Ulani
01-03-2017, 11:25 PM
First Chapter of my Book
It felt like I was hanging upside down, rightside up. The blood was relentless as it pushed against the walls of my face. The warm, but cold, pins and needles accumulated from the tips of my toes and fingers, until they reached the top of my head; then I could only see colorful floaters, twirling around to make me a pretty picture. The process began before I was ready. I didn’t even get a chance to wave the world a proper goodbye before I lost my sight. It was then that I began to regret what I had done, wishing I had waited a few moments before I kicked the chair from underneath me, for an epiphany of some sort. I tugged on the rope that I so foolishly gave my fate to, begging it to let me go, to magically uncoil from around my burning neck, burning from the reaction I was having to the harsh material of the rope. But, my neck was the least of my worries. I was too distracted by death, whom was holding me hostage, and I, utterly weakened in it’s embrace.
Nevertheless, by a miracle from the Gods, I presumed, I was released, literally released from the rope. It felt as if death had opened his arms from the height of a twenty story building; and the impact was violent, but slow in motion. And I had fallen back into the body I briefly departed from.
The first thing I saw, was the ceiling of my apartment, lit by the dim light of my old lamp. I was lying face-up on the cold floor. I took my first breath, certain that it would come with uncontrollable coughing and choking. On the contrary, it felt as fresh as the air that floated among the untouched trees in autumn. It was satisfying, and almost unreal. I had never taken a breathe so fresh.
Suddenly, however, I began to feel a sickening discomfort in my head, around my ears, down the sides of my neck, then behind my shoulder blades. It was like a body ache at its worst capacity; it was like somebody was inside of me, tightly gripping my bones until they went numb. And I was too weak to move yet, I supposed death still had yet to fully withdraw from me. So I just lied there, disoriented and exhausted, staring blankly at the ceiling. But, it was nothing like a brief moment separated from the sunlight that made me appreciate my lifeless life… or so I thought.
I finally had the strength to move. And either the pain had simmered down, or I had rapidly evolved to bare it. I sat up slowly and carefully, thinking that if I moved too fast, the freshly wrapped bandages that kept my soul and body attached would tear, and I would fly away with even the faintest of blows from the mouth of death. I noticed that the rope was still around my neck. The other end had completely unraveled from the hook, the hook that I hammered to the ceiling as my final spontaneous gesture, long before I had the courage to use it I might add. I had tied the rope to it in ways unimagined so as to keep it secure. Thus I am confident to say that there was no possible way it could have untied itself, which lead me sit up and ask the question, How the hell am I still alive? I chose to believe that God had saved my life, that he had given me a second chance, that I was finally special in his eyes. I was wrong, in my logic, that is.
The whole thing felt unreal. For the moment, I had forgotten why I ever wanted to die in the first place. A list of meaningless things that I suddenly wanted to do ran across my mind: to see the Eiffel Tower in person, have a wife and kids, get a tattoo that said Tattoo, and others among those. But, Instead, I began to weep uncontrollably.
¨Thank you God...thank you God!¨ I cried out with all my heart, looking through the ceiling with my third eye. My tears rolled into my mouth and down my neck. And my nose wouldn’t stop running. However, my mess was of great significance in that moment, because I was alive again… or so I thought.
After a few minutes of sitting on the floor, staring at my toes that I no longer took for granted, I finally gathered the strength to rise. I was wobbly when I stood to my feet, not yet realizing that I had gotten up much too quickly. Gravity was giving me a violent tug; and like a newborn, attempting to advance before their parent’s eyes, I perished within my first couple of steps. I fell to my knees, waiting for the dots in the air to disappear one by one. This time, I stood up nice and slow. At last, I could walk.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. I turned on the sink and let the water run a little before I filled it. It was often a light brownish color at first so I was used to waiting until it cleared. This time, however, it was taking longer than usual. I was left to stare at that sorry excuse for water as it mocked me with it’s rusty, golden color.
