Chronicles from the Future: Second Diary, 3 years later - July 16 1922
SECOND DIARY *(the Diary when Dienach awakened from his second coma)
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July 16, 1922
The preparations for the trip, along with all the forgotten things I decided to get rid of, showed me the way to my old library where, hidden behind the rows of books, was lying the diary I kept for three years, from December of ’18 to February of ’21. During the period of my illness, some friends had been taking care of the house, especially after my mother’s death. Last night I sat there, leafing through it, occasionally reading some of its pages. Between the lines I rediscovered, for a second, my old self – whom I had lost somewhere between all the unbelievable things that happened to me in the meantime. I re-experienced that guileless emotional atmosphere with such a genuine, pure thrill, breathing that pure scent of loyalty in the one and only love of my life. Something so rare and random… I knew back then that it was something pointless, but still, I couldn’t do otherwise.
Many things within me are different now, changed. And at this point, being the old dog I am, I can tell you that those moments were worth it all, they were precious, even if people thought that they were nothing but traces of an abnormal temperament.
Oh my precious Ann... Forgive me. Why won’t I think of you more often? Why won’t your memory dominate my mind like it used to? But these incredible countries I went to, changed everything for me. Neither my little hometown nor my first love fit me anymore.
But this is not the reason, it can’t be! I wouldn’t deserve your forgiveness if it were… This life journey and destiny of mine reminds me of a myth I had been told when I was little – the myth of the unjustly killed man. For years and years his soul was wandering around and in the wilderness of the night, you could still hear the crawling of his chains. But after justice was served he was never heard from again.
My first days back, two months ago, my fellow villagers welcomed my healthy and changed appearance with utter surprise. Their joy felt genuine. Most of them considered me dead. Luckily for me, however, the doctors in Zurich had an opposite view on the subject and therefore let me occupy a bed for 12 whole months-from May of ’21 to May of this year- tube-feeding me with special liquid foods.
My mother had died before I got back. She left with a pain in her chest, that unbearable pain of a mother that didn’t see her child strong again. All the excitement and joy I felt, caused by my psychological resurrection, was eliminated in the beginning by my sorrow over the loss of my mother. My Lord, forgive that holy woman and let her rest in peace.
The priest is away in Italy. I still feel ashamed about the doubts I shared with him; my unfaithfulness. Like a massive sin. On the other hand, he couldn’t have possibly had any idea about all the incredible things that followed my three-year struggle between skepticism and remorse.
I try to drive all these away using energy as an instrument, an energy I could have never imagined I possess. I’m constantly on the move. I’ve taken care of all the inheritance issues, sold my land, I work in the fields in my free time and I’m trying to keep my mind occupied all the time. But when the night comes and all my friends are gone, all these memories, so recent but at the same time so distant, come back and haunt me before I fall asleep. And when these moments come, I can’t help but thinking about what I’ve lost.
From time to time it feels like I’m a waif of a real physiological shipwreck. And I can´t talk about my vicissitude to anybody, I can’t even confess it to the priest. The things I know cannot even be conceived by the human mind. The lifeless paper is not just a lifeless paper anymore, it’s my own self. And my own self knows very well indeed the reasons of my firm conviction. And never, for as long as I live and breathe, will I be in fear that anyone will laugh about what I’ve experienced and seen with my own eyes. And I believe them with all the strength I have left in my heart.
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Copyright Achilleas Syrigos. All rights reserved. No portion of this article may be republished.