If I could, I'd reset the record and let it spin one last time, but there is nothing left for me here but the silence and darkness of the mind. It may be a meaningless existence, but it is an existence none the less.
My fingers twitched. This isn't productive. I watch them, they talk and laugh, almost ignorant of my existence, and they all ignore me. It's my fault after all, the world around me has grown tiresome of my silence. It hammers on the barriers to my mind.
Ears...sore.
I pulled out the earplugs, being suddenly embraced by an echoing noise of clattering silverware, laughter, and the whining of a toddler.
"He's joined us," they say, turning to me for a response, but I will give them none. I hear crickets in the background calling my name.
"As I was saying," the man in gray spoke, not waiting for the response that would never come, and breaking the silence that lasted a mere half-second. They erupted into conversation again about government and the ugliness of those in it. I ate the meal, rancid and cold as it was, imagining it sank down to my bones and began to devour me slowly. I twitched again and I muttered to myself, "Idiot," unaware that those existing in the same room could hear me.
"That's enough!" she said, the brunette woman set in charge of me by some divine authority. Truth is, she only owned me because she had sex with him, the dictator. "We're all sick of your attitude, clean your dishes off and go to your room."
I looked around and felt their awkwardness, their lack of sympathy, and the overflowing feelings of agitation in their eyes. "Now!" she said forcibly, but contained her voice to slightly lower than a yell.
My eyelids blinked, an unconscious defense to the anger that shot from her mouth. I grabbed the plate by both hands and walked towards the sink, my heart pounded against my chest. The knife cleared the rancid food from my plate to the trash-can below it. I imagined a hungry soul that would devour the remains of such a meal.
I took a final look at my pathetic environment, then ascended towards the cave. I entered, sighing relief at being back to my home, my cave. The echoing music broke the barrier to my mind and I felt the soothing warmth of the authorities gift, music.
Shit.
My finger bled, the blood trickling from the wound like a newly formed spring spouting forth from a mountainside. I knew I couldn't be dreaming, the blood gave the final verdict to that. Warm to hot, the water came, flowing over my wound and cleansing it. Band-aids could be an option, but the reality of the blood makes me want to keep it fresh. I sat, examining the nail that caused me pain.
The device that made me feel human, feel ordinary, weighed heavy in my palm.
The noise penetrated the floor, an outpour of laughter invaded my silence with extreme force. Hurriedly, I reached into my pocket to find my friends, the two yellow earplugs that kept me in a state of sanity. Looking around, I saw the paperwork, the delicate papers that told where my next prison would be. They floated in empty air.
It was not a jail, she was there, the phantom beauty that would remain in my mind and heart to haunt me for eternity, but that was my fault too. I killed her, only partially though. It was I who stole her heart and ran away, but she'd not let me escape so easily. I ran the length of the world and hid, but still she was next to me, in the silence of the shadows and in the depths of my heart.
The computer held her information page before me, her black and white eyes staring from the picture into my soul. I felt afraid. Looking away, I saw the emptiness of my cave, the empty walls, empty floor, and empty bed. I stumbled towards it, my bed of nails, and collapsed upon its hard surface, only to find myself drifting off into a meaningless black, a silent dream.
The dictator's wife entered at a quarter 'til one, I knew because the cold, heartless feeling of her presence awoke me. "Goodnight, and sorry for yelling at you earlier, we'd just appreciate it if you were more joyful around family, you're always so negative these days." Her soothing voice made me forgive her, but only in my mind. I'd never humble myself before her to say such a phrase as 'I forgive you,' or 'It's alright.' She waited for a response, and after receiving only slow breathing, she left.
I felt the chills of pain and guilt run the length of my spine, the authority making me wretched for not being kind, but here I was, trapped in my mind and slowly destroying all that means something. This was my life, and I did not belong.
