Leave Your Sensibility At The Door

The last summer of my attendance at a christian camp sure was something. The campgrounds resided in a valley, so typically we would evade passing storms. On that Thursday afternoon, however, the rain travelled through the mountains arms, the sanctuary becoming our own entrapment.

Since my earliest memories, I adored thunderstorms. Sleepovers would lead to me staring at the rain beating down windows, giggling like some idiot at the flashes of light as my best friend screamed. I yearned to be within it, assimilate with the storm. Naturally, I was far from able.

That same yearning drew my teenage self to bask in the feel of my rapidly soaked shirt, water running down my face in droves. My summer friend and I chased each other across the grass as our peers went inside, the rumbling thunder looming nearer, nearer.

We paid no mind to it. Why would we, when the feel of daring was so electrifying?

The nearby bridge that lit up as it was struck was surely more shocking. A strike so encompassing, from only fifteen feet ahead, dulled the rest of the world.

Years passed, and I was far from deterred. If anything, pride welled within my chest. I was brave; daring; stupid. I entered the world of scouting in 2018, embracing the call that rung within.

Psychosis meets us all differently. In my junior year, late that November, I found myself deep within the northern woods. My troop’s annual orientation with the air force was in full swing, and we were miles out from the next road, even further from the nearest town. In that forest, going out on your own meant that the authorities may never find your body; at your luckiest, some curious scout may find your bones some fifty years later, the dumber of them picking a rib to bleach out at home.

In any case, it was shortly after the first night’s dinner; I was within my tent, unrolling my sleeping bag when, suddenly..

…I wasn’t in our small camp site, anymore.

With my wits about me, I scanned to see endless parking lot around me. From flow of foot traffic, I could sense where the nearest building was. I could have followed. I could have gone inside. Instead, I was fixated upon the car directly in front of me, and even moreso, the people inside.

The driver side door was wide open, showing a woman in a bodycon dress, her long auburn hair neared black as her head turned to me. Although I couldn’t focus on her for long, with the slate man sat on the passenger side, his feet kicked to rest atop the woman’s lap. I couldn’t help but stare, it wasn’t usual, such a pretty man with a grey, pallid complexion. I swear that at dawn, the man may have been pearlescent.

If only I hadn’t stared, he may not have noticed me.

He exited the car, movements fluid as he strode toward my spot. He looked down at me through his pale eyelashes, his smile so gentle, near maternal when his hand cupped my face, lifted my chin to appraise me.

“Gabriel,” my mind, in someone else’s voice, supplied.

After a serene moment both ages long and but an instant, his gaze dulled. I would swear I felt his blunt nails curve into my cheeks. His smile never hardened as he forced my head against the pavement. I felt my skull reverberate with each hot against the ground; Once, twice, three times. As though I were the knocker on someone else’s door.

I blink, and the man is no longer holding my jaw betwixt his tensed fingers. No time passed, in the tent. Everything could have been normal.

But his presence followed me.

The following day, I kept hearing bells, those long, loud, descended in pitch with time. I thank the will within me that resisted to follow the call.

Ever since then, with every rumble of thunder, Gabriel’s bell would toll; with each flash, I could see him. He stands alone, placid expression,

I can’t stand to look at him.