Fear

I sit before the TV as an animal documentary flashes across bombarding me with knowledge I'll never need to know. But these shows are safe, even if they are lies they are not lies that will harm me like others may, unimportant lies at least relieve the monotony.

I'm not actually watching it though, my thoughts are always roaming, wondering what should be done next. Spinning, and turning, reaching out, but never grasping.

This room I call my own is spartan and white, white helps highlight the mess, shows me what I need to do before it becomes a problem. The lights in the corners spray brilliant sterile rays across the loft, the light never goes off, it shows me what is there so nothing may hide in the dark. I am afraid of the dark. The things it can cloak both in a physical and metaphorical sense frighten me. Naturally, to this end, I have many ways of ensuring that protective light is always on.

I continue to watch the program, a lion cares for her cub. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a black spot on the wall and my mind reels. I begin to calculate what steps I need to take; the gloves, the disinfectant, and of course I also need to open that new package of washcloths! I begin to stand up, I am slow and lethargic, I absentmindedly hope that smudge is some impacted dust and not mold. The last time was...torture.

Standing, standing. I'm frozen, I've lost sight of the objective, my mind is seeking again. But I am cut short. There is a knocking on the door.

A ball of air catches in my chest, I am afraid, all the people in the world who might hurt me rush through my brain. Clasping my right hand around my left as to steady it I take slow steps to the door, I look through the viewing hole. I am not relieved but my apprehension dulls somewhat as I begin to unbolt the locks I've installed on the door; 1, 2, 3...

The girl on the other side is a childhood friend, she's always been...accepting. But as I begin to unhinge the bolt my mind goes active once more, thinking about all the situations that could lead her here. Someone could be using her to get to me! How do I even know I can trust her? I pull these thoughts deep into my chest and push the door open, unwittingly though I kept the bolt closed so it only pulls open a few inches.

She makes a joke about how long it took me to get to her, I sometimes lose track of time. She kindly asks if I'll open the door, most of me does not want to, I push past it and comply. Coming in she places a bag of Mexican food on my table. I cannot leave this place and so she is kind enough to do these things for me...at least, I think it's kindness, it could be anything. Of course the thought of what went into making that food appalls me, I turn my nose up at it in disgust, I will not enjoy it. But I've come to terms with the fact that there is no safe way to procure sustenance.

Making idle chatter that is entirely one-sided she blows through the minutes but eventually has nothing else to say. A tense awkward step in time passes before she goes to excuse herself. She mentions a party with friends up above, that I should come, it's another jest of course but even she seems to realize its bad taste after a moment. I say nothing though, I'm not in denial, I know it is entirely my fault.

She leaves, I lock the door. I retrieve my cleaning supplies and go about scrubbing everything she touched. I remember the previous stain on the wall, thankfully it was just dust. After spending some time inspecting the food I pull myself together and sit before the TV for hours, watching the lies will keep me from focusing on what I might be putting in my body.

Hours upon hours. Hippopotamus are more dangerous than you might think.

The party above makes noise. I do not envy them, or so I tell myself, life is easier when you don't imagine what you might miss.

Hours. Something about lizards, big ones, crocodiles. It doesn't matter.

And then a pop and fizzle hits my ears, my previously nigh comatose laxity goes rigid as I recognize the source. My heart drops as I watch one of the spotlights in the right corner begin to go out. Bounding to my feet without regard, sending my meal flying across the room, making a mess I will later curse, I move to the kitchen. I throw open the third drawer from the left - dozens of packaged light bulbs smile back at me.

Minutes later I bask in the soothing ambiance of the light, I begin to calm down. Nothing can hide out of sight in this corner any longer. No tricks on the mind. Watching the new, fresh light is soothing. The sounds of the TV blur together and become a solid hum. Sleep, it comes rarely and randomly, I fear what lies in my dreams, but all men have to dream with the other option being death, and death scares me as well. And so, embraced by the monotony of the light, the sounds, and my own slowing heartbeat I slumber.

