I wrote this in class in a sitting. Don't really know how or why it came out the way it did. It's a series of thoughts that have some meaning when placed together. Obviously it's someone on the edge of sanity, who has some problems.
The two stood face to face.
I can't look into the eyes. Some prevention, some lack of knowing makes me fall ill with despair. My hands rest on the dirty marble counter on either side of my body. My back, arching, bending to get close, feels near breaking. I lift my head upwards and sweat drips in a puddle near the sink next to broken syringes. Without the gaze on me, my arms feel like tracks for a train. I imagine whole families of people getting on the steam engine, and they are excited to go on holiday. The tracks on my arms though are frail and can't support metal machines for much longer. I imagine the train falling into deep pits where pain and death linger to catch. I'm one of the passengers and I like to look out the window at the pretty trees.
I'll guess that my equal, opposite image imagines the same. He is a lunatic though. He wishes for that train to take him, and i'm scared of him and what he can do to me.
Everything vibrates with pulses. It's noticeable when feeling this way that I do. The vibrations are individual seconds in time, and each one is a separate universe; unique, and distinct in everyway from those adjacent to it. I could diminish my self from one of the moments but it will all be the same. Just pulses. They will go on without me, and they will go on without my friend.
The light is bright. It reminds me of birth. I don't remember my birth but I imagine what it was like. It must have been bloody and innocent. Maybe it's fitting for this moment here when the carpet sinks and I become trapped in a cave of shag with my friend. In a few moments liberation will be possible I can only hope.
This cave is quite deep. Maybe I can find the train wreck soon. Maybe there are some survivors, though I doubt it. The people in it were shaken too much. I know how it feels. The front window of the metal tube probably shattered and injected the floor with tumbling bodies. It's near impossible to juke out inevitability. That is, if the events are already set in motion, as I can prove it's true in this scenario.
Why does my friend smile at me? Does he know something I don't? No, he can't. We are equals. His problems are my problems. They hit me deeper though.
His smile is bigger than mine has ever been.
"Stop smiling you fake, frail --"
Who said that? I'm startled. Did he say that or I?
I take my godamn fist and smash it against glass. Thick puddles fall on the shards all around my body. I look at my knuckles. The cuts and wounds feel good. Maybe the train is arriving sooner than excpected.
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