Jibar
2008-03-11, 12:27 PM
Yes, I wrote something new.
Read, enjoy, comment. Standard Arts and Crafts scenario.
A Light
The lights are flickering. I saw it. They've been on for six months. Is it six? Six months without going off. That's good, isn't it? I didn't know the generator was so good. Or the bulbs. Which makes it flickers? Please don't go out.
It's just one. One light. One. Must be the bulb. The rest of my hall is fine. Except that one. That singular light. On and off. On and off. Constantly. Always on and off. Only when I'm in the hall. If I'm in the office, it's fine. Only when I'm there. How does it know?
It make's a noise. When it flickers. A click. It's all I hear. Apart from my breathing. And the pit-a-pat of my feet on the floor. The cold, cold floor. Where are my shoes? It's silent. No noise, but me and the light.
There's not much in the hall. It's empty. There's a table and a bottle. And me. That's it. There were pills in the bottle. I don't know what they were. I clawed the label off. I didn't care. They were useless. They did nothing. And now they're gone. All of them, gone.
There are a lot of doors. Other offices, some private rooms. I think one is a maternity ward. I don't know. The doors are locked. I think the head doctor has the keys. I push and I bang and I cry, but the doors don't open.
The stair door is locked. I stare through the window. I am trapped. I look everyday. I look and I hope. The lift is locked too. The buttons do nothing. I can't find the fire exits. They're probably in one of the wards. I think they're locked too.
I used to inspect them. Check everyday. See if they were open. The doors. I'd go up and down the hall. At least three times. I'd hope a door would open. They never did. I stopped when I found out. They don't open. Ever.
Only my office is open. It's small and it's cramped and it's full. There's a desk and a chair and a filing cabinet. There was a computer. I smashed it. I pulled the drawers from the desk and smashed them too. I threw them against the wall. All I have is the files. I memorised them, after a month. Then I started reorganising. I finished that too. I tore them up then. I had no more use for them. I shoved them through the gap under the stair door. I don't know why.
I slept in the chair. Before I stopped. It was too cramped. I couldn't get comfortable. I ripped an arm off but it did nothing. Now I don't sleep. When the sun sinks behind the window, I wait until it rises again. Then I wait for it to sink. Every day. I don't care anymore. I don't feel tired.
The window is too high for me. It's at the end of the hall. Nothing more than a postbox. Enough for fresh air. I feel the wind sometimes. When I sit in front of it. It's amazing. I can't close it though. It's always open. Always. It gets cold at night.
I walk. During the day. I walk. Up and down the corridor. Without shoes. It hurts. The skin isn't there. I walk endlessly. Sometimes I stop. I stop and I think. I don't know what I think. Then I keep walking. I'm always walking. I'd walk in my office but it's too small. So tiny.
I used to scream. When it began. When I didn't walk. I screamed. It wasn't words. Never words. I don't use words. I screamed. I screamed and screamed and screamed. I screamed until my throat hurt. Then I screamed until the blood came up. I stopped that. I don't scream now. I think.
I don't know what I was. I think I was a doctor. I wear a coat. It's white. That makes me a doctor. Right? I don't know. I'm in a hospital. I think. Hospitals have these things. It's all so long ago. So long ago. Why has nobody found me? Why did no one hear me?
Why is it empty? Everywhere is empty. Outside is empty. Empty. I can't see, but I can hear. There's no cars. No people. They're gone. Not even birds. No birds. The birds are gone. There's no one here. In the hospital. No one. Just me.
It's clean. I've been here for six months by myself and its clean. I don't excrete anymore. I don't make a mess. But the walls are clean. There's no dust. Not in the hall. Not in my office. The paper is still outside the stair door. I threw the chair arm. I broke the window. It doesn't close now. That's where I threw the drawers too. It's so cold.
I think there are other people in the building. I've heard them. They whisper outside the stair door. When I go and look, they're gone. They run from me. They hate me. Why? Please. Help me. I think they're there. I hope they are. Please.
My hands hurt. I look and I know why. I don't want to know why. They hurt. I want to cry. I want to scream. I can't. The pills did nothing. I peel it off but they still hurt. It's sore. Why? Why does it hurt? I can't ask for help. It hurts.
