I’m going to do another bout of fiction/poetry. Brace yourselves:
This morning I woke up
Or rather my eyes opened.
I tried to leave my bed, but the world was cold
And my mind would not open
However brightly the sun shone.
I put one foot in front of the other until I reached reality
But when I stopped moving I began to drift backwards
There is nothing to hold on to here
The walls are smooth
And the sky is empty.
Backwards feels like falling
But my weight is not enough for gravity to take effect
And so I float untethered
Away from the room where I sat
Where I walked with my eyes open and my mind closed
Where I tried to remind myself that this was real
And I was alive
And I am moving
I hope that tonight I will reach my bed again
And tomorrow morning I will wake up
Or rather open my eyes.
Everyone told her that she was an introvert. She knew that being alone was a necessity. Too many people made her feel overwhelmed and frustrated and confused. Her senses began to shut down.
She had always imagined that her ideal job was one in which she didn’t have to deal with people, because people were always ruining things. Words and computers and papers didn’t make mistakes: they did as they were told. They were predictable.
But as she sat for 90th day in a row in her small out of the way corner office, she began to hate the solitude.