A Story (Part III)

…But why am I laughing so?

I can do nothing but lay on the ground, holding my sides which seem are going to burst because of the joy that is surging through my body because of the agony of the owner of the affliction in my hands that does not exist. And as I laugh, I begin to cry, cries of ecstasy and bliss because of the agony of the one whose agony pierced through the walls that do not exist of the tunnel that does not exist, the agony of the one I know sent that flawlessly white piece of paper down on the light that now carries his agony.

So I continue to laugh and cry, the sounds of overflowing and overwhelming emotions rebounding around the walls of the tunnel that does not exist, laughter and agony merging and reverberating all around me, all around the tunnel that does not exist. The most glorious sound that could ever be made or heard.

After an eternity over, I notice something.

I still cannot make a sound. I cannot pierce the darkness of the tunnel.

Mystified, I sit up and anxiously search the darkness of the tunnel for the one who is able to penetrate this void.

Who is laughing in pure joy, and yet still crying in utter agony?

But as I listen further, I notice that there is no scream of agony. Only those cries of ecstasy and bliss, ricocheting from wall to wall. The walls do not exist. The tunnel does not exist.

But the laugh. There is no doubt that the laugh exists. The laugh is real. So the owner of the laugh, the author of the note, he is real. He must be. And there is no doubt.

I know. I know that he is the only one that can get me out of this tunnel that does not exist. Inexplicably, I know.

The laughing still encompassing me, the light flowing through the crack in the tunnel still slicing the darkness and showering me, I allow this recognition to spread throughout my body, engulfing my heart and mind.

And just as suddenly as they had come, the cries are gone.

And in its place, another sound comes. The sound of a cascading waterfall. I once again frantically search the tunnel, until my eyes fall upon the crack. Light is still pouring through it.

But something else as well. Though this thing does not hinder the light in any way.
In fact, it only magnifies it.

The sound I hear is like that of rushing water, but just as I knew it was not sweat that covered my body, I know that it is not water rushing through the crack.

It is blood.