Itsy Bitsy Spider
Einz
“The itsy bitsy spider climbs up the waterspout,” Till murmured, slowly scooting closer to the black spider that were making it’s way up the wall of his dark, empty room. “Down came the rain and washed the spider out. It washed the spider out...”
He squatted down upon his feet with his knees near his head and watched the spider with great fascination. It was, in fact, a rarity that Till got visitors of any kind, and was destroyed by the solitude over the years. His body showed the lack of sun and hygiene. With pale skin, permanent dark eyes, and long, greasy hair, he would be considered a monster of society. Though, there was no society to banish him. There were no people to turn their backs on the poor, wretched soul.
“Out came the sun,” he sang in a hushed whisper, glancing up towards the ceiling to stare at the nonexistent sun, then back down to the marvelous spider. “And it dried up all the rain. And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.”
Then again, since there were no people, Till would not have been the man he was today. Hardly a man, though, being the tender age of 17. But he thought of himself as a man, so that is what he shall be known as for the time being.
In fact, all Till ever remembers about his life is this room. He had never learned to read, write, nor logically think. Food and water had never been something to worry, for he was never hungry nor quenched. Strange, all but one would think, that someone could survive 17 years with nothing but the thrill of an open imagination.
17 years in the solitary confinement of this... room with nothing but death and cobwebs. No windows were there, nor a door. It was a trap of a room, but Till loved it anyways. The dark, slimy room with the faded olive paint chipping from the cement walls. The dust covered cement floors, with the exception of certain spots that he sat on daily. Those spots were almost clean in the places his feet would lay.
When he sleeps in his special corner with the dead spiders, which had been collected over the years, he dreams of queer things. Often times he dreams of men in white outfits giving him food, which he greedily devours. Till is always confused with this, since he doesn’t know what the substance he eats is, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the company the men in white give him, always watching. Other times the men in white rush into the room and inject some strange, sensation-filling liquid through a needle into his arm. After this happens, he always falls out of his dream, and awakens once more to his world.
“Itsy bitsy spider, you crawl up the wall. You crawl and crawl until I carry you to my corner. There you lay still. Why do you lay still, itsy bitsy spider?” Till asked with hurt in his voice and eyes. All he ever wanted was a friend to have and hold. Whenever he held the spiders, they only slept. The only friends he had were the men in white, when he was sleeping.
Deciding he was tired, Till curled into the smallest and oddest ball and shut his eyes. He never had to count spiders, because he fell asleep automatically.
Today, he awoke in the corner of the bright room. Just as he smiled, the men in white came in.
“Mr. Ehrlichmann, it is time for your medicine,” the taller said. Till nodded his head, and then swayed it back and forth. This was his favorite dream, when his friends were there. They never played games or conversed with him, but they were his best friends anyways. This is where the spiders didn’t appear. “You sleep a lot, Mr. Ehrlichmann, so we talked to the doctor. He said that in your condition, that’s all you really can do; besides eat. Do you enjoy sleeping, Mr. Ehrlichmann?”
Till nodded his head, smiling widely.
“Now, Mr. Ehrlichmann, we’re going to make you sleep now,” the shorter one said slowly, approaching him with the needle that made him wake up. Till was always confused when they said this. This was sleeping, why didn’t they know that?
They injected the medicine, and Till felt his eyes get heavy almost instantly. He was going to wake up now, unfortunately. As he lay his head down to wake up, he heard something new from one of the men in white.
“Poor kid... It must be tough to have Schizophrenia and miss your whole life under excessive care.”
Schizophrenia?
He squatted down upon his feet with his knees near his head and watched the spider with great fascination. It was, in fact, a rarity that Till got visitors of any kind, and was destroyed by the solitude over the years. His body showed the lack of sun and hygiene. With pale skin, permanent dark eyes, and long, greasy hair, he would be considered a monster of society. Though, there was no society to banish him. There were no people to turn their backs on the poor, wretched soul.
“Out came the sun,” he sang in a hushed whisper, glancing up towards the ceiling to stare at the nonexistent sun, then back down to the marvelous spider. “And it dried up all the rain. And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.”
Then again, since there were no people, Till would not have been the man he was today. Hardly a man, though, being the tender age of 17. But he thought of himself as a man, so that is what he shall be known as for the time being.
In fact, all Till ever remembers about his life is this room. He had never learned to read, write, nor logically think. Food and water had never been something to worry, for he was never hungry nor quenched. Strange, all but one would think, that someone could survive 17 years with nothing but the thrill of an open imagination.
17 years in the solitary confinement of this... room with nothing but death and cobwebs. No windows were there, nor a door. It was a trap of a room, but Till loved it anyways. The dark, slimy room with the faded olive paint chipping from the cement walls. The dust covered cement floors, with the exception of certain spots that he sat on daily. Those spots were almost clean in the places his feet would lay.
When he sleeps in his special corner with the dead spiders, which had been collected over the years, he dreams of queer things. Often times he dreams of men in white outfits giving him food, which he greedily devours. Till is always confused with this, since he doesn’t know what the substance he eats is, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the company the men in white give him, always watching. Other times the men in white rush into the room and inject some strange, sensation-filling liquid through a needle into his arm. After this happens, he always falls out of his dream, and awakens once more to his world.
“Itsy bitsy spider, you crawl up the wall. You crawl and crawl until I carry you to my corner. There you lay still. Why do you lay still, itsy bitsy spider?” Till asked with hurt in his voice and eyes. All he ever wanted was a friend to have and hold. Whenever he held the spiders, they only slept. The only friends he had were the men in white, when he was sleeping.
Deciding he was tired, Till curled into the smallest and oddest ball and shut his eyes. He never had to count spiders, because he fell asleep automatically.
Today, he awoke in the corner of the bright room. Just as he smiled, the men in white came in.
“Mr. Ehrlichmann, it is time for your medicine,” the taller said. Till nodded his head, and then swayed it back and forth. This was his favorite dream, when his friends were there. They never played games or conversed with him, but they were his best friends anyways. This is where the spiders didn’t appear. “You sleep a lot, Mr. Ehrlichmann, so we talked to the doctor. He said that in your condition, that’s all you really can do; besides eat. Do you enjoy sleeping, Mr. Ehrlichmann?”
Till nodded his head, smiling widely.
“Now, Mr. Ehrlichmann, we’re going to make you sleep now,” the shorter one said slowly, approaching him with the needle that made him wake up. Till was always confused when they said this. This was sleeping, why didn’t they know that?
They injected the medicine, and Till felt his eyes get heavy almost instantly. He was going to wake up now, unfortunately. As he lay his head down to wake up, he heard something new from one of the men in white.
“Poor kid... It must be tough to have Schizophrenia and miss your whole life under excessive care.”
Schizophrenia?
♠ ♠ ♠
704 words, half an hour to write. Comments and criticism are appreciated!