What the hell? I wondered, tapping on the nose of the faucet. But, eventually, it went to a sad yellow, and then ran clear. My thirst was relentless. I was so eager to fill the cup that I nearly threw it underneath the faucet, accidentally smashing the it against the nose, creating a symphony of shattered glass that echoed throughout the rooms.
“Damn it!” I yelled, reaching for another glass. I wasn’t a clumsy guy; I figured that I was still disoriented from the number I pulled earlier. I slowly placed the new cup underneath the faucet, when I noticed that there was no glass in the sink. Not a single piece of glass was detected by my eyes, not one. Though, like that of a spark, my interest in the matter disappeared; and I proceeded to fill my glass as if nothing happened.
After all the trouble, the drink was not nearly as satisfying as I had hoped. The water had no taste, no fulfillment, even when I had a thirst so great. Refill after refill, It was still unquenchable, as if it wasn’t water that I was truly after. So I turned to a nap.
I crawled into my single bed and raised the itchy covers to my neck. I tossed and turned, frantically searching for that sweet spot. However, no position settled me, not even for a moment. I just lied there in defeat, staring at the ceiling in the dark, trying to convince my eyes to shut. Each time I tried to shut them, I would succeed only for a moment. Then they insisted on popping back open. Rest was absent from the atmosphere.
I flung the covers off of me and rolled out of bed, onto my feet. Lying down was doing absolutely nothing for me. I thought if I walked around I would eventually grow weary and want to fall into a deep, satisfying sleep.
I walked slowly through the dark hallway; and I caught my reflection in the mirror on the wall. Looking into a mirror in the dark is always strange; it is like looking at a shadow that had a life of it’s own, looking back at you with black eyes, living in the backwards world behind the glass.
I walked passed the doorway of my living room. And from the corner of my eye, I saw what looked like figures of people, standing in awkward positions, all facing me. Although certain that my mind was playing tricks, I was too afraid to turn and look. Instead, I just glared from the corner of my eye. I didn’t like to entertain the the idea of perversions of the norm, so I forced myself not to justify that nonsense through making certain of what I already knew, that there was no one there. And for this reason, I turned around, and walked back to the bedroom.
I didn’t sleep that night, all through the slow hours of the darkness, I remained fully awake. I was a stick, sitting at the edge of my bed, swaying back and forth to the wind of perplexity with open eyes that befriended the dark. All the while, I had an unsettling feeling that refused to part with me; I felt like I was no longer at the mercy of time.
My alarm clock went off at 6:30am for my daily routine, giving me just enough time to take a swift shower, throw my work attire on, eat my cinnamon squares, and take my three minute and forty-six second drive to a mom and pop pharmacy at 7:00am, where I got to answer tedious, repetitive, and sometimes angry phone calls about insurance, and help my 73 year old boss read small words every five minutes, all the while killing nine hours in the day. After staring at the crack in the asylum-white wall directly across from me until the moon grew tired, I had never been so eager to rise from bed and head to the bathroom.
I slid open the obnoxious slide door to the shower and turned the lever for hot water to it’s highest capacity. Again, I waited for the water to go through it’s stages of colors before I place my hand underneath the head. However, five minutes had passed and it was still brown; I then made a conscious note complain to my landlord until he could not longer hear. Exasperated from the wait, I step into unbearably hot water as soon as it ran clear. I willing to let my soft, pink skin boil in the hopes to shake this feeling of being high on novocaine. The feel of the water bullets on my skin, however, resembled the feeling of a cloud of steam, jetting down on me. It frightened me to the bone, as I concluded that either my nerves were failing, or something out of the ordinary was among me. Set off by a chill of unsettlement that had zapped through my being, I backed away from the water until my back hit the wall, causing me to inevitably slip at hit my head on the shower floor. But, I didn’t feel pain.
I stepped out of the shower and dried myself with a towel. I wiped the fog off of the mirror, so as to see my hair as I ran my fingers through them. Though, my routine was interrupted when I noticed that something was off about my reflection. No one else would have had the eyes to see it, but it would never have gotten passed me. I often spent the remainder of my day after work staring at my alternate self; I called him Theodore, long for Teddy, whom is me. I imagined that he lived out my dream life on the other side of the mirror, filled with joy I could only dream of attaining. That side was a perfect world, a world I spent a great deal of time staring at through the threshold between it and mine. Therefore, if anything changed, I would sure as hell know. His eyes seemed dull, rather lifeless. I squeezed several blinks in order to get a clearer look. Though, nothing had changed.
