The Wall That Speaks To Me

“The moon will never lie to anyone.”
“I could fall in love with a cruel desert that kills without passion, a canyon full of scorpions, one thousand blinding arctic storms, a century sealed in a cave, a river of molten salt flowing down my throat.”
“I look at pictures of you because I am afraid that you would notice me staring in real life. I looked at your picture today for countless minutes. It is closer than I’ll ever get to you for real. I felt like I was looking at a captured animal at a safe distance. If you knew I was doing this, you would feel sickened and frightened. That’s why you’ll never know. Years will go by and you’ll never know. I will never say the things that I want to say to you. I know the damage it would do. I love you more than I hate my loneliness and pain.”
― Henry Rollins, Solipsist
My watering eyes regain their visions, blinking back the world around me. White, it’s all white. Six white faces trapping me in this cube. The floor sits alone, walls latched on, with no openings or differences. White surfaces, sideways platforms, to which I don't know which are. The only thing that’s facing my way is a vent, set into the hard whiteness of the roof. I could not ever reach it though, needing about four, five more of myself.
I shouted once, but that time has much passed. My screams go unanswered, bouncing off the walls, heard most only by myself. So I sit here, in my empty brick, awaiting to form an exit for myself. Maybe I created it? Maybe I made something to remind myself, only the real part, about why? Maybe I hid something, something I could never find.
My hand glides across the blankness, creating a semi-shooting rubbing sound. The only sound that rivals the humming from the circline lights. The tiles show no weakness, not moving, not revealing, only being. Which might not be true. Until the vent creaks, shouting my attention.
A brown cardboard box plunges from the opening, creating a wind sound till the plump of contact cancels that. No names, no tape, no signs. Only box, so I tear into it, the ripping shouting back at me. Inside lay another cube, a colorful one, a puzzled one. Can figments be solved?
My hands change and form the cube to my content, it never being content with me though. Even if I form the yellows with the yellows, the reds will still feel indifferent. They dont trust, nor do they believe. The reds stay with only other reds, refusing to leave their perfect little utopia bubbles. Why do you think that is? If I don't understand I know you won't, but I have hopes to once realize the foreseen.
Is it their beliefs? Stubbornness blocking them from even trying to understand the other sides. Is it their race? Color? The ethnicity of any sort? I don't think so, as I am a spoke on the cube of existence itself. Setting aside the differences is key to solving puzzles as such, but if the differences of the mind are too set, solving may become impossible. Without such warfare our mind couldn't be as set as it is, the only confirmed.
Another box plummets down from wherever I forged so, a larger one this time. About the size of a body bag, or a small dresser, encapsulated in its brown cardboard shell. I tear through the tape like a superhero, ego-building from each small task. Inside is me, reflecting the grim frown back. He looks trapped, or maybe alone, or maybe neither, and looks just like himself. He’s always looked a little different, no one ever noticed, probably cause they couldn’t, but he knows. He’s always known.
The mirror sits in the corner now, as I placed my new friend there. Old and new, young and old, that truly means nothing outside of my view. As death was created in my mind, mended to wait for me, and taunting me with the release of my others. Maybe my gaze can cure me, or maybe I’ve been the problem all along. Have I been to set in stone? Are my beliefs unwilling to change? Or impossible so.
The flickering of the lights has soon calmed, maybe coming to my own end in its form. Or maybe teasing again so. The cube remains untainted. I’ve managed to tear the reds up into groups, the blues almost coming to a standstill, and the yellow remaining its own bane. If I was a color which would I be? Maybe the black of the cube? As I am the one trying to change them. Or maybe it’s fine that we dont agree, but I feel like the problem lays in both. A problem that must be solved.
Another box flies down again, a smaller yet familiar box. The size of my hand, slightly smaller, being a blue and cushioned one. Emotions are emanating from them, ones that I don't feel, but can see. Emotions are not subjective, as mine are the only ones I can truly confirm as true. Inside is a foamy white flooring, the walls carrying love, and the roof bearing an ode of loyalty. A small diamond centered ring piece sits in the middle, shouting its hymn of failure, or maybe it’s singing it’s battle piece, not giving up its efforts.
Beneath the foamy cloud lays two squares, white outlines squaring another memory. One that is my own, and another that may only ever been mine. I guess truly both were only ever mine, the figments sadly couldn’t have felt what I did, but I digress. I remember both of these moments, as distant fading memories. Alongside with my faded friends or once persons of never being.
I'm on a brown wooden stool, four people on the stools along the counter with me. A happy man I once called dad, a smiling woman whom was named mom, a young boy who I called my brother, and an older girl, now woman, who was my older sister. We were happy then, worrying naught of breakdowns by mind self destructs.
