Who’s there?
did you see? Oh, I hope they didn't see Stop staring at my wallpaper there’s nothing for you to see! STOP IT!! don’t look they think i don’t know I DO I DO I REALLY REALLY DO They're trying to lock me up to put me away … i’m not crazy i promise i’m not ... don’t listen to what i said earlier -- that was just Joking that smell! its back that ghastly smell –oozing through out the room i have no tolerances no patience for it I need out John! I was just kidding i only said that because i wanted OUT! Like that Lady - dont you see - who is trapped behind that wallpaper I didn’t want to end up like that trapped, stuck, screaming for help behind that lurid yellow wallpaper Listen as she yells asking for help I only said it because in the room I could feel the yellow skulking seeking in the air. taking up all the space – all the air, like a hungry man eating for the first time DON’T YOU SEE IT! I know you do dont lie to me!! you did you did I know you did Stop looking! please just stop looking I said STOP! there’s nothing in this room for you to see Jenny - you can stop coming by so much you will never find the Lady I won’t let you not even your bat like eyes will help you or your dog ears they will not help you see or hear her you can’t keep me locked up for ever no that won’t work Jenny, John do you see her? Please say you do Stop Staring at me! Maybe you should have listened to me When i told you i wanted no needed help but you could do that NO! it was all about YOU YOU YOU YOU! Why didn’t you listen? I need to get out out out out the window the bed the ceiling the fan why shouldn’t i get out that Lady already did Through all the barbed wire not a scratch on her no. the scratches are on me!
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Here I am once again, Sitting in this gloomy and dull room,
Cramped like a jelly bean in a jar, With a million others in it, No money, Means no power, I can only do but, Hear the laughs of the children become, Like an echo fading in the distance, Oh my, what was that? Once again that loud roar startled me, But why? My ears should be used to that petrifying shrill, I cannot imagine that one day, Oh one day, That weapon, That we have all come to know, Will someday change my fate, Here I am once again, Glimpsing out my window, To see young boys, Passing their lives away, Sitting on those gray, Broken down concrete steps, Singing brusquely about their hatred, But they are not to blame, Life changed their benevolent hearts, Here I am once again, Oh how I wish I could have been, An intelligent, Useful, And polite woman, One day I will try, But until then, Here I am once again, Looking at our future, But I still see nothing. I suppose that every house is haunted- memories and ghost creep inside their walls. But these are not ghost seeking to play out some epic revenge filled saga, these are simply ghosts of how things used to be. Like indentations on rugs that work as the gravestone for where chairs used to sit. Or the paint peeled back just enough so that the house tells you it wasn’t always this way. See we build our homes out of brick-shaped, compressed memories. We make the creaking stairs the house singing to us. The pencil lines on the wall of childhood heights that are now at your knee remind you of a dead former you.
But her house was particularly haunted. It wasn’t that more life had happened there, it was that it was louder. Her front door always was closed, and the lights were never on anymore. The blinds were drawn tight, and the only thing that would escape from that house were little floods that seeped out of the holes. The roof was falling in on her. But inside she was experiencing everything at once, like all her memories were combined into some nostalgic twisted present. Between flashbacks of days on the porch and hiding under her covers, she could feel the sad and hopelessness blowing in as a draft through the cracks in her walls. She cried anytime she knocked over a glass because she knew how fragile her house of memories was and how at any minute, like a glass, it could shatter into shards that would shred her illusion. She could shatter at any moment. The doctors said it would be soon. That the support beams of her bones were brittle and her wall of skin was cut too deep. When does a body stop becoming ours? When she stopped being able to control it, when she was locked in, when she has to pay rent with her youth and her smile, then her flesh turned into wood. And I cannot say that she is gone, only that she is locked inside and all I want is to knock on her door and say “Can you come out to play?” Sherlock to thee I love,
One with life And nothing above, Thou relieves my strife. Unto thine deductions, You resolve the tempered felony, Surpassing each obstruction, Within your illustrious ability. None other compare To thine intelligence alone, Without thee I despair And am withered to bone. The thrill of the chase With you I embrace. White.
