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Chapter 1:- 7 Days
Night has come again, though no moon ever appears through the blackness that clouds my mind. I fear shutting my eyes for I have no idea what evil could be lurking around me. I fear opening my eyes for I do not wish to see the evil coming to snuff me out of this gray and dreary world.
I can hear them talking, those mysterious creatures in the darkness. They say I am lucky to have a few weeks left to live. I say, I am lucky to be dead within a few hours.
Looking to my right, I see nothing but a dark street through the icy window that hangs next to the blood red booth I sit in. Looking to my left, I see a diner counter top and some orders placed on the table never to be prepared or served to the imaginary beings sitting in the other booths. In front of me lies the same coffee cup that sits there all day doing nothing but holding the hot bitter liquid that is only drunk by one person and only one person. Me. A crossword and newspaper also sit next to my coffee. Yet, every crossword is the same and every article in the newspaper, I have read more than enough to recite most if not all the words in the print.
This diner is my home. Every night and every day I sit here in the same spot with the same newspaper and same crossword. No one ever enters through the glass doors and no one ever leaves this cruel, boxed prison.
Sometimes I wonder whether this is all life really is coming to. I sit day by day wondering if I should try to leave this terrible place. Whether I should face the darkness that will inevitably reach through this protective shell called a mind. Then I realize that there is no use for the outside world that surrounds me. I am man. A man. My purpose on this beautiful green earth is to live, bring a child into the world, and then die to fertilize the earth that supports us all. If all that I really am meant for in life is to become dirt to the earth, is it worth the effort to succeed at a failing world?
My vision fades into a blur for a moment and I begin to realize that the few weeks have now become the last few days. I can hear them saying that they now can only make me comfortable. I can hear the sobs coming from the mysterious figures that I have no memory of, yet their voices seem oddly familiar. Their faces are lost to my memories. Who are these people?
Across from me, a light in the back corner flickers, dims, and fades.
Night has come again, though no moon ever appears through the blackness that clouds my mind. I fear shutting my eyes for I have no idea what evil could be lurking around me. I fear opening my eyes for I do not wish to see the evil coming to snuff me out of this gray and dreary world.
I can hear them talking, those mysterious creatures in the darkness. They say I am lucky to have a few weeks left to live. I say, I am lucky to be dead within a few hours.
Looking to my right, I see nothing but a dark street through the icy window that hangs next to the blood red booth I sit in. Looking to my left, I see a diner counter top and some orders placed on the table never to be prepared or served to the imaginary beings sitting in the other booths. In front of me lies the same coffee cup that sits there all day doing nothing but holding the hot bitter liquid that is only drunk by one person and only one person. Me. A crossword and newspaper also sit next to my coffee. Yet, every crossword is the same and every article in the newspaper, I have read more than enough to recite most if not all the words in the print.
This diner is my home. Every night and every day I sit here in the same spot with the same newspaper and same crossword. No one ever enters through the glass doors and no one ever leaves this cruel, boxed prison.
Sometimes I wonder whether this is all life really is coming to. I sit day by day wondering if I should try to leave this terrible place. Whether I should face the darkness that will inevitably reach through this protective shell called a mind. Then I realize that there is no use for the outside world that surrounds me. I am man. A man. My purpose on this beautiful green earth is to live, bring a child into the world, and then die to fertilize the earth that supports us all. If all that I really am meant for in life is to become dirt to the earth, is it worth the effort to succeed at a failing world?
My vision fades into a blur for a moment and I begin to realize that the few weeks have now become the last few days. I can hear them saying that they now can only make me comfortable. I can hear the sobs coming from the mysterious figures that I have no memory of, yet their voices seem oddly familiar. Their faces are lost to my memories. Who are these people?
Across from me, a light in the back corner flickers, dims, and fades.
