Respite.
That was what I was promised.
I was desperate enough to believe and optimistic enough to try.
What I did not expect was that I would wake up in an unknown place around unknown people. Not one of them looked me in the eye, and for that I was glad. Was I just to exist?
The castle was quiet. Everything was muted somehow, dampened, quieter, slower, and softer. My footsteps in the cotton socks I had found by my bed were barely audible. The quiet did not help – anxiety gnawed at the pit of my stomach. What was with all the quiet? What was I doing here? Nothing could be right if nothing was wrong. How was this to help? How was it respite if it was not respite from my mind? I was promised respite. I thought they meant sleep. But no, I was wide awake and unable to sleep.
What did I know about this place? What information had they provided? They asked me how I had heard of them (through my friend). They asked me what I wanted (respite). They asked me what would give me respite (shutting down all existence in the world). I realised, belatedly, that they had not asked me what I needed respite from. Had they shut down all existence for me? No, how ridiculous. I found myself fiercely hesitant to speak to any of the others in their cotton socks, and there was no one else to ask, so I walked along.
I ran my fingers along the brown stone walls as I walked. The stones were cool and dry, like the floor through the socks. How tempted I was to lie down on the ground and let it swallow me. How hard it was to walk upright. Existence was a heavy, invisible weight that I could not carry and could not share. Where was my respite? It had to exist somewhere, and I would search. Giving up was an unknown that I had never truly faced, and somehow, it was easier to hope and stay upright.
I turned around a corner and came face to face with a floor-to-ceiling hourglass. Time! My stomach knotted at the sight of it and nausea hit me.
Time was passing while I was wandering around here blindly.
Time was running out.
The world was spinning.
It had not stopped just because I stopped.
I doubled over, trying to get a grip on the nausea.
There was no respite.
There could be no respite.
The world could have no respite.
What respite could I have from existing?
What respite could I have from the loneliness of bleak existence that was only soothed by fleeting love that I somehow still needed a break from?
My head felt heavy, my nose ached, and I realised I was crying. Tears ran up my hairline.
“Look at it.”
I shot up in surprise and the corridor spun for a moment. A socked person was standing beside me, staring up at the hourglass.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Look at the hourglass,” he said, still looking straight ahead. He nodded a couple of times to himself, and walked away.
And so I looked. Sand was pouring through it. Was this supposed to make me feel better? Did he think he was helping? My forehead hurt from the stress. But I had no idea what else I could do, so I looked at the hourglass.
The grains were a blur as they fell. A soothing blur. The more I looked at it, the calmer I felt. I suppose that unknown man did know what would help. But the more I looked at it, the more confused I felt too.
Sand was pouring, but the level of sand did not change in either half of the hourglass.
It was a perpetual hourglass; endless sand poured through it. I was intrigued. How? Complex hidden machinery was likely making it look like the level of sand was not changing. I placed my palm on the glass dome below, and then rested my forehead on it. This was no solution, but it helped. It was the closest I could get to freezing time. Respite, then? The coolness of the hourglass was certainly respite enough for my overheated brain. I stayed still.
I could almost relax. Almost.
Time was ticking even if the hourglass was frozen. And it was time I spent away from the people I cared about, the people I would lose, could lose. How could I selfishly spend time away from them when I so wanted more time with them than I could ever have? I was my own obstacle. I was my own storm. I had to spend more time with them, but I really, deeply, just could not anymore. I needed quiet. I needed rest. I needed space. I needed to sit alone and look at trees and write and read and paint and listen to music. I need to lie around and do nothing, alone. I needed, so badly, to be alone. But how could I? If the people in my life were what I valued most, how could I be away from them while time ticked away?
It was all too much. No frozen hourglass could provide respite from this. Nothing could. I slid down slowly and lay facedown on the cool floor, letting it soothe me, letting my body sink into the ground. My newfound ability to cry in calmness and quiet kicked in and tears dripped around my nose into a tiny puddle on the ground.
Life was bleak. Existence was utterly desolate. People made it tolerable. People were intolerable. No matter how I tried to look at it, my timeline seemed to stretch on unbearably long while the timelines of people I cared about felt wrapped in landmines under stampeding elephants.
I was so tired.
I wished to believe the hourglass froze time. I longed for a moment I could spend by myself without guilt, fear, and sorrow. I would do exactly what I was doing now - lying down and crying - but I would do it without the weight of love and loss bearing down upon me. I would cry without looking at the clock, I would cry till I was all cried out, and I would look at life with eyes that saw beauty rather than death. I would… I could not say what I would do. I could not picture it beyond this point, could not imagine what it would be like to not run from time and death. Maybe life would feel lighter. Maybe the world would appear inviting. Maybe innocent desire would be born from the ashes of fearful longing. Maybe I would wake up and not hate that I was awake.
All I wanted was a moment of respite.