(no subject)
I don't remember the last time I stepped out of thise place. Perhaps the last time was when I watched you walk away, back into the fighting chaos? Your back turned, tears stinging at the cuts and bruises on my face, I remember it so much better than I should. After all, people normally don't remember things with such clarity when they were more than four years ago.
The place, this place is hell, you know. Stuffy, too hot during the day, never warm enough at night. We're only allowed to lay still at night, for fear our movement causes some sort of disturbance and we cause a riot. After all, a bunch of people suffering from post - traumatic stress stuffed into one square mile is dangerous, right?
On the outside world, we watch as bodies pass in blurs. Everything out there seems to be going so much faster than it actually is. The doctor says that's my own world, though, going that fast. He says it's a representation of what I thought my life was like before I reached this place. I always laugh at him and tell him he's ridiculous when he tells me such things. I think I'm beginning to believe him, though. After all, such strange occurances can only lead me to believe such people.
You had pressed your face to the glass and dragged your hand down there one day. It was way before we even started the fighting.
"What the hell is this place going to be?" you asked me, filled with curiosity. I only told you to get off the glass because you'll stain it. "No I won't! Are you calling me dirty?" you joked. I didn't even offer you a smile.
Three weeks later, we found it was going to be a 'mental assessment hospital' for the war that was struggling all around us. You asked me why you hadn't heard of the war, I said I hadn't either, we were simply that sheltered. Quit worrying, I told you, and you only frowned at me. I feel that was the wrong thing to tell you then.
Now, now I was laying in the bed alone, staring at the heavy sun. They had told me a million times not to look at the damn thing but I never listened. So what if my eyes burnt out of my sockets or I went blind? In a place where we're hardly even allowed to move, we don't need to see. Wouldn't it be better to be blind, anyway, with the war and all?
Every four days we were required to meet with the psychologist. He would assess us, we'd tell him our problems, he'd try to help us, everything would stay the same. None of this seemed to bother anyone else, and I mentioned this to him once.
"These people celebrate mediocracy in their lives," he responded. Not content with the answer, he offered more: "They value the repition. Unexpected, spontaneous things are unwelcome by them."
"Why the hell aren't I the same way?"
"Because you're certainly more sane than any of these people."
I bitterly laughed at him and he shrugged at me. We continued on. This was about a year ago. I was still discontent with the repition of the world inside the glass ward.
As I walked into his office, he gave me that cheerful smile. I returned nothing. Stoic, apathetic, whatever you'd like to believe it was, I was it.
"Sit down, Jackly."
Jaxly. It was Jaxly, not Jackly. Even after so long, the man never got my name right. That showed something about this place, didn't it? Of course, none of this bothered anyone...
"What's today about, doc?" I asked as I placed my feet on his table. Dirty, my toenails growing out, rather hairy, too... Ah, that was the rude blossoms of love I gave to that insensitive bastard of a man.
"Same as usual. How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Any changes in your behaivor?"
"If I noticed, I wouldn't tell you."
"Good point. Eating right?"
"The food here? There's nothing right about it."
"Everything seems normal here... Well, then, we're done."
That was always the extent of our visit. I should have expected no different, but I was vaguely surprised when he said his last words. Done? Already? But something restless pounded in my chest and told me that it shouldn't be over. However, I stood, pushing the chair back slightly.
"Right. Thanks, doc."
"See you again soon, Jackly."
"...Right."
That strange sensation in my chest back in the office should have told me something. Maybe the fact that I didn't answer to it said something about the whole situation. Maybe it was a foreshadow, but I scoffed at the idea. That sort of thing only happened in books. No - one was ever warned of something before it happened.
My legs grew bumps in the cold of the Glass Ward night. Above us was the sky, lit up with bombs and shellings. Occassionally, something big enough would smash against the side of the building and it'd shake and tinkle gently. Man, that tinkling noise was addictive. Like soft bells. Maybe the fact that the tinkling bells of bombs chimed three times tonight was another foreshadow. Maybe everything that had ever happened in my was life was actually a foreshadow and maybe--
No! I snarled at myself and curled closer to my pillow with the blanket wrapped tightly around me. Thin blankets for such a cold, cold night. The cold distracted us, though... Maybe that was something good, too. Maybe that was another device to keep us from just attacking out of no - where.
You had looked at me with the saddest eyes when they said I was to be shipped off. You had held my hand all the way they let. You had even given me your special charm, the one your mother gave you. You said it'd protect me from everything.