You had a rough night, that’s all. You’re fine I decided. However, I was not overcome by the sleepless night. In fact, it didn’t seem to have fazed me in the slightest.
There was no sun for, the second day in a row. There was only bare, white sky. I never had a problem with overcasts. However, this was no overcast. It was just an empty, lifeless looking day.
I went back into the outfit that I had slept in the night before, a white and gray striped, button down dress shirt, with faded, brown pants. Style was the least of my concern, considering what happened the night before.
Dressed to leave, I grabbed my wallet and keys from the coffee table and headed towards the door. But, the series of unnamable events continued on, as I placed my hand on the door knob. I could not bring myself to open that door. I was suddenly overwhelmed with an irrational fear that everyone would be able to see what I had done from a mere glimpse of me; and they would judge me for it. It was as if the veil of protection, endowed on us all from the day we are born, there to allow us to live two lives, was gone; and I was a book with a clear cover. I began to perceive the world accordingly, as an intro to an eternal nightmare. I couldn’t leave. I was safe here, in my place.
It was quiet; and I was alone with my thoughts. It was the only time I wouldn’t be annoyed if my mother had called, even if It was to tell me about her visions of demons surrounding me.“May the Lord protect you and Keep you,” she would always say. Other calls were toll-free or bill collectors. But, the house was quiet. The buttons on the remote for the television weren’t working. And my laptop wouldn’t turn on. So I did what I always did in dull, timeless periods; I got out the magazines from the side of my mattress, sat on the living room couch, and gaped at the all natural, female beings, posing just for me to imagine being less lonely for a change.
This time, however, I kept forgetting to focus on them, not that they ever gave me much fulfillment anyway. Instead, my mind jumped to different places, and asked unanswerable questions, such as, Why am I not anxious about the fact that I blew off work this morning? Why was the television not turning on? Why couldn’t I feel, or taste water? And Why couldn’t I sleep?
I didn’t recall getting up to stand at the window pane. It was almost as if I had teleported. I was staring blankly out at the city, with my hands pressed against the glass, wanting to be out there to kill the lonely feeling I had, but at the same time, assigning “out there” with the responsibility for my isolation. I watched the cars dash by, and the stop lights change colors, and the few people walking along the sidewalk. It made me feel slightly better seeing that those people appeared lonely as well. I shut my eyes with the intention to only to blink, but it felt like someone had their hands over my lids and wouldn’t let go.
Once I got my eyes open, and it was nightfall. The place was pitch black, not even the light from street lamps made it through my window. I was lying on the cold, living room floor once again, underneath the hook, with the snapped rope clenching my neck. The sudden change was unnatural, like that of an exotic planet. I began to have a panic attack, as if I were a child that had awakened before dawn.
Was this a black out? I wondered, as I sat up on high alarm. The throbs of my heart were painful on my chest, charged with bafflement as well as a terror that I cannot put into words.
I was too frightened to move. My shoulders were fixed above my neck, and my breaths were undetectable, because the night before, I could have sworn I spotted figures of people in my living room at this very time. There’s something about the night that motivates man to believe in the stranger things, things that can only be seen in the dark, things that are beyond our comprehension, things that most will never see until they exit the realm with the shining sun, but things that have been of existence since the dawn of time.
The still darkness eventually became nothing but. I walked around my apartment, flickering the light switches in every room, just in case one chose to ignite for me. But, none of them wanted to.
What the hell is happening? I thought. I could feel the panic rising again, my heart beating faster. I began going back to the same rooms, flickering the same light switches, over and over
again, desperate for a little light. I was having a sanity malfunction that I needed to talk myself out of.
“Deep breaths...this will pass...this will pass,” I whispered.
