Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light
Again, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Sunday, February Seventeenth, 12:00 P.M….
All I’m doing is counting down the days until I will be home. Until I can leave.
Eleven…ten…nine…eight…seven…
I count as I sit in my room, a piece of paper in front of me. I write and write and write. Graphite to words, I write.
The words form out on paper. Anything that comes to mind, it appears on page.
“Ah, yes, that one. That one sounds good. Rage, yes, I like it. Rage.” I murmur absently, to no one but myself and the openness of my room.
I think I’m going crazy, being stuck in here.
My hand scribbles letters out faster than before.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
“Yes, yes…perfect….” I mumble once again, almost deranged. Moments of madness are fleeting but there. Imagine being cooped up in a small house, a small yard for a month, unable to have contact with civilization.
Zila has long gone. She flew the coop yesterday. She is gone, off to another mission, mine, maybe someone else….just another mission.
A small snarling noise escapes the back of my throat as I stick tape on the top of the paper, throwing it up against the wall. Pages upon pages are already stuck on the eastern wall. I look out the window ahead of me. Clear skies. Beautiful day for a ride.
“No, no…I want Zack’s song. Yes. I want his song.” I whimper as my sleep deprived mind swings back and forth between reality and passing out. I think of his band and my head swings back and forth, stretch out the crooks in my neck.
I start writing the lyrics down to some All Time Low song. No clue what it was, just that my mind was on sweet Zack. When I’m done, the words are messier than the pages before. My hands shake. The door opens. My head hits the desk, eyes closed.
A hand touches my shoulder slightly. I shiver at the unexpected contact.
“Hey, Rory. You want some lunch?” Haven asked me. The words take their time to go through my brain and process. I look up at him, the blurry face a sudden flashback of Jack. His highlights remind me of the crazy boy. I whimper from the sudden image, the flash of smells that accompanied him, the smells of the bus and of his cologne and his guitar and all of them.
Haven/Jack stoops to my level as I close my eyes. I think exhaustion is finally getting the best of me. I’ve been up for three days straight…writing…reading…staring at the stars and wondering of home.
I see them all the time, all four of them. I see them in the corner of my room, behind my eyelids, in Haven’s form…I see them and I cannot escape my soon to be choice, the one I will have to face sooner rather than later.
Haven is right in front of me. I stare at him from my edge of the bed. His worried blue eyes stare at me with emotions so full I could drown. His hands cup my face, making me turn to face him.
I swear I heard Alex’s laugh from somewhere.
“Hey, are you alright? You look like you rose out of the grave.” He said. I closed my eyes and yawned, ducking my head into my chest.
“No, Jack. I’m fine.” I mumbled sleepily, not exactly sure of what I was saying or doing or where I was. I’m just so tired…
“Jack? Oh...I think I read about him in your file Zila recovered. It’s me, Haven. Rory, wake up.” Haven snapped me out of it. I opened my eyes.
Haven. It was just Haven. Not Jack. I was being stupid. I missed him, I missed all of them, every band, every man. I missed them all.
“Sorry.”
“How much sleep have you gotten?” Haven asked me, his index finger gently tracing a dark bag under my eyes.
“Not a lot, I think. I’ve been up a while.”
“How long?”
“Two days, maybe three?” I shrugged, the words fumbling out of my mouth like dry cotton. Haven shook his head and gently took the papers away from me, along with the pencils. I watched as he set them back down on the desk and went to the wall where the other twenty poems and song lyrics were hanging.
“And you did all of this?” He asked me. I nodded numbly.
“Yeah. I like words.” I responded within another yawn. Haven came back to my side and gently pushed me back against the bed.
“You need sleep.”
“And you need a haircut.” I teased. Haven let out a breathy chuckle.
“I guess so.” He pulled a blanket around me and left the room. I was asleep before he had even closed the door.
Wednesday, February Twentieth, 2:01 A.M…
Days passed. I was numb.
I am numb.
I am everything but active.
I sit in the living room, watching TV, feeling nothing, seeing pixels and lives that aren’t mine.
I go outside and sleep in the sun, lounging in the hammock. The heat doesn’t seem to kiss my skin anymore.
I am impatient. I need to get out. I have eight days left. Can’t I leave early?
I ask Haven about the plan to get me back to my house. He says I have to wait. Details need to be figured out.
So I continue to wait.
If, a bit impatiently.