"Damnit!" I roared and shot up in my bed. "Damnit, I had forgotten about that thing!"
"Jaxly, what the fuck are you screaming about?" hissed a voice next to me. A woman popped her head up, glaring at me. "We're trying to fuckin' sleep."
"Shut up, Hall," I snarled. "Shut up and get up, too. All of you!"
Grumbles, whines, hisses. Some didn't get up.
"What's the meaning of this?" a familiar voice boomed. Damn, they had the cameras set up. I had forgotten that... But nonetheless, I pointed an accusing finger at the doctor.
"Why aren't we allowed to go out there? Why can't we go somewhere else? Why can't we even see the outside? The glass of the walls are dimmed out. They can see us, we can't. And you know, most of all, why the hell can't you remember my name?"
Perhaps I had snapped. Perhaps remembering you set off my final straw. But there was just something wrong and this calm was too false and I didn't want anything to do with it anymore. I pressed my forehead and fingers against the wall and sighed. "I mean, hell! What's so bad about the outside? Long ago, they had wars like this. Remember that one book, doc, it's in your room so you've read it probably, All Quiet on the Western Front? Our wars are like theirs and yet they went on, even after they got hurt. They weren't locked up. They weren't kidding themselves that this repition and same, day after day, month after month, time after time... They didn't kid themselves that this was normal. They didn't get lied to about how they were fine and they were gonna get out."
By now, there was a shift in the atmosphere. Grumpiness turned to tension and all eyes were on the doctor and me. My forehead was pressed against the glass window and I dragged my hand down it. Oil marks. I was putting oil marks on the window.
"You don't even let us say goodbye. Couldn't even say goodbye to her, damnit..."
Hands grabbed at me, pulling me away from the window. Another tinkle of a bomb. Four bombs , four bells tinkling away my existence.
"There there, Mr. Jaxly. Don't worry... We'll get you all better..."
I turned a pitiless eye towards the glass, staring at my oil marks. God knows what's going to happen to me now. A bitter laugh and I sighed, following them. And somewhere deep inside, as the fifth and perhaps for me, final, bomb - bell tinkled as something smashed against the Glass Ward, I knew that this had happened far too many times for me to forget again.
Author's note: I'm discontent with the ending. |:< It makes me go, 'grrrr. It can be better.'. But that's it for now.
The place, this place is hell, you know. Stuffy, too hot during the day, never warm enough at night. We're only allowed to lay still at night, for fear our movement causes some sort of disturbance and we cause a riot. After all, a bunch of people suffering from post - traumatic stress stuffed into one square mile is dangerous, right?
On the outside world, we watch as bodies pass in blurs. Everything out there seems to be going so much faster than it actually is. The doctor says that's my own world, though, going that fast. He says it's a representation of what I thought my life was like before I reached this place. I always laugh at him and tell him he's ridiculous when he tells me such things. I think I'm beginning to believe him, though. After all, such strange occurances can only lead me to believe such people.
You had pressed your face to the glass and dragged your hand down there one day. It was way before we even started the fighting.
"What the hell is this place going to be?" you asked me, filled with curiosity. I only told you to get off the glass because you'll stain it. "No I won't! Are you calling me dirty?" you joked. I didn't even offer you a smile.
Three weeks later, we found it was going to be a 'mental assessment hospital' for the war that was struggling all around us. You asked me why you hadn't heard of the war, I said I hadn't either, we were simply that sheltered. Quit worrying, I told you, and you only frowned at me. I feel that was the wrong thing to tell you then.
Now, now I was laying in the bed alone, staring at the heavy sun. They had told me a million times not to look at the damn thing but I never listened. So what if my eyes burnt out of my sockets or I went blind? In a place where we're hardly even allowed to move, we don't need to see. Wouldn't it be better to be blind, anyway, with the war and all?
Every four days we were required to meet with the psychologist. He would assess us, we'd tell him our problems, he'd try to help us, everything would stay the same. None of this seemed to bother anyone else, and I mentioned this to him once.
"These people celebrate mediocracy in their lives," he responded. Not content with the answer, he offered more: "They value the repition. Unexpected, spontaneous things are unwelcome by them."
"Why the hell aren't I the same way?"
"Because you're certainly more sane than any of these people."
I bitterly laughed at him and he shrugged at me. We continued on. This was about a year ago. I was still discontent with the repition of the world inside the glass ward.