When I reached the hallway again, I looked at the mirror, and I was able to stop. I put my hands on the wall to lean in front of it and take a moment to breathe. I looked at Theodore, wishing that he would help me. But, I couldn’t even see him, he wasn’t visible in the dark.
Where did the rope come from? I wondered as it dangled from my neck. That was the last thought I had before I had a sudden shift of mind.
I was so annoyed, so appalled by the way my building was being neglected. I wanted to confront the landlord, whom lived one story above me, and threaten to report him as a slumlord. I pushed myself off of wall and storm into the living room. I slipped in the sandals by the couch, and headed for the door.
Nevertheless, I was awaken by my fear of opening it, as if I have never seen what was beyond the door. I remained possessed with the idea that it wasn’t safe out there, that in here was my freedom, my escape.
It was 1:01 in the a.m. and I was still wide awake. I was laying in the center of my bed, staring at the ceiling since 9:00pm. I had even taken a few of the sleeping pills that I kept in my dresser and took every night, sleeping pills that guaranteed sleep. Though, just as I expected, they did nothing this time.
Something had shattered the silence that I lost myself into. I couldn’t place what I was hearing into a specific sound. It resembled a soft screech of many choking voices, and an undertone of a deep, cry. It was subtle, but it wasn’t going away. I couldn’t determine whether it was near or far. This sound put me in a state of uncertainty, something I had grown quite familiar with, and I resented it. I became frightened beyond comprehension, insecure in my own home, with no clue of what was in the works. I had never heard anything like that sound in my days. It awoke me from the trance I was in, the deputy when sleep was absent. However, it did so only to put me in another one; the bizarre sound was somewhat like a compelling music, luring me to it with its beautiful, symphony.
I arose from my bed, feeling the soft vibrating floor beneath my feet, and the pressure on each as I slowly lifted the other to creep closer to the sound. I was still terrified, but I continued on.
I didn’t feel that I was being driven by hypnosis anymore, nor by curiosity. It just felt like I was walking towards something I had been familiar with my entire life, as if I had heard this note a thousand times before.
I was lead until I was beneath the hook in the living room. Then, the sound gracefully simmered down until it ceased to exist. That is where I stopped and waited, in utter silence yet again.
I felt like a nothing, awaiting to be made something again. It’s difficult to explain what it is like to be matter, standing on matter, but feel like you are nowhere. That was my standing, until the sound returned; and I was well awaken in the most satisfactory way imaginable. The sound was not even beautiful, may I remind you. However, some of the most enticing ingredients to fulfilment, have nothing to do with beauty at all. This time, it returned to me even quieter, like a gentle lullaby, made specially for me. And it brought me to peace, something I hadn’t felt lately. And I was no longer afraid.
“MORTUUM! NESCIS QUIA TU ES ANTE OMNIUM OBLIVISCARIS!”
Without warning, the voice developed to such an alarming capacity. It was so immensely powerful, that it careened through my entire being as that of a a bolt of lightning would, causing me to fall to my knees and scream for mercy.
“MORTUUM! NESCIS QUIA TU ES ANTE OMNIUM OBLIVISCARIS!”
I wouldn’t stop; and it carried such assertion, far too much for a simple pair of ears to handle, leaving me utterly disoriented. I was crouched down with my face in my lap, pushing my fingers so far down my ears that the skin began to tear. And although I was immune to pain for the past several hours or so, believe that I felt it then.
At last, after my life grew tired of flashing before my eyes, the room went silent. However, it was so loud that dead silence couldn’t yet overcome it. The words just kept playing in my head, over and over again.
Mortuum nescis quia tu es ante omnium obliviscaris. The language was not one I was familiar with. It seemed to have exemplified that of an ancient talk, from a voice that can devour the logic one can spend all their life believing.
I was Defeated, and weak, drained of anything I had in me. But at last, right where I crouched, I was able to close my eyes with all sincerity. I just wanted to sleep.
Nevertheless, I did not do so. I felt a difference in the state I was in; producing an urge to look up, that refused to go unnoticed. Thus I opened my eyes to see that I was back on the bed as if nothing ever happened.
