Limbs Akimbo, Chapter 4
Charlie’s eyes froze in an upward position, staring at the sky as the tears continued pouring down his face. A few small, greying clouds with the appearance of skulls stared back at him. He tried not to blink, knowing that if he closed his eyes for even the merest of instants he would be taunted by images which he wished could remain buried in the Iraqi desert. But of course his willpower was not enough to overcome his body’s natural reactions. Every blink reminded him of how impotent he had become. The gnawing sensation where his legs used to be became more and more acute. The whispering voice in his mind was joined by another voice, then another and another until a dizzying, discordant choir howled within. Accusations, rage, mocking, hatred. He felt the tightening in his chest again - pricks of pain as though a skeletal claw were piercing his heart.
And then…nothing.
He suddenly felt detached, like a disinterested onlooker watching the scene of a play unfold on stage: a sobbing, well-dressed woman enters stage right, looking behind her and calling to an open doorway. A man rushes through the door and joins the woman by the side of an unmoving figure sitting rigid in a metal and plastic contraption with wheels on either side. A few bit players take their cue - some turn awkwardly and walk off-stage while others gather children from neatly manicured lawns and hustle them into the façade of white-washed houses lining the performance area, leaving the three main characters centre stage. The man and woman try passionately to engage in dialogue with the third character. But there is no response. Has he forgotten his lines? Is this meant to be part of the drama?
A change of scene is signalled as the man and woman wheel the silent character through a doorway into a well furnished middle class home. Tasteful paintings and stylish furniture indicate an artistic sensibility has had a hand in decorating the set.
The actors with speaking parts move off together and converse quietly. They appear calm at first but their anxiety is betrayed by an unsteadiness of speech which seems to become more pronounced as their voices are gradually raised.
The isolated, silent character ignores the others. He lets his eyes drift lazily around the scene taking in the details through wet, red eyes. An impressionist canvas. A grandfather clock. A trophy case displaying cups and medals. A vase with a single red flower. Family portraits. His eyes finally come to rest upon a photograph of two young, clean-shaven men dressed smartly in uniform, faces beaming with pride.
With a cruel delight the skeletal claw thrusts itself deeper into his chest wrenching Charlie violently back into the scene and he releases a scream containing all the pain and guilt which have been churning inside him. Trembling, he drops his head into his rising palms and begins to rock gently - forward, backward, forward, backward. He finally allows his eyes to close and in the self-imposed darkness all he can see is Zack’s lifeless, bloody face.
