Haunted
An autobiographical bit that came to me one day. Still not sure what it means. But I do hope to develop it further.
It was like a never ending buzz growing louder by the second. Insistent chatting that wouldn’t go away. Most of the time it felt like a swarm of bees had permanently settled in my brain, piercing me with mocking laughter. The buzzing caused cold chills to run down my spine, leaving uncomfortable goose bumps in their wake. Louder still. They never stopped. Almost as if someone was purposefully running nails back and forth across a chalkboard.
Somewhere behind the buzz I heard a question addressed in my direction. I ignored it. It came again, louder. Again I ignored it. Then it came a third time, along with a slight shove on my shoulder. I blinked, looked to my right and smiled. It was a sick, sweet smile that covered how annoyed I was by their never ending buzzing.
“What?”
“I asked how your day was.”
Oh. Well then. Where to start? I wanted to tell them about breaking down in the bathroom at work because I felt that horrible pang in my heart again. I wanted to tell them how I was afraid of being a failure to them and the rest of the world. I wanted to tell them how frightened of the future I was, how I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to tell them that I couldn’t stand being with them for more than ten minutes before the buzzing numbed me.
Instead I smiled again and sugar coated my voice. “Oh it was great. My professor made this really funny comment in class today…”
They smiled, pleased with themselves that they had managed to get me to join in. I rambled on about how we had all laughed and teased my professor. About how wonderfully mundane my job was. About how the latest novel I’d started was just wonderful.
The conversation was relatively peaceful the rest of the evening. But the buzzing didn’t stop. It never did. They cleared away the table and I told them I had to study and how sorry I was that I wouldn’t be able to watch television with them. I walked to my room and stepped in relishing the cool breeze that hit me.
In reality I needed to get away from them. Their affection was overly suffocating and I couldn’t handle it for too long. Closing the door to where it was only open a crack I stepped over to my bed and climbed on. I closed my eyes as I sank in to the plush pillows and comforter. I reached over and grabbed my laptop, crossed my legs and started it up.
All I wanted to do was write. Well, that, and read. If I could do those two things for the rest of my life then I would be content. No, I would be happy. Ecstatic. Delirious. I would be free.
After about an hour of typing away I stretched, unfolding my legs and pointing my toes. How wonderful it was to not be interrupted. A soft mewl to the right caught my attention. Stretching as if she too had been typing my cat got up and butted her nose against my thigh.
“Hi there little one. Did you have a good nap?” She meowed in reply and set about to making my outstretched legs her new bed. I chuckled softly at her and enjoyed the gentle massage the pads of her paws were giving me. Stretching my arms above my head I yawned and looked at the time. It was still early enough. I figured about another hour or two of typing and then I’d go to sleep.
Or I would attempt to at least. Lately I hadn’t been able to sleep. Or more like I wouldn’t let myself sleep. The dreams were too much to take in and I didn’t want them anyway. Shaking myself away from that train of thought I went back to my laptop. It was warm against my legs and kept me from shivering. I liked it cold. I always had the ceiling fan on, blowing constantly on high. It could have been the coldest night of winter and the fan would be on. I preferred to pile up the blankets than have to kick them away in desperation. Especially when the dreams came.
Cracking my knuckles I started again. The words appeared quickly across the screen, my fingers flying non stop over the keyboard. Typing was a second nature to me. I silently thanked my fifth grade computer class for that. We were forced to type with our hands covered. If we were caught looking at the keyboard we’d get points taken away for the day. I hated it then. Now I couldn’t be any happier. I could type anything without looking down once. No matter the keyboard my hands would find the right fit and set about.
A knock at my door caught my attention. I looked up and found my father’s face peeking in the door.
“Yes?”
“It’s almost midnight, it’s time for you to go to bed.”
I sighed. Not this again. Every night it was the same. I took a deep breath, looked down at my unfinished work, exhaled and looked back up at him.
“I’m almost done daddy.” The sickly sweet tone came out again. I didn’t have to force it anymore, it was just there. “I’ll be finishing up soon, don’t worry.”
A scowl marred his handsome face. I noticed the grey hairs cutting through his black hair. Curls of white planted on black coal. When had he gotten so old? Nodding once he stepped back and closed the door back to its original position, a crack letting the light from the kitchen seep through.
Frowning I looked back down and snorted. Great, I had lost my train of thought. And I had been doing so well too. Shrugging to myself I went back to the beginning to read over it. The piece I was writing was roughly two hundred pages long at this point, about twenty or so pages added and deleted each night. And every night I did the same. After being interrupted I would start reading it again, questioning myself with every paragraph.
I couldn’t explain it. Not like anyone would understand if I did. But this thought had started one day and it had just consumed me. Every waking moment I would think about what I was writing. My class notes resembled rough drafts more than they did notes. At work I would constantly e-mail myself reminders, ideas, changes and anything that came to mind. If I were pulled away for more than five minutes I caught myself glancing longingly at my laptop the words dancing in front of my eyes, begging me to come back to them.
I stopped typing again and blinked at my clock. Three in the morning. Sighing and finally giving in to the constant exhaustion I closed the computer and set it aside. Drawing the covers around me I slid in and closed my eyes hoping that tonight’s dreams wouldn’t haunt me in the morning. Even though they always do.
