The Harlequin: Passage two

Posted: Jan 30, 2014 in Writing
Tags: , , , , ,

Continuation of ‘The Harlequin: Passage one’.


It is the 30th of October, 2014. It is a Tuesday. The week has begun, progressed and is beginning to come to an end, but many people are still unable to truly relax as they can at their most beloved weekends. I woke up as normal, with a heavy head. The night before had been laden with nightmare and voices. Used to it i may be, but it is regrettably no less terrifying. Ahh yes, my nightmares. I think they have blighted my mind the majority of the time since my parents split from one another.

The dreams always consist of myself sitting in a dark, dank room with grey concrete walls. I am always sitting on an old, yet ornate wooden chair. A paupers throne i suppose.  Opposite me, near the wall, there are my parents committing awful, repugnant acts of homicide upon each other. These acts are repeated over and over again, until my mind is spiraling and whining. Then i spring back to the real world. The world of the awakened. I almost always awake teary and sweaty. Damn these nightmares!

Each dream resided over by one abhorrent magpie.

After several minutes, I ascended from my grubby bed, groaning “Bugger…” as I went, as I often did. The night before had been an arduous one to be sure. I had been on the absinthe once again with my most cherished friends. I was most certainly regretting it now, my head and gut were spinning like a carousel. My body enjoys punishing me! It revels in my pain, as if it were a self destructive torturer.

As i gripped my loathsome head, I remember looking around my bedroom in a daze. Or as my brother called it my “den”. As I did, I remember thinking two distinct things. The first being how much of a dump my room was. A veritable hovel I say! As I peered around the room, I felt a feeling of belonging and homeliness. I adored my room, even if it was a tip. Perhaps it is a representation of myself, I’m a jester of the urban underworld after all. Hardly a high class denizen. Or so the choir of society would have you believe.

The second being a figure of a person i had met in my drunken daze the night before. Unsurprisingly i could not remember anything about this figure. I could not remember if it had been male or female, a stranger or someone familiar, Friend or foe. Least of all could I remember what this individual was doing with us, in our drunken revelry. I would have to convene with my friends later on…


  1. Osharlequin says:

    Reblogged this on WorldofHarley and commented:

    The Harlequin: Passage Two

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