Torture. White Torture. There was nothing anybody would be able to see, not even the tail lights could be seen. This wasn’t good, that much he knew. And if he didn’t know just by the fact that he could not see out of his windshield, he soon learned when the feeling in his leg went followed by his hand. Cars Honking. The wind Yelling. Pushing against the cars’ windows. He should have bought a new car. He knew that he needed one but he figured that it would be cheaper to wait until the end of the year. A new car would have kept his warm in this heat and he wouldn’t be losing feeling in his body. There it goes, the feeling in his face, this can’t be healthy. ‘I really hope this traffic lets up soon’ he found himself thinking, but he knew it wasn't going to happen, so he looked around the car for something to keep his warm. Even though he already had 3 layers of clothes on. Me? You’re talking to me? Look, I’ll tell you whatever you want; just lower the gun, alright? I swear, I’m not armed, see? Look, I’ll empty my pockets to show you. Yeah, just some headphones and a little bit of change for the vending machine and the bus ride home- do you want that too? No, wait I wasn’t trying to be smart or anything, I swear. Just, they have good Cheetos in there right now, that’s all.
What’d you ask? Yes, sir, I work here- graveyard shift for about three years now. Got this job right out of college- graduated with about the most useless degree possible. Don’t you just wish the damn guidance counselors would say it to your face? I mean, they must’ve figured out majoring in the Fine Arts with a minor in Russian Literature wasn’t the way to go, right? But nope, they don’t tell that to you until you’re $50,000 in debt. But, anyway, so I’m fresh out of college- No, sir, I’m sorry for rambling. Look, I’m not sure if that’s a great idea; Mr. Erics- that’s my boss, by the way, he started this gallery with his wife about a century and a half ago- he was saying they added all this new security a few weeks ago, just to get ready to house the Diamond Ballerina! No, no, I know this isn’t my robbery, all I was saying is that if I was you- Ow! Holy shit! Yeah, yeah, I can take you to the vault! Fuck, that hurts, man! Just, give me a moment okay?! I’m a security guard, but that doesn’t mean I like to be punched, dude! Please, just don’t hurt me, okay? I’ve got a wife and kids at home, man. Little daughter, her birthday’s this weekend. She’ll be three, I think. Casey, my wife, is already stressed about Sophie's party, as if the kid’s gonna remember it anyways. Don’t get me wrong, I love Soph half to death, but, Christ, ever since she was born Casey’s been so stressed out all the time! Doesn’t want to do anything anymore! My sister, Margret, she told me that was gonna happen- she's got 4 boys of her own up in Vermont- but I didn’t believe her! Thought she was just jealous I was gonna have a girl! Anyway though, if you kill me now my little girl’s not going to ever see her daddy again! Come on, don't be heartless! See, I'm taking you there, right? I'm doing what you said. Well, here we are, man. I’m afraid I don’t know the combination though, so I’m not totally sure how you’re going to be getting in there, but, well, you guys are the professional thieves here. There she is once again,
Pale and motionless, Staring at me coldly, Stop looking at me! Get away from me! I am afraid now, She looks familiar, Her countenance of sorrow, Penetrated in me, Body begins to shake, To skulk around the room, Her vivid movemets cried for help, I heard her wailings But I just had to touch Did my hand collide with paper? Not skin? As I touched her, I felt it! I felt it! A mixture of smooth and rough, Like touching a piece of cardboard, I cannot leave She’s trapped in me, Her patterns finally make sense, I have to let her out, NOW, FAST, Before it is too late, I am free, All is gone, Shhh, Silence has possessed me, Everything is gone Everything! But ME! Was it just a dream? A dream of me being a Wallpaper? Or was I truly being held down? Once again, I am scared, Alone I stand with nothing, Emptiness, And, White space all around Me, But I am, I am, Free, To be who I used to be, The girl people admired, Funny, Charing and Intelligent, Looking back, What was it that suffocated me? That pressured me to become, A monster, To become a person I did not recognize, Those long and tiresome days, I was committed in being, In my own world of, Depression and stress, I have learned now, Wherever I might be, That my life was a treasure, I never got to enjoy the pleasures of. I bought the phone off of ebay. It was cheap, and I mean real cheap, especially for an iphone like that. The guy said that he wanted to get rid of it. He must have done that in a rush, because when it got to me, nothing was deleted. All of his contacts were there, all of his pictures, all of his apps. I ain’t a nosey person, but come on. It was like this stranger had just handed me a book of his life. I had to read it.