I looked to my bedroom window and saw the lifeless sky.
Those words had taken shelter in my mind. So much that I lost vigilance, and came to my senses in front of the window, again. I was suffering from glitches, moments cut out of time,in the extremest of forms. I banged my head against the glass over and over, hoping that the sound of the thumps would block out the words, even for a second, also, in hopes that it would spark an epiphany; and sense would magically be made from it all.
What the hell was that? What did those words mean?
“Dead,” said someone behind me. I nearly choked on my own throat, as the inner walls of my neck banged against each other from my jerking pulse, feeling weak in the knees from the cold chill that ran up my spine. I turned around and saw a tall, lanky man with disturbingly green eyes, wearing clothing that looked too small for him, no shoes, and standing in the doorway of my bedroom. He had dingy hair and a prominent nose, with a slight hunch in his back.
“Who are you?” I asked, pushing through the paralyzing agent of fear.
“Dead,” he said again. I couldn’t speak another word, imagining that he might come charging at me. I chose to allow him to say what he needed to say so that he could leave.
“It means dead,” he said, with a very calm, and natural demeanor. He gave the impression of complete comfortability, like that of a therapist in a room with one couch, occupied by a disturbed client. He just stood there, staring at me in his slouched poster. Though, after a moment or two of us staring at one another in complete silence, and surprise on my part, he then turned around and left, leaving it at that.
“Hey wait! Hold on!” I yelled running after him, unsure of what possessed me to do so. I ran into the living room and saw him walking toward the front door; and that was as far as I pursued him. He opened it and walked out, closing the door in my face. I banged my hands against the door repeatedly, as if the knob had disappeared; it might as well have, because I was not going anywhere. Before dwelling on the obvious danger, I focused on the one word he left me with, “Dead”. It left me curious. Nevertheless, at the same time, I didn’t want him to return.
I used whatever juice I had left in my cellular phone to dial 911 and alert the police of the break in. Before the phone even rang, someone had answered.
“911, what is your emergency?” they asked.
“Hello? Please come quick. There was an intruder in-
“It means dead man!!” they yelled. I dropped the phone on the floor; and that was all I remembered.
Nightfall, I woke up underneath the hook. The only logical explanation I could come up with was that this was a horrendous side effect from the pills I threw down my throat almost every night for over a month now. I concluded that they just might be deciding to kick in hours later, and I was suffering the worst capacity of the drug. However, that didn’t add up.
Why do I keep waking in the same place every time? And why is that place under the hook?
I stood up right away this time, and headed straight for the bat in my closet. I knocked down most of the hanging clothes to get to it. The moment I turned around, the first thing I did was swing the bat as hard as I could in case someone was standing behind me. Then I started searching every room in my house, squeezing the bat as tightly as I could.
“Who are you!?!” I called out. No one answered, and no one was found. But I knew that man was there. I could feel him.
“I know you’re there! Stop hiding from me!” I yelled, watching my back and my front. I feared that he might pop out on me with a knife, or his face alone; but I wasn’t going to play the wuss any longer, not in my house. Thus I continued to shout and swing like an ***, in hopes of scaring someone off who might not have even be there. Nonetheless, he was there. It was confirmed when he at last made himself heard.
“It means dead. It means dead. It means dead. It means dead,” he repeated, taunting me, heard but not yet seen. Alarmed by the sound of his voice, I became even more aggressive, hitting the bat on my walls and stomping harder on the floor. I didn’t care who was living below me, I didn’t care about anything other than my pure desire to feel secure in my own home once again.
The last place I checked was the closet in my bedroom where I took violent swings in the dark, but felt nothing but clothes and walls. I ran back into the living room, and there he was, calmly standing underneath the hook, looking directly at me.
¨What do you want?¨ I asked, angered yet inspired by his inability to be shaken. He didn't answer, he just glared at me for centuries, looking through me as if I were a book with no cover. I was stripped bare by his eyes, feeling humiliated, and ashamed. I couldn't take it anymore. I squinted my eyes to focus on my target, and charged right at him. I shut my eyes and swung as hard as I could. And I either missed terribly, or, he dodged my strike while I wasn’t looking. Either way, the momentum of my swing threw me across the room. I dropped the bat and through my hands in front of me to hit the wall before my face did. Though, my weak arms didn't do a thing; I ended up crashing into the wall anyway. I looked back to see where he was. And he was gone.
