Foreign Bodies by Colin A Millar

Author:Colin A Millar [Millar, Colin A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-29T22:00:00+00:00

‘83

Disgust, self-loathing, depression, fear, anger, shame, hate, terror, remorse and then steely resolve washed over him, wave after wave of each powerful emotion crashing against the inside of his skull. With each wave, a rush of sensations and residual, backwashed reactions seemed to double the intensity of the original feelings. He had been trying to sleep but his brain was throwing up images and vivid memories, both true and imagined, driving the whole cycle faster and further with each pass until he felt his brain would simply explode. As the whole episode reached its seeming climax, he began to wish that this would actually happen, so it would stop and he could rest.

He had been home from university for a week now, having completed his first term away in Edinburgh, and every night had been the same. All the reminders – constantly bombarding him – were almost unbearable in the daytime but at night, lying here in his old room in the manse, the rollercoaster terror ride would begin, spawned by the memories and emotions stirred up throughout the day. The village was so small he couldn’t go anywhere without a building or a face or a road name sparking the same burning flashbacks, leaving him shaking and red with embarrassment and shame.

From the moment he arrived back he had been hit with the first of these intolerable reminders. The only bus stop in the village stopped outside the school. His final two years at that school had been filled with humiliation, sneering bullying, outraged disgust and abject, lonely misery. Even the teachers appeared to hold little sympathy or concern, leaving him thoroughly isolated and open to any abuses his peers could think up. Stepping down from the bus on his return he had looked up, straight into the face of the imposing, granite building – his own personal house of pain and torture. Things simply got worse from that moment on.

The following day he had been expected to attend the kirk – he had no choice in the matter, even though he was now 18 and should have the final say on whether he went or not. His only solace was that he could sit in the usual family spot at the front, meaning he was facing away from the rest of the congregation and their sometimes hard, sometimes sympathetic stares – all reminders of his humiliation. By the end of the service he knew he couldn’t remain in the village and face another service in a week’s time. As he stood to leave his legs were shaking so badly he felt they would give way below him, and his lungs were so tight he could hardly breathe, leaving him feeling faint and even more unbalanced.

Over the course of the next week the village had closed in around him, seemingly pointing and laughing and accusing. The people, who had all known him his whole life, avoided him where possible and when they had no choice their conversation was short, mumbled, monosyllabic and devoid of all eye contact.

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