Behind the door

[jmlevitt]

The days ran into each other long ago. It's only by the light streaming through the library windows, or lack thereof, that he even knows whether it's day or night anymore. He drifts through the library like a ghost these days, retreating to remote stacks whenever he catches so much as a glimpse of another sentient being, or ducking back into his

Comments

now I'm tugging on this line

[in_verbatim]

When he sees the package, the first thing he wants to do is burn it. His hands are unsteady, though, unreliable, and he pictures burning the whole apartment down with only his cigarette lighter. He then thinks about leaving it outside, letting the weather wear it down into a nothingness he can control, but he's sick and alone and curious. And so, a few hours later, he picks it up.

And he reads.

It's somewhere between comforting and terrifying, reading stories by someone who understands you. Not just someone who has been in your situation, but someone who's there with you, right now, taking every blow and feeling every emotional twitch... it's almost...

It’s a ‘fuck you,’ says the voice inside of him, the one that no longer sounds lost and tired. That’s all.

He gets halfway through the second story before he starts to feel sick to his stomach. He quickly pages through the rest of them, hardly comprehending the words, only seeing them, thousands upon thousands of them, all connected. He brings a trembling hand to his head, and uses the other to trace the edges of the note. Pain is no evil unless it conquers us. Pain is no evil unless it

I will not be

I am

It takes him a few moments to realize that the first page of the story, the one he had been holding up, is on fire. It's only when the flames catch the edge of his fingers that he's slammed back to reality again. He drops it to the ground, stomps out the flames, half waiting for it to catch his pant-leg and drag him down with it. He can feel his cigarette lighter, cheap and plastic, pressed deep into his palm. When did he take it out?

"I don't know," was what he said. "I've never been burned."

When the fire is out, finally, he's out of breath. He's so much weaker now, so much less than he was before. He hugs himself and wavers on the feet. He feels the two week old beard on his face. The rest of the stories stay where he left them, arranged neatly in their respective piles.

He doesn't have the breath or energy to scream. He sinks to his knees, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, eyes shut tight.

He is lost, and he is losing.

It might take Jeff a while to notice it, but Soze is eating again. There's nothing left to do.