About an adolescent suffering from obsessional compulsive behaviour
Every morning he still checked his clothes, examining the interiors of his trouser-legs, the sleeves of jumpers and jackets, expecting to find the pictures he had used for masturbation months ago. Down on his knees, he looked under his bed at least twice, but he thought, or began to think, the endless checking was unnecessary, and mental pain and the dregs of illness not worth clinging to. He felt strength, controlled strength, returning that almost seemed to run with the tidal waters here where he lived, that seemed the call of the rivers running into a full sea, new days ahead, and like an enchanted ship, the warm, the dark-haired girl he loved, was coasting down those massy surfaces into sure ports and resting-places of love’s repose.
He let a week slip by without the frenzied rituals that had preserved reality and sanity, or so it had seemed. He worried less and less, and was anxiety-filled at this change and strange dissociation from his past, momentarily, but then he laughed to think he wanted to cling on. Better to scorn on than to cling on to those dark days and darker nights when the black sun of melancholy and the white-faced loon-moon of madness weighed heavy in those dull chemicals and medicined thoughts of an ill mind, a dire sloshery of massed hormonal change which loonied the flummoxed brain.
He was astonished by the wild, exquisite flower that enveloped hills and sky. Perfume, loosened from folded petals, flooded through the winter months with secure ablutions, and left an aftermath of lavender that claimed the rigid earth in the white fields, and pattered down persistently. He knew that when the flower opened fully, it would be embalmed and would embalm. Now, when he turned his bedsheets back, he smelt lavender and saw light sprays within.
The petals were inside him, too, also stirred when love stirred, became love’s flower. Pauline, outside him, crystallised his needs : craving for security in love, wishing to hold her tight, warm himself against her breasts, her tight, firm body, smooth stomach, long, like yellow, legs and thighs, glimmering soft, moist, downy, into a dark triangle of absolute desire, gold yellow. She was embodied in her body, he thought. He loved her and she reassured him with her caressing look of love, smiles, right words. The manless countryside around him closed in with infinite security, and this self-made Adam, jumping the toiling streams and their glut of fish, rushed like a young ram up the upheaval of prime rocks. Primordial energy and delight embraced the beautifully barren, the strong and the pure. This was resurrection’s end, worldwonder begun, and he the first man there.
From "After Dawn" A Novel About New Love To Be Published Soon On KDP