Saturday, February Twenty Third, 7:36 P.M…
I think I had been sick, perhaps, maybe. The hallucinations have gone away. I don’t feel as numb. I’m out of bed more often. I helped Haven with breakfast this morning.
But, I am still impatient.
The landscape remains unchanging, almost boring.
Pretty, yes, but still boring.
“Wanna ride?” Haven asks as he munches on a piece of bread. I nod.
I sit upon one of his horses as he leads me out on a trail. I have fun, laugh even, but I am still anxious to go.
I need to see Virgo again.
But if waiting means seeing her again, I will wait a while more.
Thursday, February Twenty Ninth, 11:59 P.M…
I sit in front of the clock, waiting the seconds out and riding their ticks like a surfer. Almost March….almost March…almost….
It’s March first, right now.
Haven has refused to tell me the plan. I got off the couch. It was March now. I’m waking him up and making him tell me.
Sass master Rory back in action.
I went into his room, turning on the lights and jumping on his bed, lying flat on top of him until he groaned and rolled over. I flopped up, standing over him until he blinked open.
“Uggghh…Rory, what is it?”
“It’s March.”
“No it’s no-Oh.” He sighed as he checked the clock. I put my hands on my hips and stared him down until he raised one eyebrow.
“What do you want?”
“When and how am I getting back to Colorado?” I demanded. He chuckled.
“What, you don’t like me?”
“No, no, no, not that. You’re amazing, Haven, but I need to get back to my home.” I stated plainly. Haven got up, throwing on a shirt over his boxers and shorts.
And that’s when the headlights flashed and a car horn honked noisily. Haven peeked out the windows as I jumped at the sudden sound. Haven grinned happily and slid into some Vans as I ran outside, snatching my bag in the process.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Haven chuckled. I followed him out the door, almost running to keep up.
In the pale light of the moon, two figures stood in the headlights, and three more had their bodies hanging out the window.
“What the hell…” I whispered to myself as my jaw dropped.
“Ready to go, Orion?” a voice chuckled. I blinked back the bright lights to see who it was.
Jack, Alex, and Rian had their hands in the air, waving and grinning.
Zila and Zack were waiting for me, right there in front of my escape car.
All I’m doing is counting down the days until I will be home. Until I can leave.
Eleven…ten…nine…eight…seven…
I count as I sit in my room, a piece of paper in front of me. I write and write and write. Graphite to words, I write.
The words form out on paper. Anything that comes to mind, it appears on page.
“Ah, yes, that one. That one sounds good. Rage, yes, I like it. Rage.” I murmur absently, to no one but myself and the openness of my room.
I think I’m going crazy, being stuck in here.
My hand scribbles letters out faster than before.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
“Yes, yes…perfect….” I mumble once again, almost deranged. Moments of madness are fleeting but there. Imagine being cooped up in a small house, a small yard for a month, unable to have contact with civilization.
Zila has long gone. She flew the coop yesterday. She is gone, off to another mission, mine, maybe someone else….just another mission.
A small snarling noise escapes the back of my throat as I stick tape on the top of the paper, throwing it up against the wall. Pages upon pages are already stuck on the eastern wall. I look out the window ahead of me. Clear skies. Beautiful day for a ride.
“No, no…I want Zack’s song. Yes. I want his song.” I whimper as my sleep deprived mind swings back and forth between reality and passing out. I think of his band and my head swings back and forth, stretch out the crooks in my neck.
I start writing the lyrics down to some All Time Low song. No clue what it was, just that my mind was on sweet Zack. When I’m done, the words are messier than the pages before. My hands shake. The door opens. My head hits the desk, eyes closed.
A hand touches my shoulder slightly. I shiver at the unexpected contact.
“Hey, Rory. You want some lunch?” Haven asked me. The words take their time to go through my brain and process. I look up at him, the blurry face a sudden flashback of Jack. His highlights remind me of the crazy boy. I whimper from the sudden image, the flash of smells that accompanied him, the smells of the bus and of his cologne and his guitar and all of them.
Haven/Jack stoops to my level as I close my eyes. I think exhaustion is finally getting the best of me. I’ve been up for three days straight…writing…reading…staring at the stars and wondering of home.
I see them all the time, all four of them. I see them in the corner of my room, behind my eyelids, in Haven’s form…I see them and I cannot escape my soon to be choice, the one I will have to face sooner rather than later.
Haven is right in front of me. I stare at him from my edge of the bed. His worried blue eyes stare at me with emotions so full I could drown. His hands cup my face, making me turn to face him.
I swear I heard Alex’s laugh from somewhere.
