Something about Paris

There was something about Paris, lurking in the outskirts of his mind and, for whatever reason, he couldn’t reel it in. It had cropped up in his thoughts shortly after watching a program about France three months before. But what was it?

Was it something he had studied in school as a kid; or a movie he’d seen; or a conversation he’d had at some point in his life? Unable to make a connection, he was still positive of its significance, evidenced by the haunting way it nagged and gnawed its way into his consciousness throughout the day and kept him awake at night; constantly teasing his thoughts like the carrot in front of the horse.

Yet try as he might, he failed to ferret out the particular point in the show that had triggered his current dilemma. One thing was certain ----- it was imperative he resolve the mystery and extinguish the spark quickly, otherwise, he would run the risk of it becoming an out-of-control raging inferno which could only result in his having a nervous breakdown, something he neither wanted to or could afford to experience.

Out of frustration, he began taking sleeping pills in a desperate attempt to escape the tormenting disquietude, but the eeriness was relentless and grew in strength, forcing him to increase the dosage. Restful sleep, however, remained just as elusive as the taunting mystery itself. Exhaustion gripped him in its clutches only to be denied caressing him to sleep. Finally, on the brink of snapping into insanity, he swallowed an extra strong dose of medication and fell into a deep sleep.

Then somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he found the answer he’d been searching for. He was in Paris and there was a crowd watching and jeering him as he was led up the long wooden flight of stairs and then forced to kneel with his head in the guillotine.

He could hear himself screaming frantically to wake up but the medication was just too powerful.

   Chelle Munroe©

   February 21, 2014