The story of an unwritten book
Here she is, sitting in the corner of a dark room staring into blackness and wondering how the hell did she end up here? And why? Takes a deep breath and drowns herself in music so loud it dictates her heartbeat and words carrying her thousands of miles away.
When she closed her eyes the vision became clear – she stood on the edge of the cliff looking down. Just one step. Knowing all the pain left by him she tried to understand him. Understand herself. What was IT that stops her from making that last step and not him?
The playlist ended and shook her out of spiraling thoughts with deafening silence. She hated that fake silence that made her hear everything and more. Neighbors fighting and walking, barking dogs outside, screeching children from the playground… That neverending noise from everywhere! With an annoyed motion, she tried to find a new playlist – anything else! She wonders yet again what is wrong with her ears that she can hear everything. And why on a day like today every sound hurts. Making her jump – with puzzled looks around her because apparently, these sounds were normal.
Normal. She wants to scream – are you all deaf? But it would make too much noise.
Finally – a playlist of Rasmus and Linkin Park. She turns the volume up and breathes out. Finally, a real silence. It had always seemed odd to anyone but her that world noises made her nervous and tired, but not music in high volumes. To her, this was peace and quiet. Her world – where nothing could distract her wandering mind in fantasy land. A chance to breathe and just be. Or think. Escape. She could turn into a nervous wreck when someone would chew gum and be sound asleep with Armin van Buuren blasting into her ears. Only of course when it’s chosen by her. And music is in her control only. The neighbor behind a wall could play her favorite music and it would drive her mad. The obnoxiousness of them presuming she or anyone else desires to hear their music. And that’s why she keeps her headphones on. All the time. She has even learned to sleep with them.
Overwhelming helplessness
She closed her eyes and found herself on the ledge again, by his side. Staring at each other eyes and feeling the abysmal pain inside. The overwhelming helplessness from knowing that it was too late for him. And there is nothing he can do for her anymore. So they just stand on the ledge in silence, looking down and hardly breathing. Why the darkness brings her here over and over again? What does it try to say? She can’t even remember the last time she closed her eyes and didn’t find herself here. It was before…
Looking back and trying to figure out when things went that wrong. Looked for the signs of life leaving his eyes. Replaying every encounter in her head over and over again. Did she tell him …? Tears roll down her cheek because she can’t remember and maybe this was IT?
Could have she prevented all that?
Reality knocks in – reminding her to get ready for tomorrow. Another day, handling everything and yet doing nothing that matters. Nothing that could bring joy or smiles. Is there any purpose for these tasks? Day after day, all the same. With few hiccups, when someone decides to ignore the rules and fuck everything up. Making her fix it. Again. And the purpose of it all? Nothing seems to change and nothing seems to come out of it. So why?
Vaguely remembering that once she woke up with excitement – eager to go to work. Feeling good and happy, creating something more, and changing things for the better. Somehow all has gone. The work just builds up more and more and with each day, it feels like no one really cares about it but her. So why? She sips wine and sights, money. And the most depressing part is – it’s not enough. Although is it ever enough? People have the ability to yearn for more and more – and no matter how much you got, it’s never enough. The more she works, the more her health fails – it should be worth it. But it feels so wrong and she can feel life leaving her body every day piece by piece.
Feeling numb like a robot
She has always been a rare breed with being able to work 12 and 24 hours straight if needed, discarding sleep, or just napping for a few hours. With a goal and mission, she can be unstoppable. But with no end game – she struggles. With no one caring, she can’t find a reason to care too. Just mechanically completing routine tasks like a robot. Feeling numb like one.
Oh, wait, why do we think robots don’t have feelings? Just because they are machines?
Her thoughts go into the deep black rabbit hole of robot movies and philosophical thesis about feelings, robots, life, and reality. People assume they know everything. Are the smartest. But how can we be if our lives are built up around steel path – school, work, die. There is no space left to live. Time for being truly alive. Maybe we are the stupidest pieces on earth? Or in the universe – why do we think, we are all alone in here?
The music stops and the fear is building up inside her. Phone call. She looked at her phone with trembling hands and slowly placed it on the table. Carefully pushing it away and turning her back to it. She doesn’t even care who is calling. Not now, she hasn’t the energy to talk with anyone, hardly enough to sip wine.
Why do people call?
She hated the immediate response part – she needed time to process the questions. Think about their alternative motives and form an answer based on that – and before replying think over the possible outcome. How this will be received, will they get the message she wanted to say or something else – and change her answer? She was often accused of being quiet – and it was far from the truth. In her head, the thoughts were racing like F1, but with 10 simultaneous different tracks. But there is no way she could speak out all of these thoughts – they race faster than the speech. And then there’s the part where people would probably call her crazy. Or maybe she is?
There are countless options to communicate in the modern world. Pick any other, just don’t call, please. Leave a voice message, type, send a video – anything else. Anything that would allow her to pick the time to deal with it and think of why it was sent to her and what should be the appropriate answer. Because life has proven to her enough times already – her first response isn’t right. The phone keeps ringing. And ringing. Leaving her to fight the noises of life as she walks to the fridge to refill her glass and look for something to soothe her though she knows she shouldn’t. Spinning desperate need for something she can’t place. while closing the door and taking the wine glass with her into the darkness. Will anyone notice …?
This is a fictional story inspired by modern world struggles, where there are high expectations for everyone regardless of themselves. She is everyone and no one – me, you, your neighbor, or bitchy boss. The label “Stories from the unwritten book” might get new additions and may not. These are my first attempt of writing down some stories running through my mind – the main goal is to give them an outlet and maybe one day they turn out to be something more. The story might continue.
