Demise
The steps were steep and narrow, but he did not notice that, any more. His panting came not from physical strain. It was to get attention from the neighbours. But nobody was interested in his drama, any more.
It was almost sharp enough to cut the air, and split atoms, the hissing that left his lungs. Negativity that could not be contained in his human body, any longer. Then words followed, incoherent to the non-existent onlooker, but in his mind, it all made sense.
“Late again,” they remarked, when the neighbours heard him stomping up the stairs after hours. Then, they forgot about him, entirely. Holding on to thoughts about him was poisonous, and though they were unaware of the fact, they instinctively did the right thing, and let go, as if not to hold on to something disgusting.
This wasn’t where he’d left them. His thoughts. This wasn’t where he’d left them. Somebody was messing with his mind, stealing his sanity. He only meant to borrow some strength when he felt weak, and small, but now, somebody was taking over. But this thought was way too scary to confront it any longer. So he let go of the reigns completely. Distraction was so much easier to face.
There was a shuffling on the landing, followed by loud breathing, burping, and clattering about. He put on an extensive show, despite the missing audience. You couldn’t say he wasn’t aware of the fact. He merely chose to ignore it. Like he ignored the symptoms.
The field felt smaller than usual. As if his life force was folding in. The more he fought it, the more he catapulted himself into isolation. The more isolation, the smaller the energy field of his life force seemed to become.
It was a very distinctive sound, the angry door banging. It was not just a door being jammed shut. It was a statement of hatred towards the world, but most of all towards himself. Those were the only moments left, when he felt effective. The demons in his head had long taken over, and his shell was slowly beginning to fall apart.
Love was not an option, any more.
This microfiction was inspired by the following writing prompts:
#FromOneLine 350 — “The steps were steep and narrow”, #FromOneLine 351 — “It was almost sharp enough”, #FromOneLine 352 — ““Late again,” they remarked”, #FromOneLine 353 — “This wasn’t where he’d left them”, #FromOneLine 357 — “There was a shuffling on the landing”, #FromOneLine 358 — “The field felt smaller than usual”, #FromOneLine 359 — “It was a very distinctive sound”.