“Hey, are you alright? You look like you rose out of the grave.” He said. I closed my eyes and yawned, ducking my head into my chest.
“No, Jack. I’m fine.” I mumbled sleepily, not exactly sure of what I was saying or doing or where I was. I’m just so tired…
“Jack? Oh...I think I read about him in your file Zila recovered. It’s me, Haven. Rory, wake up.” Haven snapped me out of it. I opened my eyes.
Haven. It was just Haven. Not Jack. I was being stupid. I missed him, I missed all of them, every band, every man. I missed them all.
“Sorry.”
“How much sleep have you gotten?” Haven asked me, his index finger gently tracing a dark bag under my eyes.
“Not a lot, I think. I’ve been up a while.”
“How long?”
“Two days, maybe three?” I shrugged, the words fumbling out of my mouth like dry cotton. Haven shook his head and gently took the papers away from me, along with the pencils. I watched as he set them back down on the desk and went to the wall where the other twenty poems and song lyrics were hanging.
“And you did all of this?” He asked me. I nodded numbly.
“Yeah. I like words.” I responded within another yawn. Haven came back to my side and gently pushed me back against the bed.
“You need sleep.”
“And you need a haircut.” I teased. Haven let out a breathy chuckle.
“I guess so.” He pulled a blanket around me and left the room. I was asleep before he had even closed the door.
Wednesday, February Twentieth, 2:01 A.M…
Days passed. I was numb.
I am numb.
I am everything but active.
I sit in the living room, watching TV, feeling nothing, seeing pixels and lives that aren’t mine.
I go outside and sleep in the sun, lounging in the hammock. The heat doesn’t seem to kiss my skin anymore.
I am impatient. I need to get out. I have eight days left. Can’t I leave early?
I ask Haven about the plan to get me back to my house. He says I have to wait. Details need to be figured out.
So I continue to wait.
If, a bit impatiently.
Saturday, February Twenty Third, 7:36 P.M…
I think I had been sick, perhaps, maybe. The hallucinations have gone away. I don’t feel as numb. I’m out of bed more often. I helped Haven with breakfast this morning.
But, I am still impatient.
The landscape remains unchanging, almost boring.
Pretty, yes, but still boring.
“Wanna ride?” Haven asks as he munches on a piece of bread. I nod.
I sit upon one of his horses as he leads me out on a trail. I have fun, laugh even, but I am still anxious to go.
I need to see Virgo again.
But if waiting means seeing her again, I will wait a while more.
Thursday, February Twenty Ninth, 11:59 P.M…
I sit in front of the clock, waiting the seconds out and riding their ticks like a surfer. Almost March….almost March…almost….
It’s March first, right now.
Haven has refused to tell me the plan. I got off the couch. It was March now. I’m waking him up and making him tell me.
Sass master Rory back in action.
I went into his room, turning on the lights and jumping on his bed, lying flat on top of him until he groaned and rolled over. I flopped up, standing over him until he blinked open.
“Uggghh…Rory, what is it?”
“It’s March.”
“No it’s no-Oh.” He sighed as he checked the clock. I put my hands on my hips and stared him down until he raised one eyebrow.
“What do you want?”
“When and how am I getting back to Colorado?” I demanded. He chuckled.
“What, you don’t like me?”
“No, no, no, not that. You’re amazing, Haven, but I need to get back to my home.” I stated plainly. Haven got up, throwing on a shirt over his boxers and shorts.
And that’s when the headlights flashed and a car horn honked noisily. Haven peeked out the windows as I jumped at the sudden sound. Haven grinned happily and slid into some Vans as I ran outside, snatching my bag in the process.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Haven chuckled. I followed him out the door, almost running to keep up.
In the pale light of the moon, two figures stood in the headlights, and three more had their bodies hanging out the window.
“What the hell…” I whispered to myself as my jaw dropped.
“Ready to go, Orion?” a voice chuckled. I blinked back the bright lights to see who it was.
Jack, Alex, and Rian had their hands in the air, waving and grinning.
Zila and Zack were waiting for me, right there in front of my escape car.
Notes
Hello everyone! I'm back from my vacation and from the site login crash with google. I managed to fix it, if you didn't read one of my other posts! Anyways, hope you're all having a good day!
We're approaching the very last few chapters so don't forget to comment and vote before it's too late!
Thanks loves! Stay beautiful!
Hahaha thank you! Sorry I was watching Jane Eyre with my mommy
5/10/15