A bit late, but...
I can finally post this.
I was having writer's block and was suggested to write when I'm angry, which is something I rarely do since I normally spend that time being angry and not verbose at all.
The walls broke from their frame. From where I sat, the shedding began all around me. Counterclockwise, from behind me, an unsheathing that rang and echoed in the loudest of decibels; yet the delicacy of the act itself kept the removal quiet to all the others. As I said, the first to go was the wall behind me, then the one to my right. The wall before me slipped away, ushering my eyes over to watch the final wall uproot and vanish. My hands rest over my ears to drown out the noise and my eyes are open, lidless, in shock. Even as I sit in the same room now, the walls intact, I can remember it just as clearly as if it were happening for the first time. As if it were happening in these very seconds that fill my breath.
I couldn't handle it then. As much as I had been brooding over how I wanted to escape the house I was in, I sat frozen to the bed. With my hands placed in the hidden pockets of the blankets, I stayed there and stared at the building I knew work around me, unphased and unknowingly. The same people I saw daily were doing the same things they did, daily, without even a change in pace. I kept staring at them, waiting for them to see me on the bed, disheveled and in such a stupor that they would stop what they were doing and gaze back at me as if I were an exhibit behind the glass in a museum. “The glass... There’s no glass,” I uttered, “What if they come in? What if they cross the remnants of the old boundaries? Can they do that, and if they could, would they continue to stare at me from the current distance or would they huddle around me? Do they even see me?”
I was having writer's block and was suggested to write when I'm angry, which is something I rarely do since I normally spend that time being angry and not verbose at all.
The walls broke from their frame. From where I sat, the shedding began all around me. Counterclockwise, from behind me, an unsheathing that rang and echoed in the loudest of decibels; yet the delicacy of the act itself kept the removal quiet to all the others. As I said, the first to go was the wall behind me, then the one to my right. The wall before me slipped away, ushering my eyes over to watch the final wall uproot and vanish. My hands rest over my ears to drown out the noise and my eyes are open, lidless, in shock. Even as I sit in the same room now, the walls intact, I can remember it just as clearly as if it were happening for the first time. As if it were happening in these very seconds that fill my breath.
I couldn't handle it then. As much as I had been brooding over how I wanted to escape the house I was in, I sat frozen to the bed. With my hands placed in the hidden pockets of the blankets, I stayed there and stared at the building I knew work around me, unphased and unknowingly. The same people I saw daily were doing the same things they did, daily, without even a change in pace. I kept staring at them, waiting for them to see me on the bed, disheveled and in such a stupor that they would stop what they were doing and gaze back at me as if I were an exhibit behind the glass in a museum. “The glass... There’s no glass,” I uttered, “What if they come in? What if they cross the remnants of the old boundaries? Can they do that, and if they could, would they continue to stare at me from the current distance or would they huddle around me? Do they even see me?”