Tuesday, March 02, 2010

The Scary World Within

I lighted a cigarette.

I looked at the ceiling. Its old, worn-out color with some fungi texture suggested that it has been for one time too long being exposed to wet environment. The patterns of the texture looked intriguing, in a frightening way, as if they were tying to transmit some sort of hidden messages - a variety of a reminder, a warning, an omen, and the such; but none of them were decoded, leaving them as they were, as a forgotten art of nature, on a worn-out surface of the ceiling, continuously exposed to wet air around it.

Around the small room stood a number of solid walls, from the floor all the way up to the stained ceiling, creating a vivid barrier in between the outer world where everything is, and the world I am in; the world where there was only me and my cigarette. There were no way out at all through these solid walls of stone and mortar, and here inside, surrounded by them, cloaked from the outer world with me in another, where there was nothing else but me and my cigarette. And yes, my lighter.

Smoke danced as it blew out from my mouth.

The door - the only door - that was the only way out from this little damned world looked ugly. It looked old, pathetic, standing there all by itself, attached at two points to the wall by two metal hinges. There were two gaps at each end of the door; one in between it and the ceiling, another to the floor. There was light, bright light, coming from outside. I wonder what was it out there? - Is there a whole new world out there? Is it better than the one I am currently trapped in? Is there someone out there, anyone, everyone?

Well of course there is someone out there. I am the only one who is trapped here alone by myself. What a question.

Let's get back to the door.

The door looked so tall, so gigantic, so majestic from where I was. The gap at the ceiling was so high that to reach there was really no way at all, for I couldn't even reach at least three-quarter the height of the door. The gap on the floor however, well then there was this thing about the floor.

The floor was made of stone - of granites, cut into square plates all equal in size, polished to perfection to get this one kind of indescribable finish; a texture so complex that there was no way to exactly tell what it was. The cement where the plates are buried halfway into was as dark as the color of this inner world where I was, surrounded by neverending round of walls where the only way out was just through one door I dared not to open, for a reason I did not quite understand. Perhaps in time, I would have the answer, but at least not now, at least not forever.

I was scared. The floor looked so petrifying, so repelling, so disheartening that I dared not to lay my face as near to it to peek into the gap and see the beauty outside, beyond the majestic door, enclosed by walls, by a stained ceiling and one frightening floor.

Time moved slowly.

Maybe I should have done something. Maybe I should try to escape. Maybe I should break down the door. Or fight against the frightening floor. Maybe I should climb myself up to the ceiling, or punch a hole in the wall, anything. I could have not ended up in here forever. It was a terrible mistake, really, to make the decision and entered this room of seclusion. But who was there to blame? Nobody else but.

I was to be blamed.

But why did I go here in the first place? At times everybody needs a break - some escape, some runaway from the big world we live in; just for a bit of solace, a bit of herewithin, a bit of by ourselves. We run away from many things daily, and we decide to, only when we are away from them, we realize that we long for them even more. Things are just as attractive as they are repelling. Things are just as beautiful as they are as damned, damned things. Not any minute longer we are away from them, we start to miss them already, though we know they bring us none of heaven, but many of hell.

And so I stood up.

I stood up and I turned around, prepared to do something that was the only right thing to do, before I escaped from the small room where the world was wet, empty, dark and confusing; where I was all by myself, accompanied with a cigarette, by then was finished with, and a lighter. I have to be responsible for what I did, what I decided about and the time was up for me to quit it for once and for all, for now at least, never I knew when soon I have to visit the room again.

I saw a part of myself. But never I felt pity. Not at all any sympathy. No, no sympathy at all. So I bid it goodbye, and I bid it farewell, in vain, for we both will never meet each other again. Not a minute after, I pressed on the main button that ended everything before I walked out from this horrid world of nobody's.


* * *

Ah. The toilet philosophy - nothing could be more shitty than this one.

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