They wait for him. They watch, when he lets his guard down, but they don’t show themselves.
Not yet, not now, too soon. He thinks he’s found some solutions, if not a specific one. It’s been several years, and it stopped. Well, it never really stopped, but he repressed it.
He never acknowledged their existence again, since that time, until now. Or perhaps earlier, it’s not something he likes to remember. Flashbacks, flashbacks, the flashbacks hurt him, almost paralyse him. It drives him insane, to think about his state of mind then. Of what he heard, what he saw, what he imagined,...
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He continually thinks.
He is unable to sleep, trying to go over it again – trying to fathom some form of sense out of the chaos unlocking within in his mind.
The gradual fall into the dark, hollowed well – deep, black and what seems endless. He touches the inner rim of the well, and touches the moist, wet mould growing. Raising his hand, he realises this is the last time he will be able to see this. Once he falls, once the darkness envelopes him like a parent covering the eyes of a child in an embrace, it is over.
He will...
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He is in one his moods.
He is aware of everything said, but everyone gets the silent treatment. Even me. In some sense, this is another part of me talking, the part that likes to be social, the part that likes to be nice to everyone. The part of me which feels like burden to the rest of him. He is confused and lost, but aware. I am the part of him that tries to put things right. He had plans, to write about something nice. About someone called Tony.
Tony’s the local barber. Tony isn’t your local salon, where you make...
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