The Light on the Mount

The Light on the Mount



It is another day; the sun has begun its slow climb through the sky. I climb slowly to my post, the rooftop where I look over the surrounding land. It is full of a desolate kind of beauty. Evidence of the mass exodus is all around on the ground far below: rusted out garbage cans tipped on their side, bicycles with their wheels spinning in the breeze, pieces of paper decomposing on the sidewalk. I sit on the building’s edge for hours, staring at the horizon, hoping to see a trail of dust or hear the roar of some distant engine. Nothing stirs.

Finally, I heave a sigh and clamber down to my room. The place is littered with stuff from the bygone age of men. These are my only comfort. These are what keep me sane. I slump over towards the stove and open a can of soup. Thank God for soup. Thank God for canned food. I would have been dead a long time ago without those.

My soup is simmering on the stove, I let my mind flow back into the past and I remember. It has been three and a half years since that fateful morning. I’ve kept track of every day. I remember a horrible night of violent dreams and then waking up on that day and finding everyone gone. It was as if they had all left in the night. As if some terror had made them abandon everything in order to flee. In my dreams, a thousand different scenarios play through my head as my mind tries to imagine what happened. It didn’t make sense. I spend each day hoping to see a returning face, some visage from the past to keep me company. Now even the ghosts seem to have left me behind. Although sometimes if I listen hard enough I feel like I can hear them whispering. How is the… new… upped. I frown, and quickly brush aside what I feel I’ve just heard. I am solitude and loneliness incarnate, there isn’t anyone left anymore. I have begun to forget my own name. I do not know anything real anymore. What could have prepared me for this? What is the use of all my experience against such a test? I live in the past… No, I am the past. I am the past living on in the future. An existence I should never have been allowed to live. For me, there is no future in this world.

I can hear the soup bubbling and frothing from the stove. It is ready to eat. I pull out some preserved crackers and fruits from one of the numerous cupboards in the kitchen. I sit down, the noon day sun spilling into my rubbish heaped room, washing out the dark and dank. I sit alone at the table, more aware of the absolute solitude of my position than I have been since the first day. For a long time, I wondered why God chose me. Me, of all people. Perhaps He made a mistake or one of his angels made some kind of filing error. Or maybe I am the only one who could bear this out to the end.

In the past, the streets called out to me while I stood on the rooftops stargazing. How… Why… jump? There must be some reason that I am here; some reason, some hidden purpose for being. That is what I cling to by day and night, my reason for not heeding the whispers of the ground far below. I don’t know where my life will end, or by whose hand, but I don’t think that it will be mine. My hand will not halt the journey towards those forever unknown shores.

I finish my meal and go down into the streets. The remains of life all around, broken bottles, cars slowly rusting out their innards, old magazines and news papers from January thirteenth, 1998; everything is in decay and ruin just as they had been left. The stoplights still change colors. I remember that one day I spent an entire despondent day watching them change their colors. Green for a minute and eleven seconds, red for forty-six seconds. I walk the streets observing the automated life-cycle continue on without so much as a hiccup. It will probably continue longer than my life will last. I look around me, into the closed stores with the signs still saying open. One day about a year ago, I had a fever and I began hallucinating people in the streets, going about daily business. I ran into the streets and tried to talk with them in a wild hysteria. None of them could hear me and walked on by. I ran into the stores and they were buying and selling just as real as life. I could even feel them there. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the vision ended. The people disappeared on a train that departed into the fog of my fever dream, leaving me alone once more.

I am shaken from my remembrances by the wind tipping over a trashcan a few blocks away. I make my way through the growing dusk back to my empty chambers. I walk into the darkened room. Staring around the bleak, junk covered room, I turn and make for the roof. I stare at the sun setting in the sky. Watching all the magnificent colors appearing and fading to night. I want to know where they went, to where I cannot know or follow. One day I know that I will join them, after my last breath flies. But for now I am alone. Here at the end of all things. Here as past, present and future all meet their demise.

I stand on the roof. My eyes are closed. I feel suspended, weightless, I can block out all the empty darkness and empty light up here without my eyes. I hear the whispers tonight. Cartwright, hold him. Time for…. They come on the wind. The wind that still blows through the empty streets. I draw one big breath, as if preparing myself for a deep plunge. I take one step backwards. My foot connects with the solid construct of the building. I go back to my room. There is no space in me for star gazing tonight. I climb into bed and close those tired eyes of mine. Tired from so many things.