I sit and hug my knees. As I watch the sun rise or set. I hug my knees. Hold them close. They're all I have. All I have to hold. I sit and I hold them and I think. I don't know what I think about. But I do it anyway. I sit and hold my knees and wish I could cry.
I tried to make a friend. Long ago. When I had words. They weren't there. I think. They talked to me and I talked back. It hurt and I screamed, but it wasn't so bad. They didn't have a name. They didn't need one. What's my name? They're gone now. They left when I broke the window. Now it's just me.
When I was a doctor, did I have friends? I don't remember. I don't remember much. I think that's what I think about. I think I try to remember. I don't know. I try not to think about it. I prefer to think about the window. I prefer to sit and wait for the wind. The wind.
I tried to escape. Once. I wanted to reach the window. I wanted to feel the wind properly. The desk. I tried to move the desk. But the office is small. It's so small. The desk wouldn't come out. I got angry. I don't remember angry. That's why I smashed the drawers. I think. I hope. It hurts.
I sat once. By the stair door. When the sun rises. I don't know why. I heard them. The other doctors. They were on the stairway. I hugged my knees and I listened. They were crying. They were crying when I couldn't. I wanted to find them. I wanted to comfort them. I wanted to hold them. I banged on the doors and they left. Then the light started flickering.
It hurts. My chest. I can feel the bones. I run my hand down and they're there. It hurts like my hand. But I can't peel. I can't reach it. The coat. I can't take off the coat. The buttons hurt. I try to undo them but they make my hands hurt. I can't do it.
Before I stopped using words, I sat by the window. There was something outside. Banging. Screaming. People. I screamed and no one came. I asked for help. I cried. I miss crying. I miss tears. I don't know what the banging was. I heard an helicopter. It flew close by. I could tell. The blades made a draught. I liked it. It felt like wind.
The banging got louder. I shouted to the helicopter but it ignored me. Everyone ignores me. Everyone runs. The people were screaming louder and louder. They were getting closer. I wanted to be there. To see them. To touch them. My fingers burn. The skin. Where is the skin?
The computer. That was why I hit it. I saw it. A news report. I saw it and then I smashed it. Then I cried. I cried for many days. I cried while the people screamed and banged outside. Then my hands started to hurt. It prickled. I hadn't been outside. Not for a while. For days. When I stopped crying, they were gone. The people and the helicopters and the banging. They were gone.
There are no mirrors. It's been six months without a mirror. I don't know what I look like. It's cold. All I know is I wear a white coat and the skin is gone on my hands and feet. I think my face is gone too. I don't know. It hurt once. It hurt first. I used my nails to make it stop. When the blood came it stopped. Stopped hurting.
I'm alone. There's no one else here. The friend. The friend wasn't there. The doctors aren't there. The people were never there. I'm alone. A singular in the world. I hold my knees to my chest as they're all I have. I feel the bones connecting through the coat and it reminds me. Reminds me I am alone. There's no one else.
I sit in the hall watching the sun rise. It's cold and there's wind and I hurt. The light is flickering. I can't cry and I can't scream and I can't sleep. I hold my knees as people don't come. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want a mirror. I want to know. Why am I here? Why am I alone? Why do I hurt?
The light flickers for the last time. The bulb is gone. I used to sit under this light. I used to sit and feel the wind. I can't now. I can't sit in the dark. I've had no darkness. No darkness this side of the window. How long will I be here? The skin. The skin of my chest isn't there, is it? The light has died. Why can't I?
I sit and I think. I know what I think. I don't want to admit I know, but I do. I think about the light. For six months I have thought about the light. For six months I have wondered if it would last. Now it hasn't. How long till the rest go? Where have the word's gone? The words. I miss words.
I am ill. I think I am ill. I think. My hands hurt and my feet hurt and I can't scream. I can't cry. I don't sleep. I want to dream. I don't remember dreaming. I think it was good. I hope so. I hope it was like wind. Why did the pills not work? I can feel my chest bones. I hurt.
The light is dead. I'm not. Now I sit under the dark. I sit and think about the light while I watch the sun rise. I miss the friend. I miss the doctors. I miss crying. I think about how long until the other lights die. I think about how long until I die. I hope it's soon. Please. I'm alone. Who am I?
