The Room, the Questions, and the Card

The room was rather small. Brick walls with chipping blue paint and a concrete floor. Honestly, it was a bit underwhelming and less intimidating than in the movies. I sat in a plastic chair at a wood grain table listening to the clock echo every second through the room. I held a glass between two hands yet I still couldn’t keep the water from shaking. It was twelve. I had been there since nine and they still hadn’t told me why, but I had a bad feeling I already knew. There was a large mirror on one wall that I knew wasn’t really a mirror. How many people were on the other side? What were they waiting for? Just then a woman walked in and I sat up. 

“Good morning” she sat across from me. It’s noon. “I’m gonna get straight to the point.” Oh great. “Joey Caddel was your boyfriend right?” Was. A sinking feeling grew in my chest. I nodded. “When was the last time you saw him?” Last night. 

“I’m not sure, Is he okay?” It’s a stupid question, I knew he wasn’t. I wouldn’t have been there if he was. 

The questions went nowhere. Back and forth for almost an hour till she realized I was no help and sent me home. “If you think of anything else don’t be afraid to call.” She gave me some sort of card with a number. 

The card turned over in my hand. My nerves didn’t calm even after I got home. I stared at the number all night, fidgeting with the card. I didn’t feel right and I couldn’t sleep. Everywhere I looked I saw him. It wasn’t my house anymore it was his. I couldn’t take it. The car was loaded with some clothes and a duffle of money. I drove off to the nearest gas station to fill up. He could have the house. He could live there forever, and unless they ripped up the carpet and the flooring, he would. I could just drive away and they’d never come looking for me. But I couldn’t. I just sat in the car in an empty gas station listening to some crappy song on the radio. I don’t know exactly why I did it. Perhaps it was the feeling in my stomach that I couldn’t shake since I left the police station. Perhaps it was the card in my hand that I couldn’t let go of. I called the number and I told the whole story. I waited for them to find him. Then I waited for them to find me. It wasn’t long before I heard sirens.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

I can hear the rain dancing on the roof. It’s night and although I’m tired I still can’t sleep. It’s funny how a room can look so different in the absence of light. It’s not just the room. People are different too. Your thoughts aren’t your own after dark and it’s hard to recognize anything or anyone. It’s almost as if when the world turns dark it’s no longer ours. It belongs to those who sleep under the sun, and when they wake the sky has turned black and it’s their world, not ours. The rain is only getting more violent as I stare up at my ceiling. Anything can be manipulated by the dark. It’s dangerous. Figures formed by lamps and coat stands, shadows watching, waiting for when you’re weak. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid but I’m not ignorant either. Children’s tales are told for a reason. They serve as a warning for those who will listen, though it’s often only kids. We forget as we grow older, that or we brush it off. But the monsters are still there even if you choose to ignore them and they don’t just come out at night. Just as we can live in their world, they can live in ours, and just as they are our monsters, we are theirs. It’s only fair. The only question is what’s scarier? Should I be afraid of lying awake in the dark, of them hiding in the shadows? Or should they be afraid that I’m now in their world? Maybe they’re hiding for a reason. Maybe they tell stories about the devils of the sun. The monsters above the bed that if you wake, they’ll take you and you’ll never return. I guess everyone has a monster. The rain, the sun, and the moon at an eternal war. Our fears and our dreams control us all. I suppose that’s what keeps me awake, what keeps us all awake.

He Tried, and What Good It Did Him

He dreamed of it all. Everything. He always knew he was destined for more than the gods had planned for him. And he was determined to prove it. How could he have known that wanting everything would leave him with nothing? At least the sky was pretty. That, at least, would never leave him, it would always be there. And that gave him simple comfort as he lay in the sand. He could smell the sea. As a boy he always dreamed of seeing it himself, that was all he wanted. Thinking back to it now it was hard to remember when his dreams turned from simple whims to great ambitions. Was it when he started school and earned his first grade, his first award, his first praise? Was it the moment someone told him that he could be great, that he would be great? Maybe that was that and it had all been decided. His whole life laid out, a path of endless attempts at glory. A path that led him here. Lying on the shore as the sand turns warm and slick with his blood. 

He could almost laugh at himself now. He tried all his life. He worked hard, and what good it did him. He tried, and now he was here. If it ended like this what was it all for? He spent his whole life trying so hard he had lost himself. But then again maybe this was who he was always meant to be. Maybe this was how it was meant to end. A fun joke for the gods’ entertainment to which he was the punchline. Just a silly boy who tried too hard and went too far. Just a silly boy who tried to play god and was put back in his place.

He should’ve known better than to make a deal with one of them. Bound in blood and bone. A boy and a god. He was grasping at straws, he wanted to show them, prove to them that he was better than they knew. He wanted to make them pay for the ridicule. He wanted them to hurt. He wanted them to fear him. He wanted them to love him. But of course, they never could. At least he got to see the ocean once before he went. At least one of his dreams came true. The sky began to blur around him. It would always be there, lasting, like the legacy he hoped to achieve. But the sky would be there long after he was forgotten. So he tried one last time. To mean something. To get up. But he had nothing left in him, and in the end, he let the sea take him.

One Day It’ll All Make Sense

One day It’ll all make sense. One day I’ll understand why people do what they do and why they scream at each other like it’ll make a difference. One day I’ll be one of them, that or they’ll stop screaming and actually listen. One day the world will stop burning and people will finally be able to see each other because the smoke will have cleared. One day people will understand that they do not need to have a common enemy to be common. One day they’ll stop dropping bombs from the sky to prove a point, they’ll stop killing each other back and forth because they forgot who started it. One day they’ll stop using the hate of some to fuel their own. One day they’ll see the people behind the animosity, behind the orders, behind the numbers. One day they’ll have to because if they don’t, they’ll become a number. If they don’t, they’ll become so blinded by their own hate that they turn on themselves. If they don’t, they’ll become so lost that they’ll set the world ablaze and ask where the smoke is coming from. If they don’t, there will be no more “one day” because it’ll all be gone and they’ll wish that they could’ve changed something. That or they’ll still blindly pick a man to blame for their troubles. And when the smoke clears, they’ll start again. Because maybe that’s all they can do. And maybe it’ll never make sense.