My mind easily drifts away from reality and I lose myself to deep slumber. I dream of all the little sounds that used to disturb my sleep: the neighbors next door, cars rumbling by carrying drunks, my brother knocking the wall between our rooms, my mother knocking on my door to tell me good night. The dream is sweet. Too sweet and short. They always told me to keep things short and sweet.

I climb to my aerie. The sun rises again. Over the years I’ve witnessed the sight a thousand times. Every time it is beautiful. Every time this thought occurs to me. I am the last one. The last one to see this sight. To give this sight a name. To live this. After me, there will be no more sun. There will be no more moon or stars. There will be no cities. There will only be darkness and earth and sky, vegetable, and mineral. But they too will have no name, they will not exist. I am the only one in the universe giving it any meaning at all. What a thought. Both beautiful and hideous at the same time. It makes me feel important.

I stop looking at the colors slowly dancing in the sky. The thoughts I carry are heavy objects bearing my gaze downwards, back to earth. I see a near mountain. I knew what it was called when I was smaller, but I’ve long forgotten the name. But there it is.

Suddenly, a flash of light. I stand, bewildered. Another flash. There are no clouds in the sky. There is no lightning. My brain sluggishly realizes that the flash was from the top of the mountain. Having been at this spot for two years, I know that there have never been flashes on that mountain before. I’ve come up to this spot every morning. Why don’t you say something? What are you looking at? The whispers have stopped, falling into a dull murmur, then silence. I know that there have never been flashes up there before. Another flash. This is no trick. There must be someone up there in the crags. If only there was a way to show that lonely soul that I am here! I let out a cry. It startles even me. I have not heard my own voice in months.

I am excited. I can’t even sit still. I don’t know what to do with myself. I try and focus for a moment on what should be done, but I am nearly delirious with the thought of another person, another human, some companion to speak with me. I sit down and close my eyes. I take deep breaths. I clear my head and focus. I sit like this for an hour or possibly more. I stand up suddenly, blood rushing to my head. The decision has been made. I will go to the mountain top. It will take a few days to walk there. I don’t know what will happen or what I will find, or if I will even find everything, perhaps they will have gone by the time I get there. But I must try. To not would be to admit my defeat.

I have so much to do. I must get supplies and rope. I must have rope, can’t do without it. No time to pack a lot. No room for that matter. I haven’t moved in a long time. I’ve been here for two years. Before that I just wandered here and there. But I couldn’t do that forever. It’s just not in my nature to wander. I needed some place to call my home, my own, when everything else was no one’s. So I chose this building. It used to be a pretty nice hotel. It’s tall, about twelve stories high. I begin to collect the supplies I’d need. I use an old sports bag to collect everything. I bring a moth eaten coat with me and stiff leather gloves that I had found in an old supermarket. They had been on the clearance rack. It’s funny all the little things that I remember, and some of the big things I forget. The clothes still had the tags. I empty out my entire store of food. There wasn’t much of it left now anyway. There wasn’t much point conserving my food. Down the street was a general store, it had everything that I’d need for the next couple of years. No signs of it running out anyway.

All of this I jam into the bag and I lift the strap over my shoulders. Like I was going on a vacation, I think. I let out a chuckle at the thought. Just as quickly as I had been moved to mirth, I was moved to horror at the sound of the brief spat of laughter I had heard from myself. It had sounded almost inhuman, guttural. It was such a hollow noise. I am afraid.

I quickly move out of my hole and made my way to the exit. Walking through the dust-covered, marble floor of the lobby I paused in front of the great mirror that hung there. It is the first time that I have seen myself in a long time. Normally, I don’t come down this way; I take the back door. I turn and look myself in the eyes. I barely recognize myself. I look like my skin is made of stone, and my features have never changed since the beginnings of time. The only part of my face that is alive is my eyes. They plead with me to say something. But I know what they do not, that there is no other person in the mirror. Only me.

I turn away from the mirror and move slowly out of the hotel. I hope that the next time I set foot in this building it is arm and arm with some friend, some comrade to share my loneliness and who can share in my hollow laughter and maybe together we can make our voices whole again. That’s what I am hoping for anyway.

