The people inside

When you find yourself in the flow of advantage. Don’t jump off that train, that wonderful elevator ride.

Don’t lead the suicide jump, everyone’s already trembling. Not everyone is your little pet lemming nor victims to your imposition. Unfortunately, being a pathetic sod is part of your job description.

You’re someone who initiates the race away from the podium. You’re more toxic than poor dead Curie’s killer radium.

Like an atychiphobe who’s afraid of building his card house too high, you’re less than an underachiever, the almighty king of mice.

Don’t then proceeded to lament the success of others who collected their medal because they didn’t slap train conductors in the face or tell the confused bell boy to slow down his pace.

This godforsaken valley of regret is the result of your shovel along with the sweat and blood of those dumb enough to have followed.

Dear female offspring,

Congratulations my child. I’m so proud. When our house was in this position on its journey around the sun many revolutions ago, you were successfully pulled from your state of incubation by the termination of my pregnancy and have been actively participating in the academic rat race we’ve entered you in for many years now. I know that you’re mentally drained from the recent evaluations of your worth but you are on the last lap and I want you to know that your years in this institution will be the only thing keeping you alive in the future by aiding you to fund the fulfillment of the biological needs you are burdened with by your existential contribution to this infestation of auto-massacring primates on the surface of this space rock we call home, and so the least I can do is entitle you to another possession. Ask away.

The fate of the forgotten is far worse than the fate of immortalized villains.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid.
Of polluting with my touch.
Of staining what my eyes set upon. My senses, I cannot trust.
They capture what’s not true out there
And corrupt my every thought.
With falsehoods such as fresh, clean air.
And nature’s pretty charms.
I know it’s all really in shambles,
I can taste the despair.
It’s ominous bitter aroma spreading across the land.

I felt myself float. The darkness before me was interrupted only by a lone dull glow in the far distance. I tried to look at my hands but they couldn’t be found. I was an invisible entity. I heard a sharp gasp behind me but I was physically unable to face the source of the sound. Dread filled me and at that moment, my weightlessness ceased and I fell.

A hard surface abruptly halted my descent but I felt no pain. The two figures at the circular room’s center did not move. I knew they couldn’t care less. Their heads hung and shoulders shook as they sobbed. I walked towards the group, dodging drops of water leaking through the damp ceiling above me. I could now see that they were standing on tiptoes, their backs to me, looking over a corpse that lay on the hard wooden floor. As I walked further still, I observed that it was not a corpse at all but an ancient man who lay blissfully in eternal slumber.

There are 2 characters I know of. The sanguine infant that forms the core of my existence and the joyous flamboyant thing that springs up in relevant company. This infantilized reserved prune or the canvas does not mind basking naked for the audience to which it feels nothing. The clown or the illusion of paint is its womb, nay, a cradle, a shield from the hateful eyes of those it holds dear. How the beloved were assigned, neither have a fucking clue. The only thing they share is the intense loathing they hold for themselves, their children and their container.

The more they converse with the outside, the more dense is the hate that fills them. They don’t just wish everything dead, they wish annihilation; everything torn to pieces, crushed, and most importantly, pissed on. Don’t ask me why, I’ve been in the process of asking them myself for ages: ever since we were little girls… boys… oh I forget.

If in a dark green corridor you find yourself. Be prepared to face what you can’t.
If the walls are ornamented with luscious red lips, be sure to run. Cover your ears to be polite.
When you come across the windows, don’t stop, keep on running, they offer you no relief.
They serve the outside ones, not a pleasant sight.They may jump up to scare, such childish things. Close your eyes to be polite.
Don’t walk, stroll or jog. Don’t worry, there is no reason to fear if you’re willing to run.
Next come the words, all written in sticky red jam it gives off a sickly sweet smell, it makes one gag. Cover your nose to be polite.
It screams nasty things and you might want to bite back. Hold your tongue to be polite.
Keep running and running you’re being chased, so flee. There is something behind you that you don’t want to see.