I started by just scrolling through the contacts. Nothing unusual. He had his mom, his friends and his boss, just like we all do. But then I got to the pictures. There were around 400 hundred and all of them were of his and this girl. She was beautiful, amazingly so. She was a magazine cover but she did not need all the photoshop. Then I noticed, in every picture they were wearing the same exact thing, and, if you scowled like it was a movie, her smile slowly faded. The last picture was actually a video. The man who had sold me the phone just looked straight into the camera. For thirty seconds he said nothing, just blinked, afterwards, he said ‘Sorry.’ He had been crying. Next the text messages. I scrolled through the first couple conversations were just emoji riddled things about the normal stuff, work, beer and weekends. But then, I get to this conversation he had with some girl, whose contact was Her. “Hey” He started. “Hey.” She texted back exactly 11 minutes later. “Just making sure you gave me the right number.” He said. “Romantic.” She responded. I am assuming that is sarcastic. “You’d be surprised.” “I like surprises.” They continue on with this flirty banter until finally he gets the courage and says “dinner?” She says that she guesses she is not busy tomorrow night. “When should I pick you up.” “7.” “Are you okay with Italian.” “Yeah.” Romance in the modern age really is a great thing. They go to dinner, and since I can tell when the messages and pictures were sent they take the 400 pictures in that one night. The next morning he says “You alright? You left my apartment so soon.” That message was seen at 10:58 am. There is no response. Later that same night he messages “Microwave food for me tonight. Not as good as Italian. Not as good as food with you.” Seen 8:14 pm. The next morning he tries, “So do you want to meet up again?” Seen at 9:37am. Then, at 11:42 am, she texts back, “you are not good at taking hints. are you?” “What did I do wrong?” His response is both immediate and desperate. Seen at 11:45 am. He waits only ten minutes and then responds with “?” but still, she does not respond. He waits two hours and then says “Listen, I had a great time last night. Sorry if you didn’t. Want to try again?” He waits another day and then says “Really? No response?” He is mad now, and texting very frequently. “I at least deserve a response.” “I thought you were better than this.” “Thought you were different. My mistake.” “Yow know I can see that you have read these, right?” “Why are you ignoring me?” “Why did you even say yes when I asked.” “I did not want a one night stand. I wanted you.” Then, “I am coming over.” He says nothing for four days, and when he does he sends a video. A man cries and looks into the camera. “Sorry.” It was what everyone had always dreamed of. Well, almost everyone. For everyone to access the same network, the same information, the same world, no matter where. To be able to skip the laborious process of making the trip to the library every time one needed to verify one fact or another. The future of information. A highway for information, gleaming, shiny, and new, holding more and more cars every minute of every day. It stretched wherever one wanted to go, and back again. But this glorious network of information only claimed to be perfect. As time went on, the inevitable effects of the environment took its toll on this highway. There were drawbacks and pitfalls for every hopeful idea, a con for every pro. Vicious viruses, meddlesome malware, incorrect information, lurking around every corner, behind every flashy, vivacious advertisement. We flocked to this bumpy highway full of information nonetheless, sure we would not be the victims of its many potholes. As the cars around us fell into the ever-widening, invisible cracks, we cruised on smoothly, not a care in the world. It’s only a matter of time before our own car collapses, but until then our wheels continue to turn, picking up little pebbles and stones, churning them around for a bit, and then dropping them elsewhere. Our tires pound the pavement, and we search for a construction crew to recover the damage the many other cars have done to this once-perfect highway. But no such crew is in sight. And as you gaze out your window for the first time, marveling at the sight of the highway, you remember what it once was. Constructed and then left to crumble piece by piece, before it is no longer safe for travel without fear of damage to either the car, the passenger, or both. Thus ends the life of the highway, and only the highway knows when this end may near.
Empathy: (noun)
The ability to understand and share the feelings of another. I’m including this definition because I’m not sure many of us know what it is. I mean, sure, we understand the gist of the word, but the idea and the application of the word are very, very different concepts than the word itself. We, as a society, know how to pronounce and define, but not how to perform and demonstrate this known, yet strange concept of empathy. Empathy is one of the essential factors in the equation of compassion, an equation that defines how we live. If empathy is removed from the formula, or misapplied, the entire equation warps, and our lives are greatly impacted. And, over time, empathy has been removed, or at the very least, our standards for empathy have been lowered exponentially. We see it every day: when someone drops their books in the hallway and nearly everyone just skirts around the victim, throwing them a sideways glance, slightly embarrassed for them, though at the same time glad it wasn’t them, and mildly irritated for the inconvenience this victim of pure luck has caused them, the passerby. Or when a pedestrian attempts to cross the road, yet no car is willing to pause their precious schedule for a mere minute in order to let the pedestrian pass. Empathy is an essential part of life, but we choose to exclude that from our lives, focusing on ourselves and our own lives, excluding others, save for when we find them useful. If we cannot find it in ourselves to reach out to others even when it doesn’t benefit us, we cannot progress as a society. Ever. |
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