There I have a nightmare. It doesn't matter what kind, they blur together, but like all nightmares it involves coming to harm.

I am awoken by a rumbling, I do not know how long it has been but the heaviness in my eyes says not long. It takes a minute for the pervading silence to hit me as I come blasting out of my sleep-deprived revelry. A quick look shows me that the TV is off, likewise the electric lights are out though dozens of battery operated floodlights have replaced them.

I panic. I move to my feet and begin to cross the room, but in my concern I miss a footstool and come crashing to the ground. There was a mission in mind but with my momentum lost so too was my focus. My mind wanders and all the fears, all the little things start eating away. I can hear my bodies functions escalating with no other focus. And as they raise so too does my awareness, I can hear the clicking in my closet trying to get out, the scratching on the ceiling, the voices coming to me through the airwaves of my inactive TV.

As they grip about me in a wicked embrace I hold my head and my flight instincts kick in. Thrusting myself across the room and over my kitchen counter I hit the linoleum floor with a deep painful sounding resonance. I do not feel the pain though, I know I am bleeding but my focus is too singular now. Reaching into the marked cabinet at floor level, I withdraw a large box filled with medicines. They are color coded, so I know which to use in just such an emergency.

I take the small oblong beige pill, then I lean back against the refrigerator. With my legs tucked close and held firmly by my arms I keep an ever vigilant gaze across the room. Unfortunately this is no movie and I have to wait for relief. It comes in time though as I feel my body slow, my mind is reigned in. The scratching stops, I am able to raise to my feet and take a step forward without seizing up.

Moving to the now blank TV I reach into the shelving below it and retrieve a small battery generator, and an old antenna or rather, bunny ears. I busy myself with setting the system up, this is when I note the mess I had made earlier when I tossed my meal before falling asleep. I grow angry at myself, but for once my situation is serious enough to override my inborn compulsions. I finish, and turn the TV on.

The room is filled with the shrill sound of an emergency broadcast signal, it causes me to jump before I quickly move to turn the volume down. Without realizing it I begin to rub my hands together nervously, my mind is already running wild, but the medication is helping keep her at bay for now.

I play with the channels and the antenna but do not get a different response. I feel another tremor, like the one that woke me, but I explain it away as my mind still not being pulled in completely. Visual and audio distortions are an effect I have long since become familiar with.

Another thought comes to me. Turning the volume off I listen, I can hear nothing from the outside, if this was recent as my body tells me then I should hear the sounds of a party, perhaps the power outage simply took the excitement out of them? At least, that is what I want to believe, in truth I'm imagining just about every other possibility.

But this prods me into looking under the TV once more and retrieving a small package wrapped in tinfoil. I slowly unwrap it as it crinkles, reminding me of the scratching on the ceiling though I do my best to ignore this. Once complete I retrieve a small black device, a cell phone, she got it for me once in case of an emergency. I don't like having it here, but the realist in me understands the safety value...it's a trade-off of sorts I've come to accept.

I find her number, it is after all the only one on the list, and call it. It rings twice, then an automated female voice tells me that all lines are busy.

After listening to the message twice more I lay the machine down next to me. I think as hard as I can, but I am not a problem solver and so soon after give up. Sitting down flat on the floor I turn the volume on the TV up again, wrap my arms around my knees, then I rock back and forth. I try to distract myself with the sound of the TV worrying as it might be, I want to be calmed by the repetitive motion of my body's swaying.

It is not working.

I am afraid that my home is not as bright as it is supposed to be, I am afraid of why I cannot contact the outside world, I am afraid of the sounds, I am afraid of those tremors that are becoming more frequent even as I pretend they are not there, I am afraid of everything.

And maybe just this once, I'm afraid of being alone.

My eyes travel to the blackout curtains at each window, I contemplate looking out, but shake off that thought. Somewhere from deep down below the tall building in which my room is located groans, followed by the most powerful tremor yet.

Sitting before the TV I rock back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And I pretend I am watching animal documentaries.