The Premier Theatre
Coiled
He wanted to escape, forgetting her seemed all too easy but the mechanics of it were something else. His mind twisted and turned in its own chambers, and yet as every corner was come around she would be found consuming his time. Kayla didn’t need what she got, and he knew that, but letting her down easy was impossible when all everyone else wanted him to do was smash her pride against those thin paper walls.
Greg pulled himself out of bed and looked around the house. He had an important meeting the next morning and spending the whole night debating thoughts about Kayla wouldn’t do. He took what his doctor had told him as the emergency sleep helper, he considered this was the time he needed it the most. He fumbled towards his room finally relieved that his mind would be silenced of Kayla at least through the night.
Greg was panting, running as fast as he could through every file in his mind, he just couldn’t remember what he had said, he remembered it all before and after he said it, word by word, but his mind just blanked out in that two second period, his memory was there but the words went away, it was too late for him to find them, he could search his mind from his birth to the moment ago, he would not find it, because the body cleans itself from such impurities. Greg had to prove himself innocent, he had told himself that he would come up with a forgive me note, so heavenly she would be bound to accept his mistake, but what good is an answer without a question?
Greg walked across the creaky floor boards of his new apartment. It was the worst place he had ever set foot in, but his mind knew he deserved nothing more than that.
The rooms were small and had horrible lighting, which forced him to become a night animal, whose eyes were only lit by the glare of the 14 inch television. The sink brought up the horrible smell of rotting food, decomposing inside the thin copper cylinders that connected him to the underground. There was a thick layer of grime across the windows and light fixtures, making him unaware of time, space and color. He had been trapped in the kitchen/living room area for a week, but food was getting sparse and he wondered whether he would go get food or dig the crumbles between the couch pillows. He wasn’t really trapped, his mind was just shocked into a five-step routine; get off couch, go eat, come back, get up, use the half bath, come back. Greg hadn’t showered in a week and the oily feeling was going away now and being replaced by the crusty one.
He would watch each television show carefully and would almost loose himself screaming warnings at the next victim on the midnight horror movie. He would place himself directly into the program; he would speak to the characters and often hear them speaking back. When the commercials started he would stare at the blank wall and imagine the program continuing, a sequel maybe. But as he went to sleep he couldn’t remember which were real and which were tricks played on himself. He slept in the midst of pillows at night, pretending that somehow he had company there beside him, and as he warmed the pillow up he imagined it was the guest’s own heat across his back.
His clothes had holes in them, he would wake-up some mornings and wonder if the guest hadn’t liked him, but they were merely the effects of his agonizing screaming and desperation in his dreams that made him pull too tight to his own flesh.
The phone had been ringing constantly, but he couldn’t notice the noise over the ringing his thoughts made. He had lost it, there was possibly no way out and he knew that soon he would run out of food, and die within the miserable routine weeks. He loved her, but he forgot about it for a day, and it had ruined everything. Suddenly he remembered the girl he gave his number to, he couldn’t remember her name, or what she looked like because all the wile he was under the thin impression that she was Kayla’s own flesh, and he must make things right to forgive his mad act of killing her.
It was the flux of everything, the movement of the walls as he took in his deep breaths, in and out, in and out. The shadows of his memories would dance freely across the wall, in a rhythm kept in his heart, twirl and step, twirl and step. His blood ran cold with ice crystals as sharp as daggers, and he felt the antagonizing pain brought by when one of them would hit the walls of his veins, and cause little holes to come across them, he wished his heart to stop so the daggers wouldn’t cut his veins any longer, but he just wouldn’t listen to himself. It was an act of self torture, he couldn’t remember what had gotten his blood so cold, but he had felt as if his guest had left him, even though its corpse remained beside him on the pull out couch. After that, the minutes started to blend in, the days weren’t separated by any specific timing, as the circle of light he saw every morning was now forever gone.
He felt time pass incredulously slow, at times he couldn’t understand the people telling the story in his house for their actions went too slow, he believed he had advanced the speed in which his guests were trapped in, a different flow on the same floor pattern. He wondered at times if there would ever be anyone joining him there, he could see them all much slower, but he was so fast they stopped responding, and he tried to slow his speech to the point of taking and hour for each word, but they had forgotten him, and wouldn’t ever speak to the quick buzz he made in their ears. He would be so fast that his five-step pattern could no longer contain him. He would shower now, and he would go outside and buy some groceries, not even bothering to speak because he knew they would never hear as his speed increased with his age.