I travel through the silent streets, my eyes are always fixed on that flashing on the mountainside. My pack bumps against my side as I move on. Sweat builds up, soaking through my filthy shirt and leaking down the sides of my face. I haven’t exerted myself like this in a long time. I used to take walks, but I eventually stopped. The sight of all the emptiness infected me, slowly rotted at my diminishing hope. Cobwebbed store windows; cracked asphalt with legions of weeds growing through; faded billboards full of people with faded smiles; these images filled my walks. So, I stopped going on walks. As a result, my body has lost some of its muscle and acquired the fat that is now covered with sweat. My breath comes in gasps. I am tired already and I’ve only been walking for three and a half hours. I move to sit on a bench, hesitating stupidly for a half-second before realizing that the ‘wet paint’ sign is over three years old. The bench feels good as it takes the weight off of my feet, allowing my muscles to relax. I throw my head back and look at the clouds. Today they are wispy, swirling in the sky. I remember hearing that things that far up actually moved very fast, but from so far below they just looked slow. I tried to imagine being up there with the clouds whipping by me, the ground so far below. The whispering starts again. Unsuccessful… falling away… with us. I see myself falling from the clouds. Falling, falling, falling, and then… I see the light flash from the hill. Shaking my head, I stand up again and lift the strap of my bag over my head and strike out for the city outskirts. I’ve just started and I’m already tired.

The wispy clouds had just passed over the horizon with the sun and their more substantial brothers were coming along with the darkness when I slipped my body into my sleeping bag. The clouds create a total darkness. I am in a house on a small hill outside the city. My feet ache from walking and my eyes ache from staring at the world. I had forgotten how good it feels fall asleep after a tiring day.

My mind falls and gets bleary, goes out of focus. I am dreaming. I am seeing other people. I see a man in a white coat entering a white room. Soon that sight disappears and I see the light, flashing off and on. Many people are there, on the side of the mountain. They are all smiling, happy to see that I’ve finally found them after all this time. Their smiles are faded, like the billboards in the city. I am still on the outside, staring in at their happiness. They are not real. Those people are just another billboard, another advertisement. The scenario plays through my head again and again. Each time I am so enveloped in the dream that I forget about the previous times and each time I end up standing at the base of some billboard staring at the frozen, faded, smiles that lured me to the spot.

I wake up and everything is still dark. Wet pitter-patters can be heard coming from the rooftop. I push aside the curtains from one of the windows and stare at the dismal sky. Rain is falling from the floating darkness above. The light is still flashing on the mountain side. It hasn’t moved. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not. But the sight of it seems to give me strength anyway, so for that I’m grateful. Lighting begins to fork across the sky and thunder seems to boom from all around. The light disappears into the flashes of electricity and the resulting reports drown out the minute hammerings of the rain. Shutting the curtains most of the way, I walk back over to the sleeping bag lying on the dusty couch. I won’t be going anywhere today.

I lay there for the entire day. I occupy myself with the light flashing on and off. It shines through the small gap I left in the curtains. It is like some kind of pulsating heart, pushing its light off into the darkness with every beat. There is a mirror across the room near the window. I can see myself dimly on its surface, the flashing of the light shines out at me, reflected off of my own eyes. The entire day passes this way, I drift in and out of consciousness, remembering only bits of dreams. I’m riding my bike home from school; I’m staring at the light on the mountain; I’m half-fish in the depths of the ocean; I’m staring at the light on the mountain; I’m surrounded by the faded smiles; I’m staring at the sunrise through the curtains. The new day beckons me to venture out. I rise to meet its invitation.

Striking out in a cheerful mood for the first time in a while, I smile at nature. The dandelions are revealing their yellow heads and the tall grasses are swaying all around. The smell is sweet in the heat of the sun. Young trees have sprung up through the concrete and in the gardens. The saplings bend with the breeze. All I can think of is what the people would say if they could see their gardens now. I’m smiling. The yellow disc rises in the sky and begins to fall. The day has been good. The clouds roll in and the night is dark again, as I lay beneath the sky.

It is another day of hiking before I reach the base of the mountain. The mountain was part of the state park system, back when there were other people to run a state, or a park for that matter. I make my way through what is left of the trails. The forest has grown up over much of them the last few years. It’s so quiet out here. The animals are gone too. The forest all around makes me feel fear for the first time in years. I know that it is silly. There is nothing and no one out in that darkness cast by the shadows of the tall grass and trees that can hurt me. Maybe that’s why it scares me. The trees block the flashing light from reaching me. The last time I saw it, I was leaving the park’s main rest area at noon. It hung in the sky winking in and out of existence. I can’t see it anymore. Maybe that’s why I am afraid. I am lost without my guide.