Read, enjoy, comment. Standard Arts and Crafts scenario.
A Light
The lights are flickering. I saw it. They've been on for six months. Is it six? Six months without going off. That's good, isn't it? I didn't know the generator was so good. Or the bulbs. Which makes it flickers? Please don't go out.
It's just one. One light. One. Must be the bulb. The rest of my hall is fine. Except that one. That singular light. On and off. On and off. Constantly. Always on and off. Only when I'm in the hall. If I'm in the office, it's fine. Only when I'm there. How does it know?
It make's a noise. When it flickers. A click. It's all I hear. Apart from my breathing. And the pit-a-pat of my feet on the floor. The cold, cold floor. Where are my shoes? It's silent. No noise, but me and the light.
There's not much in the hall. It's empty. There's a table and a bottle. And me. That's it. There were pills in the bottle. I don't know what they were. I clawed the label off. I didn't care. They were useless. They did nothing. And now they're gone. All of them, gone.
There are a lot of doors. Other offices, some private rooms. I think one is a maternity ward. I don't know. The doors are locked. I think the head doctor has the keys. I push and I bang and I cry, but the doors don't open.
The stair door is locked. I stare through the window. I am trapped. I look everyday. I look and I hope. The lift is locked too. The buttons do nothing. I can't find the fire exits. They're probably in one of the wards. I think they're locked too.
I used to inspect them. Check everyday. See if they were open. The doors. I'd go up and down the hall. At least three times. I'd hope a door would open. They never did. I stopped when I found out. They don't open. Ever.
Only my office is open. It's small and it's cramped and it's full. There's a desk and a chair and a filing cabinet. There was a computer. I smashed it. I pulled the drawers from the desk and smashed them too. I threw them against the wall. All I have is the files. I memorised them, after a month. Then I started reorganising. I finished that too. I tore them up then. I had no more use for them. I shoved them through the gap under the stair door. I don't know why.
I slept in the chair. Before I stopped. It was too cramped. I couldn't get comfortable. I ripped an arm off but it did nothing. Now I don't sleep. When the sun sinks behind the window, I wait until it rises again. Then I wait for it to sink. Every day. I don't care anymore. I don't feel tired.
The window is too high for me. It's at the end of the hall. Nothing more than a postbox. Enough for fresh air. I feel the wind sometimes. When I sit in front of it. It's amazing. I can't close it though. It's always open. Always. It gets cold at night.
I walk. During the day. I walk. Up and down the corridor. Without shoes. It hurts. The skin isn't there. I walk endlessly. Sometimes I stop. I stop and I think. I don't know what I think. Then I keep walking. I'm always walking. I'd walk in my office but it's too small. So tiny.
I used to scream. When it began. When I didn't walk. I screamed. It wasn't words. Never words. I don't use words. I screamed. I screamed and screamed and screamed. I screamed until my throat hurt. Then I screamed until the blood came up. I stopped that. I don't scream now. I think.
I don't know what I was. I think I was a doctor. I wear a coat. It's white. That makes me a doctor. Right? I don't know. I'm in a hospital. I think. Hospitals have these things. It's all so long ago. So long ago. Why has nobody found me? Why did no one hear me?
Why is it empty? Everywhere is empty. Outside is empty. Empty. I can't see, but I can hear. There's no cars. No people. They're gone. Not even birds. No birds. The birds are gone. There's no one here. In the hospital. No one. Just me.
It's clean. I've been here for six months by myself and its clean. I don't excrete anymore. I don't make a mess. But the walls are clean. There's no dust. Not in the hall. Not in my office. The paper is still outside the stair door. I threw the chair arm. I broke the window. It doesn't close now. That's where I threw the drawers too. It's so cold.
I think there are other people in the building. I've heard them. They whisper outside the stair door. When I go and look, they're gone. They run from me. They hate me. Why? Please. Help me. I think they're there. I hope they are. Please.
My hands hurt. I look and I know why. I don't want to know why. They hurt. I want to cry. I want to scream. I can't. The pills did nothing. I peel it off but they still hurt. It's sore. Why? Why does it hurt? I can't ask for help. It hurts.