The next morning was an overcast, again. And I didn't sleep, again; I couldn’t. I felt the same way I had felt those past few days, lost, fearful, and empty.
I walked into the living room to find that he never left. He was waiting for me, standing underneath the hook.
¨Dead man,¨ he said.
His words began to sound less insane, and more like a threat.
¨What does that mean?” I asked him. He didn't answer. He must have gotten off on putting me on edge. He continued to stare, with an expressionless face. His eyes were devils of their own, and they wanted me.
I am going to die I thought. I stood there, left to do nothing but await my fate. I was in the moment where the heart becomes faint, and goes into a daze from inescapable trauma. I was the lamb, he was the lion, and this was a cold world.
¨ You don´t know?¨ he asked, rather sarcastically as he took a step towards me ¨Haven't you noticed the difference?¨
I opened my mouth to speak, but I had nothing to say. Instead I attempted back away into the hallway as subtly as I could, though the cracking sound of the floor gave me away as soon as I took my first step. He commenced to approach me. I stopped moving, hoping that he would come any further. He did anyway. But the floor didn’t make noise went he walked. Again, he was a skinny man. He came awfully close, until the tips of our feet almost touched. His eyes were much greener in my face, they observed me, as a scientist observes the flaws in his experiment.
¨You're dead.¨ He said to me.
It was still nightfall when I awakened, and the dreadful routine had taken it’s course yet again. However, it was odd that it happened twice in one night. I opened my eyes to the outlining of the man. He was crouched down on his toes, staring at me as he was holding the end of the rope.
¨Why else do you think this keeps happening?¨ he asked, gently tugging on the the rope. I sat up on my elbows and looked around; and all the lights turned on in one motion. It was like a tangible enlightenment. It had been a while since I saw my apartment lit at night. For a moment, it was special; but then it commenced to remind me of the night I had performed the horrific act upon myself. It was then that I welcomed the darkness; but it didn’t care.
He held his hand out to me to help me off the ground. I didn't grab it. Instead, I glared at his hand, still unsure of who he was and how he found his way in my home.
“Death did not concern you, because when you existed, death was not there. And now that it has come, you no longer exist,” he said.
¨Tell me who you are,¨ I demanded, treating him as the foul trespasser I saw him as. He stood up, awaiting my answer, he now had the height of a God from my angle.
¨look man, you really need to leave. You can’t be in people's houses without permission and if you don’t go now, i'm gonna have to kick your ***, and then drag you out,¨ I said in an angry tone, but still with a fear of him that proved to be relentless. I wanted to look brave, to hold my ground. However, seeing that he was not shaken, in fact continued to look at me as if he was looking at a wounded insect, I knew that I was no match against him.
¨This isn’t your house, Teddy. You have to believe me. I’m not here to scare you,¨ he said to me.
What the hell? Do I know him? I didn’t realize how tense my face was until it went blank from the utter shock of hearing my name out of his mouth. It matched a four-legged animal opening its mouth and speaking right before your eyes.
¨H-how do you know my name?...Do I know you?¨ I stuttered, picking myself up off of the ground.
¨I have known your name long before it was given to you. It’s me, Clay,¨ he said. He then gave me a very unsettling smile that made me want to run and take cover from seemingly mischievous schemes. I hadn’t the slightest idea of who he thought he was to me. However, that was only for a moment. I suddenly found that name awfully familiar, trying to fit it in every incomplete puzzle I could think of. At last, I found its place, with a memory I had long forgotten about, a memory of an imaginary friend; his name was Clay. I produced him after my father had committed suicide when I was only ten years old. I never received any fulfillment in my mother’s arms, thus I made him, to mourn with me, to hear cries of my soul, and to be my friend. Because through the pain of being alone, I kept an open mind full of wonder, hope, and innocence. Once I grew to forget my father, there was no need for Clay anymore. And as I grew older, my imagination grew to mere reminders of what I could never attain; and I forgot about him as well.
