Neon Light

Born into darkness, the void I embodied; dank and alone. Oh so alone.

I had no elder or tender care. I had no substance, only the pain of hunger. A cursed place for a cursed body, a survivor and aimless wanderer.

My mind, dimensionless, relies on the repetitiveness of dripping sludge, my only navigation. Far above, from the out of reach rafters, I appreciate its sound. The echos of construction in the never ending distance provides boundaries. Boundaries of the horror, the fear unknown. Then there is touch. but that is a joyless necessities in this grotesque realm. Comfort was not with these senses -- that was something more subtle, more faint.

One instance I was alone and then it existed. There was no warning, there was no sound. As if it had always been present, the moment it occurred it naturally stayed. Maybe my eyes were always shut until that moment for my void was truly black. but even this I can barely remember for the day the green neon light softly sang, for I saw the universe's first sight.

The benevolent green first brought unspeakable fear. Crawling, no, sloshing in filth I was, when the splash of my left hand emanated a silhouette. Originally, my mind raced at the thought of an attack but as it followed, it became apparent this was me. I was. I touched myself in pleasure, piecing together a visible body to a mind I had always carried.

This was no spotlight, nor even an addition to a manifested environment. The green followed from a single angle infinitely above. Such a thin crescent, no wider than the growth of my unkempt fingernails -- it was impeccable to behold.

Oh my fingernails and every bit of dirt was I; helplessly chalked with grease, grit and layers and layers of foreign obscenity. I became aware of my life of scum. and to those who had never seen my existence; pitiful and grimy, hunched and disfigured, these were kind words.

I became obsessed with purifying my look to dare not embarrass myself. Such a delicate bulb need not be afraid no more.

Always looking, always admiring until I learned to sleep, one must close their eyes. How I wish I never closed my heavy eyes.

Eventually the sewage came pouring, ushering in new filth and foreign articles. Bashing and trashing with a fierce determination to that which was holy. I woke to the loss of my only refuge.

I begged and prayed. I sang and washed. I yelled and screamed. I became angered and spiteful. Until all that was left was suffering and agony. Clawing at my eyes to reignite what it had once brought. Not seeing is the sin, a sin I wish I had never been gifted.

Grimy arms with unknown substance, a body yearning for cleaner habits. I crave one more glimpse. one more look. The pain of that green glow -- the pain of me.

A mind and the endless remembrance. tortured.

-- Jack Drycrafte // @drycrafte Aug 5th, 2021

Originally published in Visual Signals Magazine: [https://visualsignals.xyz](https://visualsignals.xyz)