The circle of light still wouldn’t come out, he would always catch a quick glimpse of it before stepping out, but immediately it would hide under the roots of his feet. He had turned off the portal in which his guests came from; he found no use in having them if they would not respond to his small talk. The buttons were caved in now, he wondered if there would ever be a day in which he would finally slow down and remember what he was there for.
Greg pulled himself out of bed and looked around the house. He had an important meeting the next morning and spending the whole night debating thoughts about Kayla wouldn’t do. He took what his doctor had told him as the emergency sleep helper, he considered this was the time he needed it the most. He fumbled towards his room finally relieved that his mind would be silenced of Kayla at least through the night.
Greg was panting, running as fast as he could through every file in his mind, he just couldn’t remember what he had said, he remembered it all before and after he said it, word by word, but his mind just blanked out in that two second period, his memory was there but the words went away, it was too late for him to find them, he could search his mind from his birth to the moment ago, he would not find it, because the body cleans itself from such impurities. Greg had to prove himself innocent, he had told himself that he would come up with a forgive me note, so heavenly she would be bound to accept his mistake, but what good is an answer without a question?
Greg walked across the creaky floor boards of his new apartment. It was the worst place he had ever set foot in, but his mind knew he deserved nothing more than that.
The rooms were small and had horrible lighting, which forced him to become a night animal, whose eyes were only lit by the glare of the 14 inch television. The sink brought up the horrible smell of rotting food, decomposing inside the thin copper cylinders that connected him to the underground. There was a thick layer of grime across the windows and light fixtures, making him unaware of time, space and color. He had been trapped in the kitchen/living room area for a week, but food was getting sparse and he wondered whether he would go get food or dig the crumbles between the couch pillows. He wasn’t really trapped, his mind was just shocked into a five-step routine; get off couch, go eat, come back, get up, use the half bath, come back. Greg hadn’t showered in a week and the oily feeling was going away now and being replaced by the crusty one.
He would watch each television show carefully and would almost loose himself screaming warnings at the next victim on the midnight horror movie. He would place himself directly into the program; he would speak to the characters and often hear them speaking back. When the commercials started he would stare at the blank wall and imagine the program continuing, a sequel maybe. But as he went to sleep he couldn’t remember which were real and which were tricks played on himself. He slept in the midst of pillows at night, pretending that somehow he had company there beside him, and as he warmed the pillow up he imagined it was the guest’s own heat across his back.
His clothes had holes in them, he would wake-up some mornings and wonder if the guest hadn’t liked him, but they were merely the effects of his agonizing screaming and desperation in his dreams that made him pull too tight to his own flesh.
The phone had been ringing constantly, but he couldn’t notice the noise over the ringing his thoughts made. He had lost it, there was possibly no way out and he knew that soon he would run out of food, and die within the miserable routine weeks. He loved her, but he forgot about it for a day, and it had ruined everything. Suddenly he remembered the girl he gave his number to, he couldn’t remember her name, or what she looked like because all the wile he was under the thin impression that she was Kayla’s own flesh, and he must make things right to forgive his mad act of killing her.
It was the flux of everything, the movement of the walls as he took in his deep breaths, in and out, in and out. The shadows of his memories would dance freely across the wall, in a rhythm kept in his heart, twirl and step, twirl and step. His blood ran cold with ice crystals as sharp as daggers, and he felt the antagonizing pain brought by when one of them would hit the walls of his veins, and cause little holes to come across them, he wished his heart to stop so the daggers wouldn’t cut his veins any longer, but he just wouldn’t listen to himself. It was an act of self torture, he couldn’t remember what had gotten his blood so cold, but he had felt as if his guest had left him, even though its corpse remained beside him on the pull out couch. After that, the minutes started to blend in, the days weren’t separated by any specific timing, as the circle of light he saw every morning was now forever gone.
He felt time pass incredulously slow, at times he couldn’t understand the people telling the story in his house for their actions went too slow, he believed he had advanced the speed in which his guests were trapped in, a different flow on the same floor pattern. He wondered at times if there would ever be anyone joining him there, he could see them all much slower, but he was so fast they stopped responding, and he tried to slow his speech to the point of taking and hour for each word, but they had forgotten him, and wouldn’t ever speak to the quick buzz he made in their ears. He would be so fast that his five-step pattern could no longer contain him. He would shower now, and he would go outside and buy some groceries, not even bothering to speak because he knew they would never hear as his speed increased with his age.
The circle of light still wouldn’t come out, he would always catch a quick glimpse of it before stepping out, but immediately it would hide under the roots of his feet. He had turned off the portal in which his guests came from; he found no use in having them if they would not respond to his small talk. The buttons were caved in now, he wondered if there would ever be a day in which he would finally slow down and remember what he was there for.