¨Do you remember me now?¨ he asked me, with a whispering undertone. Despite the truth, I shook my head immediately.
¨Yes, you do,¨ he responded.
How does he know about that? I asked myself; refusing to consider the impossible, the impossible being that my imaginary friend had come to life, and was standing three feet away from me, begging to be remembered.
¨You’re not… you’re not...¨
¨I am not,¨ he interrupted ¨ But I am. I’m just not imaginary. And I never was. In fact, you didn’t produce me at all. My true name is for me only, but I want you to know that I have watched over you from your birth to your end, and I am here to set you free, but only if you’ll let me.¨
It’s astounding how a few simple words can make a man question the entire universe, whether she truly had laws at all, or if it sometimes allowed the alternate dimensions to collide with the one man is confined in.
¨I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Please go, I don’t want your help,¨ I said, as the clichés are all that come to mind in moments of perplexity and stress. I wanted him gone. I didn’t want to be further drawn into a place that made me doubt the very ground beneath my feet. I tried backing away, regardless of my previous failures, but was cut off by the coffee table. And I fell flat on my back.
¨Don’t be afraid of me, I´m your friend,¨ he said as he walked towards me with his eerie, tall body.
¨Please, I’m begging you. Just leave. You don’t belong here. This is where I’m safe,¨ I cried. I began to notice by his shifts to heavier breaths that he too was growing impatient.
¨Believe me when I tell you you’re not safe here! You aren’t where you think you are. And if you stay here, these very walls will devour you, and it has already begun its course. That’s why you haven’t noticed that you’ve been repeating the same day, and why you never hear as much as a bird cry, nor a streak of artificial light in the night, and why you don’t feel the sensations of life. You’re in the place where life doesn’t grow, only voids, and soon the horror that you have trapped within. If you stay here, you will no longer exist. And the worst part of it all, you will have forgotten the meaning of the word, for you wouldn’t exist to know it. All that will remain is the story you’ve told yourself and no other. And it will repeat for your eternity. Teddy, please, we have to go. There isn’t much time.¨
I could tell when the pupils in his exotic eyes dilated that he was serious. However, it was far too much to take in. Simply hearing those words mocked an eternity of horror in itself. This felt like a nightmare that was all too real.
¨I´m not dead!”I screamed.
¨You are, Teddy. You hung yourself, and no, you did not survive it. I am so sorry. But you can’t stay here. It is only a matter of time before you can never leave.¨
¨LEAVE ME ALONE!!¨ I screamed, covering my ears like a child. All of a sudden, the entire place commenced to shake. The first movement I detected was the trickling down of asbestos from the ceiling, then the flickering of the lights. I took shelter underneath the coffee table; and I shut my eyes, tight. When it was over, I opened my eyes, slid out from underneath the table, looked up, and the man was gone.
The morning rose quickly. I sat against the living room wall near the couch the entire night. I looked out the window and saw the overcast.
Is this for real? I genuinely pondered. Is this really the same day?
No, no of course not I thought. I forbade myself to make that belief my own, because if I did, then I would also have had to accept that I was dead, and I didn’t accept that.
I paced back and forth, towards the window, then towards the kitchen.
¨How could I be dead? I was just at the...this doesn’t feel like death, does it?¨ I tried and tried, but I couldn’t find any recent evidence of normal happenings. I had been skipping over time; I was never hungry nor thirsty; a strange man kept appearing in my house(not to mention it was twenty stories up, and locked.); and the days have looked the exact same. All signs were pointing to what I couldn’t come to terms with.
The house was silent; and it helped me think. Ever since the man left, I had been making a conscious effort to remain self aware, and try to make sense of it all. In the silent house, my thoughts were as loud as my voice.
I´ve watched over you from your birth to your end I remembered him say. It drove me to realize that if I wanted answers, he was my only hope. But, I wondered if he would return after the way I blew him off. On the other hand, I wondered if he ever truly left.
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