Invisible Strings

I remember what happened that day. It came to me like a jolt in my brain. Every detail of that day. I know, why I woke up with dried eyes. I know, why my psychiatrist was here. He called me, very early in the day. He sounded worried and in a hurry. It felt weird, my psychiatrist calling me for a session in my house.

He arrived at my house an hour after the phone call. He brought this fine whiskey. We sat at my kitchen table. I asked him "What is going on?". He pour two glasses. One for me, of course. He looked frantic. He said, "I needed to come. I remember." I keep quiet, he continued talking. It felt more like a confession. "Everything feels connected. Like an invisible string. Every time, I.. No. We have our sessions. It feels on repeat. Sometimes, we are meeting for the first time. Other times, we knew each other and I recommended you to another doctor. I even have it wrote down, but the next day. Everything resets, we forget  the session. Our session"

He drank his entire glass, then pour himself another one. I was taking small sips. It was very early. He looked around and continue on. " This time, it bleed into me. Memories. Years of resetting. It bleed from my subconscious. Yesterday, I felted like two different persons. The outsider looking in and the guy present not knowing and playing his part.  Candle Cove. You know, how many times we had that discussion?" He looked at me , waiting for an answer. I didn't know how to answer. He smiled and looking down at his glass. He drank the entire thing again. I'm almost finish with mine. He pours mine  and then himself again.

"I knew it. They have gotten to you again. I will tell you then. About 100 times. Sometimes, we change what we say. But the outcome is still the same. We been having similar sessions, without any progress." The light that was coming from my windows darken a bit, I stood up and turn on the lights. I sat back down.  "You know what's funny. I played along in some versions. Like a puppet." He finished his drink, yet again. He pours another one for himself. He looked scared. Not wanting to say the other bit. I believe, he was drinking to get the courage to talk.

"I have met the young man. I know, what they are. I know, why they have followed us. We. You know, you and me, we are the children of the cove. The children of that thing. It's weird, I find it pleasant. The same as you have mentioned before. We were more than us. I know, we were. We have to be."

I drank my whiskey.  I was shocked. I quickly ask, who is the young man? He answered, "He is one of many. The ones that aren't chosen to spread the seed. The ones who represent it. Think of them as mixture of prophet and soldier. They represent the many and the one." I didn't understand. I went blank. I looked around the kitchen. Everything got dark. I could hear it. The soothing sounds. I saw the doctor's face turned pale. I felted that cold fear in my body. We both knew, what was to come.

update #1

Someone wrote on my notes. I believe it's the young man, bastard. He doodles around my notes and wrote a message behind the paper. " Stop fooling around and try harder remembering. You could do it, our little tin ex-soldier." He is mocking me. Why does he want me to remember? What is the importance of his message? Why didn't he just write it down? I know why, it would be practical for him. 

News

I feel like I'm wasting my time watching the news. Is all tragedy these days, what happened to the cool old inspiring news. Don't get me wrong, they are some like the Olympics. But the bad outweighs the good. I know, it sounds pessimistic. That's what happens when you watch the news or any politician campaign. Greedy bastards. I know sometimes good can come up from the dirt.

For example, the other day there was a report about a kid who survive an encounter with an ominous serial killer. He describes the event on how the killer was standing there, analyzing, savoring its prey on front of the little boy's bedside. How the killer viciously jump on top of him, how the kid punched and kick the killer to prevent the almost inevitable until his dad arrived. The killer jump away from the kid and lunges into his dad. Only slightly cutting the man's shoulder, until the siren arrives. The killer made a run for it, disappearing after that, without a trace.

I know, it sounds like a bad example. But thanks to this incident, we now know the killer's description. Connecting him with various unsolved mysteries. Now, the authorities have a name for him. They are calling him, the grinning man, based on his (supposedly) Glasgow smile. Hopefully, they will captured that monster. It would be horrible, if he comes into my house. That would just be God's way of saying a very macabre joke. I have other things to deal with, but it comes to show how this world is slowly decaying. I know, inspiring words and kind of missed my own point.

If only I could stop distracting myself and tried to remember. I feel my subconscious is just stalling. At least, I been writing on a piece of paper my remembrance of that day. The only thing that was new about it, was that all of a sudden, it got dark.  It got pitch black in the morning. Memories can be a bitch, it doesn't add up. The more I think about it, the more my life doesn't make sense.

Clock

I was staring at my kitchen clock. Thinking about the other day and the message the young man said to me. Trying to remember, why I woke up with dried eyes on this table. Funny, how I find it soothing  to listen to the ticking sound of a clock. Watching how time slowly moves, but feeling that everything moves fast. We always perceive time moving forwards, always eating up the past and transitioning into the future. The present only existing in moments, quickly becoming the past. Then, it hit me. I remember who it was that visited me the other day. It was Brandon Morris, my psychiatrist. It's very peculiar that he visited me so early in the morning and especially the day after our session. Actually, the more I think about our last session. I found it weird that he knew about Candle Cove, also how he was treating me that day. The more I think about it, the more it feels like déjà vu. How can that be? It still doesn't explained, why was I crying? I need to remember our conversation. Why did he visited me?

Static

No more drinking all day. Last night, was something. Hell, yesterday was just absurd. If I recall correctly, I talked to the scientist from my dream, Doctor M, in my TV's screen. He was talking about some waves that produces a beacon. In my drunken state, I started laughing. I thought, he said bacon. He lashed at me. "Stop wasting time and listen.", he yelled at me. I notice multiple shadow of  black tentacle slowly surrounding the side of the TV screen and slowly moving toward the center. Consuming it, like a weird octopus. The doctor seem a bit angry at me. Screaming, "time is up. Listen carefully. Candle Cove is man-made. I should know. You and some others who can watch the show, acts as a beacon that was supposed ...." The doctor disappeared, as if he drowned in the static.

..uh

What the hell happened?  I need to go to sleep. Stupid TV, making my head hurt. I really need to analyze what the hell happened. Doesn't matter. Don't watch reality TV. Is the worst invention mankind have ever created. That's the shit we need to use as WMD. It causes more death than a bomb. What the hell. I need to recollect. That moment in static was mind blowing.

.....title something

  Watching TV, half-awake. Laying on this lovely sofa, flipping the channels. Watching the crap that we call TV. Having my laptop on my side writing random stuff on it. You know folks, the only cure for a early hangover. Is dot drink some more. Yee-haw. Flipping channels. Now and days, you can put anything of TV. You are a wife, who is from Jerseay. You get a show, you win the prize. I lose, they win.

How about this,  TV../? How about a show; about a man, who served his Country. Who quit to find life. outside the realms pf that hole, that we call existence. When the man got out, a decade later. He tries to find his childhood show. Then remembers crap of his last day at corps or confusing memories/dream into a big blender.  Dyslexia of the mind and stuff. Up and down.

Yeah, that show would be great. Crazy bastard Johnny Variety Hour. Featuring John Motherfucking Peters. Also starring Black trenchy young fucker pants. Look at how they will fight. Yeaah.   Fuck TV. Oh, great. It's all static now. Oh, no. Ominous. Everyone have a shot on me. I going to fight the dead air of static.