Me, Myself and I,
All chased that butterfly,
It's pretty wings led us,
To a place of no return,
What may be pretty causes pain,
I was soon to learn.
I wake and find myself caught in monotony. The mundane feel of life is almost too much to bear. I cannot comprehend what sets me off; perhaps it is the awful repetitiveness. One moment the lock is tightly on the door of that room and the next it springs forth and the hinges are left creaking in pain.
I tried to rationalise the stunning pair into returning to their origin, for my sake, my peace of mind. Of course this enraged them further and despite trying to distract myself I succumbed to their wiles and descended into my true self.
Her slender fingers brushed my cheek. The tears present there were not wiped away but instead smudged further. As though the weakness shown by their falling was being multiplied. I attempted to swat the hand away but missed. Off balance I fell to the floor.
The laughter echoed from the walls in the cement cell, or perhaps it was desperate wailing I heard? Her wailing for me… no it's She who laughed at me!
She shrieks, "Pitiful, weak, you do not belong."
"I am not at fault I've done no wrong." She laughed again at Her statement.
The argument continued between the pair as they discussed my punishment for the crime I had committed. I sat watching, passing judgement on the pair from my fetal position on the floor. But then, I should not have considered passing judgement on those who hold me captive. I am, after all just another part of myself.
I grabbed the compelling pair by the collars of their shirts and tossed them into the cold cube once more. Quiet. Thank Christ. I can think clearly once more.
I'm not insane. I can think clearly and rationalise all my actions. It's this troublesome pair I've met who are causing me grief. It's true what society says. About the people you hang out with influencing you; these two have really caused some changes in me. And though they sometimes tell me truths about myself that hurt, I know they are honest and keep me focussed. Who else was there to keep me awake while I was studying for that maths exam?
These thoughts are acting as a catalyst, slowly turning the key in that lock, on that door, to that room…
She grasps my hair, a great tress of it. The pain is excruciating but She is helping me. I know this, for I do not feel mundane now. I feel alive.
I look on at Her, the expression upon Her lovely face is one of hopefulness.
"It is time now, for us to learn how to carry on. All the time." The voices are strangely my own.
She holds me down with caressing hands as I watch Her press the knife into my flesh. As crimson snakes down my arm in tendrils I feel for the first time, at ease. They stare at the blood as though it is a meal. I stare at the blood and realise, it is my nourishment. I'm free in this pain. So painful, yet everything is pretty.
I wake alone.
The knife is in my hand and without looking at the silver blade tinted by red, I know what has happened. Once more I listened to the lies fed to me on flittering voices. Those voices of despair. I'm sickened by myself. All the more reason to hide this catastrophic mental state. As I pull myself together I try to wash myself up, preparing to go on as usual, like nothing has happened. How could I even begin to explain to anyone? I know I am alone again until the doors to my mental cellar are unhinged tonight. Then the voices will be as pretty and attractive as that butterfly one just has to chase.
By Tiahn H
(Word count: 666)