Wondrous White Nothingness

Hours past and he no longer blinked in an attempt to refocus his eyes. He no longer moved in hopes to feel the wind resistance. The only similarity between putrid and pleasant scents was that they didn’t exist wherever he was. So he stopped breathing. White nothingness was all that he saw. He wondered how far the nothingness traveled and how many more dreams of nothingness it would take before the insanity would trickle into his conscious being. 

“A lot more,” he said aloud. “The silence isn’t so deafening anymore. Cathartic almost… But perhaps that’s the insanity speaking.” He laughed hysterically as he wiped the tears that welled from his eyes. It was not until he shut his mouth when he realized that his laughter seemed to echo. A gasp escaped his throat. His first breath in 17 minutes. 

The laughter intensified and no longer mimicked his own. He jumped up and turned his neck desperately. 

“Where?” He said. His voice tinged with a hint of despair. 

The resounding laughter withered into a mere chuckle.

“Here.” A soft voice acknowledged.

A familiar scent met his senses as he hesitantly shifted his body. The silhouette of a woman emerged from the nothingness. He stood, stupefied at the sight.

“Here.” She reassured as she continued to move closer to him. 

Her boots were barely visible, veiled by the off-white dress which stopped at her ankles. The man studied her, as the white nothingness began to take shape. Her features were strong, yet her outline was undefined, almost translucent. The atmosphere warmed. The man’s eyes widened as he looked past the woman. The two stood in a setting that he was too familiar with. His study. The room would have been completely silent if not for the crackle of the fireplace.

“Dorian.” The woman said.

“Lemongrass.” He replied.

“What?”

“You smell like lemongrass.”

“I suppose I do. So do you know who I am?”

“I do. It’s very nice to meet you, Lilian.” The man said as he regained his composure. “I’m very glad.”

“It took you long enough.” The woman frowned. Her expressions were seemingly more exaggerated than he had intended them to be. 

“Forgive me. It’s been a while, Lilian.”

The tips of her ears reddened with anger.

“Oh! But, it’s only been seventeen years, Dorian!” She glared at him intensely before softening up. Her eyebrows furrowed and the ends of her mouth curved downward. The man looked up, meeting her eyes which were now welled with tears. She turned away as the only sounds filling the silence were the fireplace and her gentle sob. 

“Seventeen years since I’ve seen Claude.” she finally said.

“Forgive me, Lilian.” the man whispered.

The fireplace continued to crackle as tiny ashes moved weightlessly behind the iron screen. The woman jerked as the man’s words incised her with no warning. Her hands clenched strictly at her sides. 

“The humiliation I face to be subjugated by the very man I hate. To seek a blessing from the man who suppresses me.” She bursts. “My life is limited to the pages which you write for me,” she continued, her back still facing the man. “A story that I am not able to write myself.”

He sat down and studied the woman once more. He thought to himself what it was like for her. How it felt to be in an unfinished story. Whether her life for the past seventeen years was anything like the white nothingness that plagued his dreams. He stood up to walk towards her and placed a hand on her back. 

“Lili-” 

Before he could finish, the woman grabbed his wrist in one swift motion. Her neck jerked to meet his eyes. Eyes that expressed much more than he could fathom. A pop from the fireplace interrupted his trance. He looked over and noticed that the embers grew brighter. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she whispered as the man reverted his gaze. Her hand still wrapped firmly around his wrist. “I think I do,” the man says reassuringly, offering her a slight smile.  The woman stood dumbfounded by his response before shoving him to the floor. A surfeit of dust engulfed the man as he toppled over a pile of books that have remained untouched for years. He caressed the wrist which was now bruised by the woman’s grip. 

“Interesting, isn’t it?” He says looking up at the woman. She stood silently as disgust overcame her expression. “What is?” she replied begrudgingly. The man pressed his bruise and chuckled. “It stares back menacingly, yet all I can think about is how happy I am to even feel the pain. To have proof that I’m not so alone. Thank you, Lilian.” The woman looked down and stared at his purple-stained wrist. Her eyes softened as she relaxed her face. She walked over to the velvet couch and took a seat as a puff of dust rose past her thighs. Neither one of them said a word. The crackling of the fireplace calmed, the glowing embers mollified. 

“Isn’t it humorous?” the woman smiled slightly. The man looked over to her, “What is?” She paused as a look of defeat pervaded her face. “A character is only as strong as the author allows.” She smiled. “Even the unassailable must anticipate the command of the novelist. The playwright. The poet.” The woman took another look at the man, “That bruise, though painful and ugly will not remain when you wake up. I sit here unbruised, untouched, yet the pain prevails. It prevails as long as it needs to. As long as the story is left unfinished. It prevails as long as the nothingness exists.” 

The man’s eyes widened. He looked to the fireplace which was now only illuminated by scanty glowing embers. The crackling was beginning to cease as quiet overtook the room. “I hope the silence remains deafening. To never have to tolerate the silence would be my greatest blessing.” The woman looked over at the man with hopefulness in her eyes before the last ember died.

The man’s eyes opened and he was back in his bedroom. Beads of sweat traveled down his forehead as he struggled to catch his breath. He rushed to his desk and opened the drawer which housed a disordered collection of paper to then maniacally dig through them. His trembling hands paused as he reached a folder with the word “Lemongrass” printed on the cover.

He caught his breath as a slight smile crept upon his face. He shakily stood up and made his way to the study room. As he opened the door, he was greeted by the crackling sound of the dying fireplace.