As I walked into his office, he gave me that cheerful smile. I returned nothing. Stoic, apathetic, whatever you'd like to believe it was, I was it.
"Sit down, Jackly."
Jaxly. It was Jaxly, not Jackly. Even after so long, the man never got my name right. That showed something about this place, didn't it? Of course, none of this bothered anyone...
"What's today about, doc?" I asked as I placed my feet on his table. Dirty, my toenails growing out, rather hairy, too... Ah, that was the rude blossoms of love I gave to that insensitive bastard of a man.
"Same as usual. How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Any changes in your behaivor?"
"If I noticed, I wouldn't tell you."
"Good point. Eating right?"
"The food here? There's nothing right about it."
"Everything seems normal here... Well, then, we're done."
That was always the extent of our visit. I should have expected no different, but I was vaguely surprised when he said his last words. Done? Already? But something restless pounded in my chest and told me that it shouldn't be over. However, I stood, pushing the chair back slightly.
"Right. Thanks, doc."
"See you again soon, Jackly."
"...Right."
That strange sensation in my chest back in the office should have told me something. Maybe the fact that I didn't answer to it said something about the whole situation. Maybe it was a foreshadow, but I scoffed at the idea. That sort of thing only happened in books. No - one was ever warned of something before it happened.
My legs grew bumps in the cold of the Glass Ward night. Above us was the sky, lit up with bombs and shellings. Occassionally, something big enough would smash against the side of the building and it'd shake and tinkle gently. Man, that tinkling noise was addictive. Like soft bells. Maybe the fact that the tinkling bells of bombs chimed three times tonight was another foreshadow. Maybe everything that had ever happened in my was life was actually a foreshadow and maybe--
No! I snarled at myself and curled closer to my pillow with the blanket wrapped tightly around me. Thin blankets for such a cold, cold night. The cold distracted us, though... Maybe that was something good, too. Maybe that was another device to keep us from just attacking out of no - where.
You had looked at me with the saddest eyes when they said I was to be shipped off. You had held my hand all the way they let. You had even given me your special charm, the one your mother gave you. You said it'd protect me from everything.
"Damnit!" I roared and shot up in my bed. "Damnit, I had forgotten about that thing!"
"Jaxly, what the fuck are you screaming about?" hissed a voice next to me. A woman popped her head up, glaring at me. "We're trying to fuckin' sleep."
"Shut up, Hall," I snarled. "Shut up and get up, too. All of you!"
Grumbles, whines, hisses. Some didn't get up.
"What's the meaning of this?" a familiar voice boomed. Damn, they had the cameras set up. I had forgotten that... But nonetheless, I pointed an accusing finger at the doctor.
"Why aren't we allowed to go out there? Why can't we go somewhere else? Why can't we even see the outside? The glass of the walls are dimmed out. They can see us, we can't. And you know, most of all, why the hell can't you remember my name?"
Perhaps I had snapped. Perhaps remembering you set off my final straw. But there was just something wrong and this calm was too false and I didn't want anything to do with it anymore. I pressed my forehead and fingers against the wall and sighed. "I mean, hell! What's so bad about the outside? Long ago, they had wars like this. Remember that one book, doc, it's in your room so you've read it probably, All Quiet on the Western Front? Our wars are like theirs and yet they went on, even after they got hurt. They weren't locked up. They weren't kidding themselves that this repition and same, day after day, month after month, time after time... They didn't kid themselves that this was normal. They didn't get lied to about how they were fine and they were gonna get out."
By now, there was a shift in the atmosphere. Grumpiness turned to tension and all eyes were on the doctor and me. My forehead was pressed against the glass window and I dragged my hand down it. Oil marks. I was putting oil marks on the window.
"You don't even let us say goodbye. Couldn't even say goodbye to her, damnit..."
Hands grabbed at me, pulling me away from the window. Another tinkle of a bomb. Four bombs , four bells tinkling away my existence.
"There there, Mr. Jaxly. Don't worry... We'll get you all better..."
I turned a pitiless eye towards the glass, staring at my oil marks. God knows what's going to happen to me now. A bitter laugh and I sighed, following them. And somewhere deep inside, as the fifth and perhaps for me, final, bomb - bell tinkled as something smashed against the Glass Ward, I knew that this had happened far too many times for me to forget again.
Author's note: I'm discontent with the ending. |:< It makes me go, 'grrrr. It can be better.'. But that's it for now.