they said they were going to take me away, to make me feel better. so they locked me in a white room where my clothes matched the walls and the ceiling and the door.
I’d like to say that I woke up in a bed of tangled sheets each morning but instead i wake up with threadbare sheets, my alarm clock is the door opening and a metal tray being slid across the floor. my eyes havent adjusted enough to the light and all this white to register the face of the person who keeps me alive.
I’m not quite sure what to call them, my saviour because they keep me alive? but is it still called living if I’m reduced to 3 square meals and no stimuli of any kind?
They say this place will make me feel better, all this white? must be heaven, I try to convince myself of this lie.So my day begins but not by a clock hand ticking but by the bolt sliding into place and locking me from the world.
these monotonous wall of white. need some paint.
next thing you know im lookin up at the ceiling strapped to a gurney with a doctor looking over my charts constantly muttering words like delusional, terminal and critical.
I tried to explain
crazy guy: you see Doctor I had no paint so I ran against the wall
crazy guy: well the only liquid around was in me, my blood so I tried hoping that damaging my arm would extract some blood to paint
doctor: but why did you need to paint
crazy guy: because i need to breathe
the doctor stares at me for some time, trying to extrapolate some logic behing the madness that was tied down before him.
I’m not crazy, honestly. they say this place will help me get better, but I don’t think so. I think that one day the faceless saviour will slide in my tray and I won’t get up, soon they’ll realise that during that night I had snuck away from my body taking all the breath it had left with me, and then they’ll bury the body so that family, friends and maybe even the doctor that tried to help me can say some kind words to a headstone. thats one lucky piece of rock.
the gentleman sat at his regular table, he rolled the cool glass across his lips, occasionally taking sips of his scotch all the while staring at the heavy velvet curtain that separated him from the show.
it had been a long day, of meeting this countess, discussing literature with that lord, of hearing social climbers pay him lip service. all this bounced off him, for he simply wanted time alone
time to think, and let these thoughts take their course, let them run til the breath in them expires.
the lights were dimmed and the curtain went up on stage.
another sip of scotch.
out walks the magician looking like a gentleman in his suit but don’t trust the sleek hair, the toothy grin, because both you and the gentleman knows that he has tricks up his sleeve.
another sip of scotch
the magician begins to waves extravagently to someone off stage and out comes a petit blonde girl in an outfit that would never be seen beyond that stage, so much leg. she was rolling a rectangular box out onstage, like her and the magician it was just as glitzy, with big tacky stars painted all over. now the magician was calling out to the audience for a volunteer, who would take a risk and step onto stage onto the box of mystery. the gentleman muttered bullshit.
downs the whole scotch
he’s being helped onto the stage by the cute petit. more like holding hands, the pretty little thing seems to have no weight to her at all. he was being stuffed into the box, he could hear the bolts sliding and then darkness.
then a shaft of light to let him see, but he was blinded by the stage lights.
something wasnt right, for some reason he was stuck. he could see the fake magician sweating bullets. his eyes communicating frantically with his asssitant.
now the gentleman can feel himself moving, being wheeled offstage. now this was magic, the little blonde girl was pushing him as if he weighed nothing. off stage between the shadows and black curtains, she was attacking the bolts, her apologies stumbling one another, fighting to reach the gentleman’s ears, squeezing into the little space trying to assure him that she would get him out soon.
really he was fine, stitting there in his thoughts forgetting everything, eventually the right assistant would take him out, there was no way she could do it.