It was like a never ending buzz growing louder by the second. Insistent chatting that wouldn’t go away. Most of the time it felt like a swarm of bees had permanently settled in my brain, piercing me with mocking laughter. The buzzing caused cold chills to run down my spine, leaving uncomfortable goose bumps in their wake. Louder still. They never stopped. Almost as if someone was purposefully running nails back and forth across a chalkboard.
Somewhere behind the buzz I heard a question addressed in my direction. I ignored it. It came again, louder. Again I ignored it. Then it came a third time, along with a slight shove on my shoulder. I blinked, looked to my right and smiled. It was a sick, sweet smile that covered how annoyed I was by their never ending buzzing.
“What?”
“I asked how your day was.”
Oh. Well then. Where to start? I wanted to tell them about breaking down in the bathroom at work because I felt that horrible pang in my heart again. I wanted to tell them how I was afraid of being a failure to them and the rest of the world. I wanted to tell them how frightened of the future I was, how I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to tell them that I couldn’t stand being with them for more than ten minutes before the buzzing numbed me.
Instead I smiled again and sugar coated my voice. “Oh it was great. My professor made this really funny comment in class today…”
They smiled, pleased with themselves that they had managed to get me to join in. I rambled on about how we had all laughed and teased my professor. About how wonderfully mundane my job was. About how the latest novel I’d started was just wonderful.
The conversation was relatively peaceful the rest of the evening. But the buzzing didn’t stop. It never did. They cleared away the table and I told them I had to study and how sorry I was that I wouldn’t be able to watch television with them. I walked to my room and stepped in relishing the cool breeze that hit me.
In reality I needed to get away from them. Their affection was overly suffocating and I couldn’t handle it for too long. Closing the door to where it was only open a crack I stepped over to my bed and climbed on. I closed my eyes as I sank in to the plush pillows and comforter. I reached over and grabbed my laptop, crossed my legs and started it up.
All I wanted to do was write. Well, that, and read. If I could do those two things for the rest of my life then I would be content. No, I would be happy. Ecstatic. Delirious. I would be free.
After about an hour of typing away I stretched, unfolding my legs and pointing my toes. How wonderful it was to not be interrupted. A soft mewl to the right caught my attention. Stretching as if she too had been typing my cat got up and butted her nose against my thigh.
“Hi there little one. Did you have a good nap?” She meowed in reply and set about to making my outstretched legs her new bed. I chuckled softly at her and enjoyed the gentle massage the pads of her paws were giving me. Stretching my arms above my head I yawned and looked at the time. It was still early enough. I figured about another hour or two of typing and then I’d go to sleep.
Or I would attempt to at least. Lately I hadn’t been able to sleep. Or more like I wouldn’t let myself sleep. The dreams were too much to take in and I didn’t want them anyway. Shaking myself away from that train of thought I went back to my laptop. It was warm against my legs and kept me from shivering. I liked it cold. I always had the ceiling fan on, blowing constantly on high. It could have been the coldest night of winter and the fan would be on. I preferred to pile up the blankets than have to kick them away in desperation. Especially when the dreams came.
Cracking my knuckles I started again. The words appeared quickly across the screen, my fingers flying non stop over the keyboard. Typing was a second nature to me. I silently thanked my fifth grade computer class for that. We were forced to type with our hands covered. If we were caught looking at the keyboard we’d get points taken away for the day. I hated it then. Now I couldn’t be any happier. I could type anything without looking down once. No matter the keyboard my hands would find the right fit and set about.
A knock at my door caught my attention. I looked up and found my father’s face peeking in the door.
“Yes?”
“It’s almost midnight, it’s time for you to go to bed.”
I sighed. Not this again. Every night it was the same. I took a deep breath, looked down at my unfinished work, exhaled and looked back up at him.
“I’m almost done daddy.” The sickly sweet tone came out again. I didn’t have to force it anymore, it was just there. “I’ll be finishing up soon, don’t worry.”
A scowl marred his handsome face. I noticed the grey hairs cutting through his black hair. Curls of white planted on black coal. When had he gotten so old? Nodding once he stepped back and closed the door back to its original position, a crack letting the light from the kitchen seep through.
Frowning I looked back down and snorted. Great, I had lost my train of thought. And I had been doing so well too. Shrugging to myself I went back to the beginning to read over it. The piece I was writing was roughly two hundred pages long at this point, about twenty or so pages added and deleted each night. And every night I did the same. After being interrupted I would start reading it again, questioning myself with every paragraph.
I couldn’t explain it. Not like anyone would understand if I did. But this thought had started one day and it had just consumed me. Every waking moment I would think about what I was writing. My class notes resembled rough drafts more than they did notes. At work I would constantly e-mail myself reminders, ideas, changes and anything that came to mind. If I were pulled away for more than five minutes I caught myself glancing longingly at my laptop the words dancing in front of my eyes, begging me to come back to them.
I stopped typing again and blinked at my clock. Three in the morning. Sighing and finally giving in to the constant exhaustion I closed the computer and set it aside. Drawing the covers around me I slid in and closed my eyes hoping that tonight’s dreams wouldn’t haunt me in the morning. Even though they always do.