Vince’s escape… by Chuck Duboff (FEEDBACK PLEASE…worth pursuing?)

bohemian writer

© Chuck Duboff

The words had been hibernating, awaiting rebirth.  Tea, substance, floral, nourishment, trauma…they had been dormant, comatose, averse to expression.  Silently they resided in his brain, awaiting activation.

Vince lay in his worn bed, head throbbing, nausea coming in waves.  He knew he wasn’t sick, but rather unable to cultivate life.  The depression had consumed him for months and the bed became home, safe and warm.  Writing had been the gift which had been bestowed upon him.  Writing was his soul’s nutrition; books came naturally and Vince had always seemed to have a purpose in life.  A new novel, adventures imagined, characters born, plots flowing…this was his life.

“Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain.”  Time…Pink Floyd’s masterpiece…seemingly on repeat in his wandering mind.  Pink Floyd, Syd Barrett, Vince’s muse.

But this life was gone; he had lost his raison d’être.  The writing which had easily been tapped into was now gone.  The world was dark, a wasteland for the living.  The last thing Vince felt was alive.

“How much longer are you going to lie in that bed babe?  How much patience can one person have?  Vincecan you fuckin’ hear me?  I can’t take this anymore.”

Her words were void of meaning, just a mashup of sound.  He knew she was there, could sense her presence, but given his state of being, little she said or did made any sense.

They had met almost fifteen years earlier.  Elizabeth, the epitome of a soulful hippie, had wandered through life; she had never set down roots, but rather flittered about from one abode to another.  A bohemian life gave her sustenance, with material objects of little interest.

Lizzy had been attracted to his creative mind, his philosophical outlook on life’s journey. There had been others, lord knows, many others like Vince; the run of the mill guys, suits she called them, were a turn off.  Her life was lived on the edge, disregarding societies “rules”,  traversing life as she wished.

Vince lost himself in Pink Floyd’s lyrics, always had.  Escaping into Dark Side gave him some peace, clarity, understanding.  He never wanted to be “another brick in the wall”, a cookie cutter existence in a world obsessed with conformity.

They seemingly travelled the road not taken;

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