A moment of silence occurs. All is quiet for moments, then a hundred whispers can be heard. The hundred whispers grows in intensity to become a thousand conversations. The writer walks forward into the open white field. The voices become a million screams. The writer begins crying as he runs across the white space, searching for a way out, looking for a space to hide from the voices.
The writer stops running out of exhaustion and drops to his knees, then yells at the top of his lungs, into the white sky “PLEASE…. LET…ME… OUUUUTT”. A bright flash of light distracts the writer as a tall woman appears in front of him and the voices all stop. The woman speaks to him “You wanted in here so badly and now you wish to exit?” the voice is familiar to the writer, the voice that has always greeted him when entering The Zone. The writer looks up and responds “Yes, I need out for a while”. “I will warn you, it won’t be easy once these doors close” threatens the woman. The writer thinks and then commits, “I accept that, but I can’t handle the pressure of them being open anymore”. The woman responds “Done.”
The write finds himself back in his chair, in darkness and silence. He stands up, opens the curtain and exits the room, free from The Zone. He is protected from the excitement of the white hot core.