12 01 2010

(This is a creative writing piece for my English class. The brief just said that someone was to be stuck in a cuboid, and I did the first thing that came to mind. It’s not great, but I like it quite a bit.)

“One word: Two syllables – rhymes with lazy.” Was he insistent on ruining my day? I turned, sure the sound was coming from my left. Not there. “Guess again.” I turned to my right, then completely round in a circle. Nowhere.

“Gee, this sure is fun.” I said, trying to match his tone. The truth was, I missed seeing the psychotic figment of my imagination that had got me here in the first place. All I saw now was mirrors. I couldn’t see out, but they could see in.

Code wasn’t real, by anyone’s standards. I knew that, but he was the closest I had to something real in that stupid box. I could see myself going insane. Day by day my hair got greasier and further back on my forehead from running my hands through it a million times. Day by day the bags under my eyes grew from the effects of insomnia. Day by day my caring lessened for the outside world and those who actually loved me. The ones who fought for me when it was decided I would go here. They weren’t here now.

One of the horrid effects of knowing you’re crazy is not being sure what’s real and what isn’t. Sometimes I thought this was all in my head. Sometimes I closed my eyes really tightly and told myself over and over that when I opened them I’d be back home with a loving family and a dog curled up at my feet. I must’ve looked even more insane to the people watching, but at least they were getting their moneys worth. Hypocrites.

“Code, quit it. Let me see you.” I really was that desperate to see some form of humanity besides myself.

“Look in the mirror idiot. What part of imaginary can’t you understand?”

“Well I’m certainly not getting the image part.” I tried smirking, but failed miserably, a little more hurt than I was letting anyone see. “You’re not bothered by any of this are you? You’re not bothered by this stupid place with its stupid boxes and its stupid mirrors.” My face carved itself into a snarl without my permission.

“If you’re bothered, I’m bothered.” I heard a chuckle under his breath. There were many times in my life, and in fact, in a day, that I wanted to punch Code. If it hadn’t been for his not being real and not being visible, I would’ve tried.

“I’m off for a while. Business stuff. Think you can survive without me?” he said.

“I’ll try.” I had to be careful of my words around Code. It was kind of welcome when he left (I could tell because the constant sneering and laughing stopped), although I could not for the life of me figure out what business part of a schizophrenic boys mind had to deal with, although if I was to guess on Code, it wouldn’t be anything legal.

I gradually stood up and started feeling my way around the box, focusing my attention on my hands rather than my own reflection. I must’ve looked like a mime artist to the people watching. I wonder if they all laughed as they watched, taking pictures with their fancy Nikon cameras as they sat to eat the sandwiches they’d brought along. That was another thing: it must have been coming up to 3 o’clock, feeding time at the zoo would be long over by now on any normal day, but I hadn’t got anything. Had they forgot me today?

That was the only way to describe the place. It was a human zoo. All the freaks on display for the public to see. Trapped behind glass because they’re too dangerous to lead a normal life. At least I wasn’t claustrophobic – although I was slowly beginning to feel that way. There’s really only so much any human being can take when trapped in a box barely big enough to stand in with nothing real to cling to. At first there’s panic; terror; irrational behaviour like spinning around for hours in despair or throwing your entire body at one of the mirrors. I’d tried both. Next you wait to be rescued, you give yourself false hope. Maybe you start hearing things at that stage, or perhaps it’s just me. After that, when you know that there’s no way out and no one is coming to your rescue, a kind of numbing fear sets in. Disbelief. Despair. Once they’re there, they can’t escape either.

That’s what they want, the people who made this place. They want the craziest of the crazies. You have to be mad as a hatter to find yourself on one of these steel podiums, above the rest of the world, sitting broken and hopeless in a way that somehow makes people want to see you.




One response

16 01 2010
Gabriel Gadfly

I enjoyed this. I like the idea of the narrator finding comfort from Code.

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