Question upon question

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Psychological orientated short story of sorts.

Submitted: October 13, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 13, 2015



Question upon question. Mountains from molehills. Question upon question. Prolonged silence. Insufferable thoughts. More than one voice. Question upon question.


You wake in the late-morning. Your eyes are flooded with sunlight whilst your body still lacks the energy for movement. Regretting staying up late, you roll over and check your phone. Viral content fills your brain and fills you with false expectations of grandeur. The people you know had been out last night - your invite must have gotten lost somewhere. A cold breeze hits you in the face like a train. It is time to move yet your body is not willing. After some coaxing, you gain control.


You move through the house, refusing to look at yourself in the mirror beforehand. The first one approaches. Muffled words escape your lips and fall upon deaf ears. Did they hear you? They probably ignored you. Pottering around the kitchen like you don’t belong there. Do you live here? Escape, return to your room as fast as you can. You rush and drop cutlery. The clashing metal against the tiles reverberates and pierces your skull. To your room, to sanctuary.


Sorting through your clothes you realise you hate everything about yourself. A crushing thought for so early in the day. Quickly, you put on the first thing you see and hope for the best. You venture outside of the house. For a brief moment you can breathe steadily and the wind is a comfort in your hair. The busy streets serve as a contrast; people have eyes to see and ears to hear you. Block them out with music like you always have. You’ll get round to conquering this fear one day, you tell yourself repeatedly.


Everyone is staring yet nobody is paying any attention. The shortest eye contact results in question upon question. Thoughts bombard your brain as you struggle to keep up your charade of not caring. Finally, a silence. A lecture. People cannot speak here - you are safe for now. But time will move and time will pass and soon you must rejoin the pack.


Injected back into the bloodstream. A pathogen amongst blood cells. Moving as fast as you can with the one person here you can talk to. With them you feel calmer, yet still on edge. You can’t let your guard down fully. Nevertheless, you’re grateful that they’re with you and you appreciate their kindness. Back home, back to sanctuary. You return in silence and are greeted with the same. Quickly, to your room. Locking the door behind you feels like sweet relief. A barrier between you and the outside world has been erected and you will do anything you can to protect the sanctity of this area.


It’s been hours since your voice has been heard. You wonder for a moment if anybody will have noticed. You write it off; why would they? You never think of them. You’re selfish and insecure. They chant this repeatedly in the chasm of your mind and you agree and digest. Self-loathing is a morbid comfort and you sink into it with ease. Three deep breaths followed by question upon question. A knock on the door. You’re going out tonight. You have been invited and you are wanted. A strange feeling yet you agree.


Bright lights and pounding music. An attack on all the senses that you welcome with open arms. All of your bases are covered and you feel safe. Your body has taken to this liquid and has found more than comfort in it. Muscles have relaxed and your brain begins to slow down. The mountains return to molehills and the questions evaporate into the night and leave nothing but empty space.


You return home to the sanctuary you have created and nurtured. Alone, you lock the door behind you, yet do not feel the satisfaction that you previously did. Snap. The poster is ripped from the wall. Books are thrown through the air. Sweating, convulsing. Light broken, plate smashed. Tears pouring and pouring with no sign of stopping. You blast more music, an attempt at solace, but the silent screams won’t stop their rattling and your body is angry. Tensed fists and a furrowed brow. One, two, three. Three deep breaths. Eyes closed, the black envelops. One, two, three. One, two, three.


You wake in the late-morning. Your eyes are flooded with sunlight whilst your body still lacks the energy for movement. You are left with question upon question. And you aren’t alone.


© Copyright 2017 Oliver Charles. All rights reserved.

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