"It's like that board game, isn't it?"
November 29, 2006 6:02 PM
He isn't back. It's 6:00. He should be here, he's not back. He's never late. One time. Only once.
There's a first time for everything. Maybe he won't be back. I can't do anything but wait, so it doesn't matter anyway.
I can't get out. I never can. But if he's not coming back, I can't get out. He's never late. Late doesn't mean gone. He's never late. Something must have happened. It's only been ten minutes. But he's never late.
There isn't anything here, except the radio. Turn the radio on. There's a voice. No, there isn't. There's no voice here, except mine. Fake. Throw the radio across the room. Many little pieces of radio. I broke the radio. There is nothing. The radio is gone. It's all gone. The world is gone. The radio is broken. I broke the radio. Pieces scattered across the floor. I ruined it. There are no more voices. I am the world.
There is nothing here. There is everything. Nothing of use. There were knives in the kitchen, but they are gone. It was my fault. He took them away after last year. I can't die, he says. Spatula, toaster, bed, chair, lamp, nothing.
The windows are locked. The door is locked. The windows are boarded over. They didn't know he had a wife. They don't exist any more. Not since the windows have been boarded over. I knew people once. I met him. It was my fault. I let this happen. It's my fault. He did it. It's his fault. I let him. It's my fault. The radio is broken. He still hasn't come back.
I don't want to die any more. It is too late. No, it isn't. Maybe.
The power goes out. He didn't pay the bill. I told him to. I'm not supposed to. He didn't listen. He hit me, and I fell into a lamp. He didn't care. It doesn't matter. Everything is black. Everything is boarded up, no light. Just black.
The black will kill me first. Just talk.
"I don't have anything to talk about."
It doesn't matter.
"All right."
It's worse now. No more talking. Only dark. I can't talk. It makes more dark. Or it makes the dark bigger. Just don't talk. Don't.
All right, I won't.
There's a first time for everything. Maybe he won't be back. I can't do anything but wait, so it doesn't matter anyway.
I can't get out. I never can. But if he's not coming back, I can't get out. He's never late. Late doesn't mean gone. He's never late. Something must have happened. It's only been ten minutes. But he's never late.
There isn't anything here, except the radio. Turn the radio on. There's a voice. No, there isn't. There's no voice here, except mine. Fake. Throw the radio across the room. Many little pieces of radio. I broke the radio. There is nothing. The radio is gone. It's all gone. The world is gone. The radio is broken. I broke the radio. Pieces scattered across the floor. I ruined it. There are no more voices. I am the world.
There is nothing here. There is everything. Nothing of use. There were knives in the kitchen, but they are gone. It was my fault. He took them away after last year. I can't die, he says. Spatula, toaster, bed, chair, lamp, nothing.
The windows are locked. The door is locked. The windows are boarded over. They didn't know he had a wife. They don't exist any more. Not since the windows have been boarded over. I knew people once. I met him. It was my fault. I let this happen. It's my fault. He did it. It's his fault. I let him. It's my fault. The radio is broken. He still hasn't come back.
I don't want to die any more. It is too late. No, it isn't. Maybe.
The power goes out. He didn't pay the bill. I told him to. I'm not supposed to. He didn't listen. He hit me, and I fell into a lamp. He didn't care. It doesn't matter. Everything is black. Everything is boarded up, no light. Just black.
The black will kill me first. Just talk.
"I don't have anything to talk about."
It doesn't matter.
"All right."
It's worse now. No more talking. Only dark. I can't talk. It makes more dark. Or it makes the dark bigger. Just don't talk. Don't.
All right, I won't.