I sit and hug my knees. As I watch the sun rise or set. I hug my knees. Hold them close. They're all I have. All I have to hold. I sit and I hold them and I think. I don't know what I think about. But I do it anyway. I sit and hold my knees and wish I could cry.
I tried to make a friend. Long ago. When I had words. They weren't there. I think. They talked to me and I talked back. It hurt and I screamed, but it wasn't so bad. They didn't have a name. They didn't need one. What's my name? They're gone now. They left when I broke the window. Now it's just me.
When I was a doctor, did I have friends? I don't remember. I don't remember much. I think that's what I think about. I think I try to remember. I don't know. I try not to think about it. I prefer to think about the window. I prefer to sit and wait for the wind. The wind.
I tried to escape. Once. I wanted to reach the window. I wanted to feel the wind properly. The desk. I tried to move the desk. But the office is small. It's so small. The desk wouldn't come out. I got angry. I don't remember angry. That's why I smashed the drawers. I think. I hope. It hurts.
I sat once. By the stair door. When the sun rises. I don't know why. I heard them. The other doctors. They were on the stairway. I hugged my knees and I listened. They were crying. They were crying when I couldn't. I wanted to find them. I wanted to comfort them. I wanted to hold them. I banged on the doors and they left. Then the light started flickering.
It hurts. My chest. I can feel the bones. I run my hand down and they're there. It hurts like my hand. But I can't peel. I can't reach it. The coat. I can't take off the coat. The buttons hurt. I try to undo them but they make my hands hurt. I can't do it.
Before I stopped using words, I sat by the window. There was something outside. Banging. Screaming. People. I screamed and no one came. I asked for help. I cried. I miss crying. I miss tears. I don't know what the banging was. I heard an helicopter. It flew close by. I could tell. The blades made a draught. I liked it. It felt like wind.
The banging got louder. I shouted to the helicopter but it ignored me. Everyone ignores me. Everyone runs. The people were screaming louder and louder. They were getting closer. I wanted to be there. To see them. To touch them. My fingers burn. The skin. Where is the skin?
The computer. That was why I hit it. I saw it. A news report. I saw it and then I smashed it. Then I cried. I cried for many days. I cried while the people screamed and banged outside. Then my hands started to hurt. It prickled. I hadn't been outside. Not for a while. For days. When I stopped crying, they were gone. The people and the helicopters and the banging. They were gone.
There are no mirrors. It's been six months without a mirror. I don't know what I look like. It's cold. All I know is I wear a white coat and the skin is gone on my hands and feet. I think my face is gone too. I don't know. It hurt once. It hurt first. I used my nails to make it stop. When the blood came it stopped. Stopped hurting.
I'm alone. There's no one else here. The friend. The friend wasn't there. The doctors aren't there. The people were never there. I'm alone. A singular in the world. I hold my knees to my chest as they're all I have. I feel the bones connecting through the coat and it reminds me. Reminds me I am alone. There's no one else.
I sit in the hall watching the sun rise. It's cold and there's wind and I hurt. The light is flickering. I can't cry and I can't scream and I can't sleep. I hold my knees as people don't come. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want a mirror. I want to know. Why am I here? Why am I alone? Why do I hurt?
The light flickers for the last time. The bulb is gone. I used to sit under this light. I used to sit and feel the wind. I can't now. I can't sit in the dark. I've had no darkness. No darkness this side of the window. How long will I be here? The skin. The skin of my chest isn't there, is it? The light has died. Why can't I?
I sit and I think. I know what I think. I don't want to admit I know, but I do. I think about the light. For six months I have thought about the light. For six months I have wondered if it would last. Now it hasn't. How long till the rest go? Where have the word's gone? The words. I miss words.
I am ill. I think I am ill. I think. My hands hurt and my feet hurt and I can't scream. I can't cry. I don't sleep. I want to dream. I don't remember dreaming. I think it was good. I hope so. I hope it was like wind. Why did the pills not work? I can feel my chest bones. I hurt.
The light is dead. I'm not. Now I sit under the dark. I sit and think about the light while I watch the sun rise. I miss the friend. I miss the doctors. I miss crying. I think about how long until the other lights die. I think about how long until I die. I hope it's soon. Please. I'm alone. Who am I?