A lone lightbulb swings back and forth on its string, its illumination fading dimly,
then brightly, then dim again
I lay on the floor, watching, waiting, but I’m not sure what for
There’s a figure in the corner of the room, not interrupting, oddly comforting

He possesses eyes of red and black, eyes of lust and lost
His presence alone makes me feel a bit more complete
He doesn’t bother me, doesn’t move towards me
Rather, he just sits in the corner

I wonder if he knows why he’s here
I guess you could say that him and I have more in common than not
Where’s his family? Does he have any children calling his name? Are these
questions for him or for myself?

There’s a book placed in his lap, the pages exposing themselves like an open
wound, but not being flipped over
He enjoys bathing in the fullness of each word, soaking in how beautiful each one
is and can be
It’s so sad that most pages are just for filler, only a minimum are actually treasured
deeply within our hearts
Was my life just a filler page to others? Or will I be remembered for changing their
plot someway somehow?

I lift the bottle of water in my hands and bring the rim to my lips
Tilting the bottle, all I end up swallowing is the gritty gravel that collected at the
bottom
I salvage what little moisture is left
There’s not much longer now
Time is almost over, even though it never existed
The figure glances up from his book, the same page still never turned over
His eyes look into mine

I can see a hint of excitement in his pupils
His voice makes its way into my ears, vibrating its way down my spine and into
my fingertips
“Is that it? That’s all?”
“I’m afraid so.” I reply back
Talking is hard, my mouth is terribly dry
“Afraid? No sir, you are not afraid. I know afraid, and you are not that”
I trust him, he seems to know more about me than I do
Why couldn’t everyone be like that? That way I wouldn’t have to explain myself
so many times to brick walls with mouths

I rise up off the floor, dust and dead skin cells sticking to the back of my head and
shirt
There’s nothing left, I’m the odd one out of four
I start walking towards the door, then I remember one last thing that I need to do
Retracing my steps, I head to a small coffee table
There’s a picture frame on it

In it, there’s a group of four people embracing each other
Three beautiful women, two grown and one barely over the age of thirteen, stare
out into the dimensional world in front of them
The forth person’s body can be seen, but his face is scratched out, unrecognizable
Well, to others, not to me
I know exactly who that person is, but I wish that I didn’t

I stare into the photograph for a few minutes
Suddenly, the glass protecting the photo shatters, the sharp little fragments falling
onto the table and floor below
It’s a sign, telling me that it is time to go
I head back towards the front door

Placing my hand on the brown and golden knob, I notice how dirty and cold it is
A loud squeaking noise escapes the barely used doorknob as I turn it to the left
I pull the giant dark oak door towards me

Outside, it is pitch black
Not a single bit of light is visible in any direction
I wrap my jacket around my chest tighter and I bury my hands into its pockets
It’s cold, but not unbearable

I glance around me, trying to understand my surroundings
Confused but unfazed, I begin to walk into the darkness
I can see my breath as it is expelled from my lips, yet I do not shiver
The only source of light that can be seen radiates from the house

As I continue to walk, the house begins to grow smaller and smaller, the distance
growing longer and larger
Its light soon becomes invisible, and I stand there in complete darkness, doomed to
walk on forever more