The clouds have moved on and left the sky clear. Tonight, as I lay under the creaking boughs of the trees, the stars have come out and they seem to dance around the yellow waxing crescent of the moon. I remember that when I was a little kid my mother told me stories about a man in the moon. I try and see him tonight. Only half of his face is showing, but I can still see his left eye and part of his crooked smile. Suddenly, I remember reading once that his face was the result of ancient impacts on the moon’s surface. The illusion is gone and now I just see the barren rock that reflects the sun. I turn over and hide my vision in the darkness of my arm. I fall asleep listening to the wind whistling for some company.

The dawn breaks and I open my eyes, allowing the light to pour into my being. I pack my sleeping bag away and continue onward. I am now far away from the buildings of the city. I come into a clearing and I realize that the path that I have been following does not lead to the light on the mountain side. Breaking away from the path, I move through the swaying of the green grasses. One thing that I am thankful for is the disappearance of the bugs. I hate bugs; and I am not sorry to see them gone. The grass doesn’t contain any creepy-crawlies waiting for me. It’s just the grass, the wind, and the trees.

I continue to walk, but without the path or the light to guide me I begin worry that I will just wander in circles for ever. I try to walk as much up the mountain’s incline as possible, figuring that I cannot go wrong if I move ever upward. A wall of stone comes up as I pass a bend in a solid clump of trees. The incline has been growing steeper as I continue to walk on, so the sheer face of the stones comes as no surprise. I register them with a blink. There is no going that way. I follow the wall along around a rocky corner. I find myself a great deal higher on the mountain than I would have guessed. The forest drops away behind me and is replaced by a small ledge hugging the rock wall.

A sharp drop onto rocks below the ledge and the wind threatening to push me off onto their menacing faces all contribute to my growing sense of unease. The voices whisper on the wind. It buffets my head as I cling to the face of the cliff and I find that I am slowly losing my will to grip the wall with each step towards safety. It becomes a race against my will to hold on and my primal instinct for safety. My fingers slowly become weaker and weaker with each new grip they find. My legs move faster, trying to reach the more substantial ground just a few more feet away, trying to outrun the voices. Finally, my grip slips and I fall backwards, flailing wildly. I feel a sad calmness wash over me along with a sense of completeness. My back connects with soft grass. There is a brief moment of confusion. Then I realize that I made it, that I am lying on the grass on the other side. I am panting and sweating. I lay there and stare at the sky and the mountain. The ground is very soft. The voices are all around. Some even come above a whisper. You’ll be fine… Hold… Cartwright… Hold him…

My eyes snap open. I know that I need to get to the light. The light is what matters now. If I don’t reach it today then I know that I will never reach it. I stand up, leaving my bag on the ground. I don’t need it anymore. If there are other people up there, they will undoubtedly have more than what is in that stupid bag. I move fast, I rush towards the wall and make a leap at the ledge. I manage to get both arms on the ledge and scramble over. I run stupidly along the mountainside and turn the corner. A bright light shines in front of me. It blinds me and I kneel before it. I yell at it. I beg it for help. No answer comes from the light. It has stopped flashing on and off. The light feels like it is eating away at me, burning my skin. It hurts. I try to run. The light seems to follow me. The wind rises in intensity and screams. Voices are coming from everywhere. Suddenly, there is an explosion and everything goes dark.

I hear the voices. He’s going to make it. I can’t believe how far he got. Climbed the entire wall…. Got shot clean through the spine. Probably won’t walk again. Some voices come in response, they are indistinct. I know. You were just doing your job, Cartwright. If we let one of these people get out, they could really hurt some innocent people, really cause some damage, you know? If he hadn’t stood in front of the spotlight for so long… well we probably wouldn’t have caught him. More indistinguish-  -able talking. Cartwright, this is supposed to be one of the most secure mental hospitals in the country. Do you know how much funding we would lose if he had escaped? Or if someone found out about this little fiasco? The voice sighed. I thought we were really making progress with this one… I should have known when he wouldn’t stop staring at that stupid spotlight and refused to talk for the past week. We’ll have to try a new medication when he has recovered from this. Obviously the last one just created a whole new hallucination. Silence, then a sigh. Well, Cartwright, if he comes to, make sure to hold him down so he doesn’t destroy what’s left of his spine. The voices fade and I am lost in darkness.