display | more...

 

Letters written, addressee unknown, nobody I know or ever will. My hands upon dusty paper in the kitchen, window next to my table, small, small - this room. Outside, the rain is pouring. It's always, always pouring. Like I'm caught in some twisted frame, this world, and every day is exactly the same. I can hear NIN on the radio, or a CD I own. I don't care anymore, the difference has blurred.

There is no newspaper this morning, nor any morning, ever again. There is no coffee to be bought and served, because I do not drink coffee. I used to like it, but it makes me sick to the stomach. Here, they manufacture a lot of pills, all sizes, all colours. I dine blue, green, red, purple, every night. Without the smiles.

Later, I won't turn on the telly. I do not own one. Nobody does.

Later, I won't eat ice cream, nor drink milk, nor slices of cheese. I can't digest it well. Nobody can.

Later, the phone won't ring, lying silently by the dust bunnies, eyes wide open and scarred by heavy crying and screaming. There is nobody left who would be interested in calling me.

In the morning, tomorrow, I will wake up slowly, inhibited by my castle of dreams, always surreal and strong. Vivid as hallucinations. It will be the only time of the day I remember your face, name, whiff of your skin's heat. Once my feet hit the cold floor, you're gone. And I shall drag myself into the shower, use the same damned shampoo for hair loss as every day, since every day is a feast of medication and it makes my hair drop to the ground. I will tend to my thin skin by the mirror, carefully applying special skin products. My eye rash will hurt. It is to be expected, only, I do not expect anymore.

Getting dressed, leaving the house, staring out into the whole wild open, and hearing no voices. No birds chirp, no wasps to harass, no dogs or cats waiting for me. The grass sighs with the wind. I stand like this for a few hours, and then it's time to go back in. I wait every day, but I've forgotten what for. It doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter.

Later, the lights will stay on, I shan't turn any off. It's my last reminder of a world that was more, pretty smiles and laughter. Shaking hands. Embraces. Turning wheels, turning revolutions, turning words. Now there is only me, in this heaven turned hell.

You have left.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.