I wonder if they felt what I felt, happiness, laughter, shininess, the feeling of welcome, or even the departure. The sadness, the freight, the distraught, the loneliness. I don't think they ever felt any of that, I just need others to make me feel. And so I provided it to myself through them, and more so than anything else. I truly apologize for that.
The second square is a memory I remember, and so did I, a memory lived through myself, and not yet died within me. I sat at a stool again, three of the stools from the last fake memory there, but vacant. I sit on the far left, and on the far right, I felt my presence. This picture proves what I had thought, what I had fought for. I sit on the far left stool, as well as the far-right. Separated from me, but finally feeling someone's essence, even though it may have been my own.
Maybe I’ve posed a choice by showing me these options, possibly even a proposal. A ring symbolizes proposal, an everlasting life choice, and the two pictures either show memories or a future. I can choose to be with myself, feeling the only confirmed mind I’ve proven, or I can be with the ones I thought I loved. I do think that emotion could be true though, as figments don't possess the same feelings I do, but I wish and want so.
I think that's what my cube wanted, the cube to be solved, the pictures as a proposal, and the mirror… to… what does the mirror want. The mirror… my eyes shine green back into my eyes, as I see myself shining back. The mirror… the mirror… my mend, unable to mend to what I need it to. An answer. Answers are never given to anything, as I assume what I want. Or maybe what I need, just to feel safe again.
“ARGH!” I thrust my hand forward, shattering my illusion with the force of… well, myself I guess. My hand spills red out of it, as a piece of myself is jammed through the bone of my knuckle. Pain, an emotion I feel as if I only had felt. The vent screeches open again, plummeting a second man-sized box down. Inside is a second mirror… a third me, and not a second passes before it cuts my hand more, and more…
Box after box… self after me… blood poor, glass shattered, until a small mountain of corpses has gathered in a corner. My escape, a centered belief, and I mount, thuds of boxes toppling back down, but I reach the vent. Opening it myself with a screech this time.
“ZFZHZHZHFHZHHFHZDHZH…”
My eyes regain their vision, blinking repeatedly, splashing bits of water down my cheek. I felt a shock, a shock of disbelief, as well as a literal shock. My feet turned inside out, my hands spasming away from the body, and my insides stirring against the walls. I’m not allowed to leave, maybe I must figure out why. The cube must need solved, but I can’t, uniting in reunion is almost impossible in all. Utopias cant exist in one man civilizations…
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I don't know how long it’s been, nor when I will escape. The cube is finally solved… the reds have their minds set, the yellows set in stone, and the blue making peace with each other's believes. I lay the mirror on its back, placing the cube on it, leaving me with only one other option. The proposal. Do I choose to be alone with the truth, or together with the figments… Is happiness with lies better than depression with the truth… In my mind, the answer is yes, so I shall make my choice with confidence. That's what my cube would want anyway, and if I didn’t I’d see through my own lies, my sadness.
I back up, watching as the other side of the floor breaks off, falling like sand down into a cavern. And a cavern is exactly what lays beneath, a dark drop, leading to even more darkness, but a darkness that has a pretty little secret. Black walls lead down in four straight drops, leading to a dark floor as well, but a patch of light shines, shivers atop it. A shaking, bright pink cherry blossom tree, shines upon all the darkness. I can see myself in that tree, not the beauty, but the symbolism.
The floor comes back to its stead as if nothing had happened, as the vent opens again. Nothing drops though as I wait expectingly, and I dont fully understand why. Until time has come and gone, leaving its marks upon my cheeks. A rope drops down, staying suspended into the air, providing me the one thing that I needed. My palms turn red as I mount out, never climbing a rope ago shows my lack of experience, which ends up with nothing but pain.
My gut drops for the first time when I escape, not in fear, but in… my own way I guess. Another white box is here, along with another me. I’m sitting in the corner, fidgeting with my other cube, trying my best to change more believes. I guess seeing myself in my antics is changing something, something seems so evil about what I’m doing. I guess I’m changing… but in my moment I didn't’ even notice that the rope is now ascending itself, dragging me up with it.
Cubes upon cubes, I sit here watching myself continue doing the same thing. It doesn’t stop… keeping me rising, person after person, cube after cube, belief after belief, person after person, person after person, it's all me. It’s always been me, no one else. I’ve been so caught up trying to convince others that I haven’t even convinced myself. That's what today was, a learning experience.
The cube lifts me to the final room, the hub of my forge. Only two things stay still here, a table bearing a barrel of powder and shell. And a doorway bearing a lock and chain, a chain that has been cracked and chipped. The final proposal, the most important choice of my life. The most important choice in existence, and one that would only affect me. I close my eyes as I step forward, the world watching my footsteps-