Opera: Of An Addict

A bang. Not exactly one, but it startled me enough to make me turn. She finally left, but i didn’t hear. I did not notice the door open. I did not hear her leave. Something else now had my attention: purity. From the moment she said it, I have found solace only in purity. She had meant it; had never spoken with more conviction:”I’m seeing someone else”. That was all. No stammering, no guilt pangs, no tolerance for my
face- not even after my surgery! Now, that’s funny: to think that after sitting patiently through the stitching, she’d only tear those wounds open. I did have a surgery. On my face. After my bike accident, i didn’t get to see the wound, but she was at the ward. She once told that my face had looked like ‘agege bread’, ripped open by a rabid dog and spattered with tomato sauce, as if by a two year old- we both laughed. It was funny, then. I had looked at her eyes; clear; pure; the subtlety of a Gaboon Viper; waiting to make flesh numb- and she made me numb. I had even called her ‘the one’, but then, she took all i loved away. Replaced them, the way a bottler replaces empty cups. Ah! Bottlers! Bottles and their accompanying liquor- formiddable duo, that- they stopped me from thinking:” what has a neck, but no head?” Apparent! No head, no thoughts- you dig? I do not blame her. I blame myself- for leaving my first love. Even when I was down, I’d gleer at the bottle: “there; sparkle”.
A gecko scampers across the ceiling, making a mess of my purity: temporary, but, sufficient. I stare at the time-piece on the adjacent wall: “Q-U-A-R-T-Z”. I don’t know what those words mean, but they speak to me; whisper my name. I think it’s the booze working, finally; the only thing that never lies to me. I stare at what is before me: sleek and shimmering; transparent, yet blurring out the future. Six identical sculptures sit before me. They’re family- drained; thoughless. They’ve given me great power. They have made me transcendent; a god. I feel myself surge with power. I alone shall tell what will be. I now hear the time- piece clearly; it defiantly chants, not my name-another: “Tick Tock”. “Why does it not say my name?! I am the Oracle!” So I question it with my fists. It does not reply. So I question it some more, ramming till I make it at peace; Silent. Pure. “I will find such purity. She thought she took it away. She failed. I will be pure.” In my soliloquy, i stare at purity sitting in my right palm. “Barbiturate,” Philip called it. I should tell you about Philip, but i’m too…close now to peace. As i swallow, i realise gradually: I have found peace. I am Pure.


Picture by Kenart I G: @kbillion
Note: alcohol and drugs are a primary cause of chronic depression and death in many countries!


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