Like the weathered soul rooted to a window seat gazing out through a particular pane of glass at nothing, having outlived the very capacity to experience life, left to aimlessly sift the rubble and dust memories of a once grand mosaic, perhaps I too am simply unwittingly waiting to die. I sure feel like it. I mean, I mope around, eat, defecate and sleep -if you can call tossing and turning to wake every other minute until I can’t take it anymore, sleep- but I feel as dead as an oak tree deep in the heart of winter.

But a tree is not dead in the winter is it? Interesting analogy. Perhaps I am merely dormant like a deciduous sapling longing for Spring’s awakening kiss. I like that better than “dead”.

I feel dormant, longing for something, or someone to wake me from this blackness. Could a new day, one beneficially different than the countless dark days that have passed, really be out there on some distant horizon?

Are you kidding? Only a fool can still have hope after what you’ve been through.

Maybe your right. Perhaps it’s time to lie down in the muck and let it consume me.

Exactly.

But what if your wrong? Is there even enough mental endurance left in me to fuel those dreams again?

No.

I’m hungry.

Why bother? Your dieing.

Rice. I love rice.

Liar. Your wasting your time.

I’m going to eat anyway.

A small bowl of yesterday’s rice is consumed.

Now I’m tired.

It’s only noon. Your getting weaker by the day.

I wish I could sleep on command. Just hit the pillow and wake in a few hours, that would be a dream. I hear that the lack of sleep can cause a person to lose their mind, but we hear a lot of things don’t we?

Yep. Like… the knife is right there. Your pills are in the nightstand drawer. Are you finished pretending to be alive?

Evidently not because I’m not in the mood to end my life today, no matter how seemingly hopeless it is. Sorry. There’s always tomorrow though.

Is there? And what can tomorrow possibly bring you? The same it brought you today; pain and suffering. Aren’t you tired of pain?

Yes, but maybe tomorrow is my new day. Maybe I just need to hang on, ignore you and hold on for another day and this hell, along with you, will all go away.

Go on and torment yourself, your only making this easier for me.

Whatever. I’m going to sleep.

Ya good luck with that.

Three hours later, after no sleep at all, just flip-flopping to the endless murmur of brain banter, I’m up again.

Is it tomorrow yet?

Might as well be. Everyday, every minute is the same; an endless trek of meaningless steps to nowhere.

Maybe They’ll call me today. Maybe you’ll shut up for five minutes.

There you go hoping again. Need I remind you…

No! You remind me enough thank you. I know where I’ve been and what has brought me here. It’s how to get out of this hole that I could use some support with.

But there’s no one to do that now is there? Whose going to help you now? Your lost and alone my friend. Lost and alone.

I’m going to eat again.

Go on. Eat. Eat until you can’t eat anymore. What difference does it make?

I love rice.

Whatever.

A knock at the door bolts me out of a dark corner in my mind.

With a deep sigh I open the door, but just a crack.

“Mr. Silver?” The Postman, holding a single envelope and a digital clipboard, inquires.

Did I say thank you?

No, you just shut the door in his face like a jerk. He hates you now.

I didn’t mean it though. I was distracted.

He hates you, just like everyone else.

I pull out a chair and sit at a cluttered dining table. The letter rests before me amid the piles of dirty dishes and dust. I make no move to open it.

Well open it already. I’m anxious to feel your heart sink again, to watch that last shred of hope you cling to crash against the jagged rocks of reality.

I continue to stare at the letter, frozen in indecision.

Just throw it away then. Do you really need another letter to remind you that your not good enough?

You know… someone once said, “Caution kills.” I thought it to be a joke, an oxymoron, but I think I get it now. Caution kills opportunity. What if this is it? Another opportunity I’m afraid to face, and I’m killing it, like your killing me.

I’m simply reporting the truth of your despair. You’re the one who refuses to face it.

Well I’m ready to face this. What do you think about that?

Then open the letter. Fool.

I open the letter. I read. I jump to my feet.

“They want to publish my book! It’s finally happened! My new day has come at last!”

I pause and listen within for taunting sarcasm.

Silence.

What, no reply? No lies to torment me?

Oh I’m still here, but it looks like I’m going on vacation. But rest assured, I’ll be back...

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Originally from St. Louis Missouri, Mark Silverhawk an artist/writer currently enjoying the edenic beauty of Hawaii from the isle of Maui. When he's not manifesting his imagination onto canvas or computer screen, he seeks the company of musical instruments, nature, animals, the ocean and a few select people.