The alarm from his phone is ringing, he flips over and grabs the device but he can’t seem to recall what button to press in order to shut it up but somehow, he knew the location of where his thumb should be. The ringing isn’t annoying, it’s just something that he expected to hear on weekday mornings, the dreadful days where he has to work. He clumsily fiddles with the device as he sets it to half-past seven and flips right back in the direction of where he came from, systematically…
He is thinking of a lady, whose voice he had heard yesterday and strong is the desire to include her in his half-hour fantasy. There is no name, the image of that lady simply appears as he slips back into the darkness of his little world, one where he is the creator, and he has the power to create virtually anything, just about anything that he can imagine. As he lie down in the position which he finds familiar, he feels comfort and images float in from all angles, from all possible directions, as if watching a good movie where everything seems to fall in place eventually; her pants is in stripes of black and white arranged vertically from the waist till the knee and there is a little thought of oddity, just a tiny intangible bit, he wonders who she is, does he know her somewhere.
He looks at her buttocks and tries desperately to reach for, but seems so near and yet so far away and the only thing that he can do is to create another image of himself, making contact, indulging… Was it that he wanted it or was it simply a random behavior, he probably didn’t care… There are many worlds out there but he was sure this one belongs to him… He was pretty sure about it… Nobody can do anything about it.
The alarm rings again.
He knows that he has to get up this time although he didn’t really care but this little hunch somewhere inside of him says so. He recalls that his immediate supervisor was saying something about being around, probably hinting that he shouldn’t be late for work. But he didn’t get up immediately, he hear sounds of door opening from outside of his room and it feels like the door of the room that he had been sleeping in before his elder sister came back, to stay for good. As usual, if he had heard any sounds coming from outside, he’ll determine whether his father or sister is outside by judging the distance of the sound but in either case, he will go back to his little world, he is sure that he will have to wait for the toilet but he gets up anyway and walks dragging his feet towards his door. The first person he expects to see will be either one. He turns the door knob slightly, just enough to slide the door open. There is no one in sight as he steps out of his room. It may be strange for him but it didn’t really matter to him.
He looks into his sister’s room, dark and small, just exactly like he can recall as he walks past with a pinch of gladness. Nobody is in that room for sure, didn’t seem like anybody will want to be in that room as the thought glimmers in his mind. He recalls struggling to find space in that pathetic little space, and he felt as if the whole world was going to come crushing down on him, puffing out every breath that he had and he also recalls several events where he had tried desperately to differentiate between sanity and insanity as quarrels broke out in the room where he owns now. He remembers how the sudden screams of murderous rage struck fear into his heart, those never-ending quarrels over what seems trivial to him, or perhaps the issue in question were of such great catastrophic consequences, justifiable enough for threats of death, thoughts of despair, fits of anger and loads of frustration… What could have happened at that time, so many thoughts of possibilities that may seem impossible now…
He walks towards the kitchen, his crotch feels heavy and he is expecting the toilet to be in use as he approaches but to his surprise, the door is open, there is no one inside as he leans forward and takes a peek. He is sure that he heard sounds just now and he strongly believes in his seasoned judgment, someone should be using the toilet, but there’s no one. He proceeds to relieve himself of the never-ending cycle of intake and output. The little room is quiet and it seems to make it easier for him to hear the noises coming from everywhere; adults talking, screaming at each other, sounds of vehicles whizzing past, babies giggling and crying, an infinite stream of random noises, presented to him yet by no desire of his. He has always been trying to imagine himself to be deaf just so that he can escape from these he has condemned, and for the same he has hated.
My deeper feelings, I always try to hide it, thought I would pen it down instead...
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