Tabula Rasa

For a moment, his head was swimming in the putrid heat — a groggy, lifeless lull that was slowly pulling him into consciousness. The dream he had sunken into was one of the sweetest dreams he had ever had. You were there, as always, like in every dream he’s ever had since the day you left. As he dragged himself back into the real world, a sudden dread came over him. A dread of the reality, a dread of his life, a dread of who was behind the door. Was it finally you? He looked around and his lungs ached. Every time he glanced over the hovel around him, he wished you would come back. The curtains were drooping, the damp on the walls had started seeping down onto the floor, and the flies had become a consistent companion. He watched the flies. He imagined their wings, the speed they vibrated at, the heights at which they hovered, and the thought made him nauseous. Their velocity, the vertigo, the momentum. Everything made him tremble. He gripped the side of the bed and tried to steady himself. The knock rang once more. He didn’t move. “Come on man, open the door.” He heard through the thin, creaking wood. “It’s been weeks. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He didn’t open his mouth. He wasn’t okay. He held his breath and slid back under the covers. Back into the safety of the nothingness. “Go away” he thought, just one more insular monologue to add to the anthology. “Just go away.” All he wanted was to fall back into that dream again. The dream he so desperately wished would become a reality. The dream of you. He wanted to take the sweet heat of that room and slink into the unconscious. Everything he needed, everything he loved, it was all in his unconscious. When you left he changed. The colour drained from his cheeks, the gleam in his eye whittled itself down into nothingness, and a bleak air slowly seeped its way into his soul. Slowly he stopped leaving the apartment, the place you’d both made a life together in. For so long he was convinced you were going to come back. Everyday he grew tired, withdrawn, and yearned for you. He yearned for you, and your touch. “You know what?” The voice rambled on. “I give up. I fucking give up.” He heard the footsteps withdraw and finally let out a breath. “Good,” he thought, “Give up on me.” There was nothing left, no thoughts, no feelings. Can emptiness be described as a feeling? Voids on voids on voids, there was nothing but empty space now. When you left you took everything. You took everything but him, and he never understood why. Another knock found its way to the door. This one was different though, it was softer, it was familiar. Was he in the dream again? The heat was there, you were there. Were you there? “James… it’s me.”