my lungs are straining to open and close. i'm barely breathing. sweat is dripping off my nose, creating little mud puddles on the dusty hardwood floors, and the odd moon's glow is peeking at me from behind the small hole up near the ceiling.
the light is dim enough to create mangled shadows out of the boxes upon boxes stacked up here. i know they are boxes, but i do not know what they contain. i don't want to find out either. fear finds me alive. fear has no control if i'm dead.
the stale musty air is coagulating with the dread seeping into my lungs. i'm trying to force myself to stay calm, but its difficult to do when there's a lump clogging my throat, and paranoia screaming inside my brain.
i'm try in vain not to hyperventilate. this air isn't making this easier. my body is frozen. the single unknown door staring is back at me. is this an exit, or an entrance?
so many questions are running at break neck speed through my mind.
where am i?
how did this happen?
what's that noise below me?
why can't i remember anything?
the frustration of being alone, physically drained, and cold panic bouncing between my veins and chest like a broken pinball machine, where the paddles do nothing more than budge is compressing my body + mind down on the an old tattered blanket. the itchy wool pricks just enough to burn, but not enough just melt the pain away.
i don't even know who i am anymore. my pockets have come up empty. i've tried my best to search this attic for clues. nothing. i rummage through my pockets again hoping the circumstances have changed, or maybe i have, and my memory will arrive, yet still i discover nothing.
i don't even know how long i've been here. it couldn't have been that long. i'm a bit hungry, and a bit thirsty. i don't have to pee, nor shit. maybe it's only been a couple minutes. no.
it feels like i've been in this attic for years. how could i possibly know? i lack the sense of my past. what am i without a past to reference, a story to recall to provide meaning for what i'm currently doing right now? these words are my reminders.
maybe i just woke up from a bad dream. or maybe i've just gone to sleep into a recurring nightmare. i let myself doze off to the same terror again, and again, because i've forgotten how insane this slumber was the first time. it's like i'm about to put my hand in the fire long enough to forget it burns. only i don't have the scars to remind me of the pain. and what could be worse than lacking the clues to my sanity?
there's a bizarre creaking noise emanating from downstairs. at least i think there's a downstairs. it could be an underground cavern. that would explain the air, and the eerie silence covering the atmosphere. the walls of the house are softly moaning my angst under the weight of the unbearable dread filling up the attic space. that's why i labor to breathe. i'm not breathing in oxygen; i'm breathing in fear.
<there going to get me.>
<they know i'm here.>
<once they find me they're going to...>
the conclusion is too terrible to contemplate.
my body is shivering from the anxiety. i keep trying not to suffocate under my own paranoia. how i wish it would just finish me off and be done with it. what am i hiding from?
<they're going to kill me.>
<they're going to chop me up into pieces and put me in these boxes.>
<that's what inside these boxes.>
the eerie forms flicker against the backdrop of the moon's dim light. sinister shapes swirl in the dark spots of the attic.
my mind is pulling a white rabbit out of my head, except, i've already lost my wonderland.
<stop this.>
<please!>
<please, just leave me alone...>
<...why are you doing this to me?>
<please just stop this>
<leave, me, alone!>
the black forms stretch and skew against the impenetrable light. dust particles bounce around the rays. they remind me of white noise. static. meaningless chaos.
why do i remember bullshit like this, but not important matters, like my own fucking purpose here in this attic?
the weight. it's crushing me...