The familiar orange glow of the street lights bled through the blinds, creating a zebra patterned hallway. The silence was so intense it could have made one go insane, but luckily this 'one' was so deep in thought, so content with exploring the passages of his own mind, that silence was hardly what would shatter his concentration.
In the solitary of a usually empty room, he sat cross-legged on the floor, not even with the moonlight for company. Alone, once again, an idea that commonly struck him. It was inescapable really. Everyone must face loneliness at some time throughout their lives, but this was becoming the normal mindset for him. He hoped that one day he would become immune to its piercing feeling, its persistent tingle that just doesn't leave.
Motivation didn't even come into the equation when he was young; all those years ago, he did it simply for the love of adventure. But now it seems that adventure and tragedy are twisted together and one cannot come without the other. Destruction and pain appear where ever he goes. Maybe the universe would be better off without him anyway. Perhaps he should just sit and allow his body to rot in the void of darkness. But all those faces, swimming across his mind as ghostly apparitions, yelling at him not to give up, telling him he is far from the truth. Finally he screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out the many voices, if only it were that easy, he knew the voices wouldn't leave him for hours yet to come.
It used to all be so easy, getting caught up in whirlwind adventures where ever he went, but instead it's now destruction that follows him, and with every new journey comes a new kind of pain. Pain he never thought possible and the only way to tolerate it is to keep moving on and leave things behind. He daren't look back if he wished to maintain his sanity.
All alone, trapped by darkness itself, he attempted to move, to escape and/or ignore this state of mind. But instead his insides began to burn, and a wave of emotion swept through him, and for the first time in far too long, he cried, he wept. He couldn't move from his spot, he could only flood the place with his pain and sorrow. The tears puzzled him, but every tear came with a reason. For so long now these things had been eating at him from the inside, and he always chose to disregard these pains, but how good it felt to channel all this into tears. Tears of salt, water, or blood- he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter any more.
He managed to convince himself that he was fine with being alone at this point, but secretly he yearned for someone to merely hold him, tell him it would all be ok, and that he was going to be just fine. He knew his companion was somewhere in the near vicinity, but that could wait, for now, crying felt so good. Uncontrollable crying was something so new. It scared him a little, as he was no longer in control. Control was something he was so accustomed to owning, well to some degree anyway, but this, this was a totally new emotion, sure, he had cried on many occasions, but almost never like this. It was like centuries of history, his own history, were gushing out with those tears.
All of a sudden he felt ashamed of his dampened face; he was meant to be the strong one, the shoulder for others to cry on, people look to him as the one who is tough enough not to cry, the one who never lets emotion get the better of him. Perhaps that was the problem; he had no one like that, no support branch. He didn't think it necessary…until now. He too believed he was tough enough not to feel true pain and was always able to keep his feelings in-check. Maybe not? But he still wanted to be that person to others, it was important to him, like part of who he was. A stern face in impossible times while everyone else was broken; he wanted to be there for others to look up to, otherwise what would the universe need him for? If he wasn't a hero, what was he? The word monster was one that kept creeping back for that answer. A misunderstood creature of fear and destruction, leaving deep terror amongst his victims. He half knew that wasn't at all true, the other half was beginning to wonder.
He soon became angry at himself, for all the lives he'd messed up, even though he could hear his past friends rebutting against that, reminding him of all the lives that have been made better. The war within his mind was a raging and merciless one. He had often said he had the whole universe in his head, swirling around and creating havoc within, and tonight was no different.
He felt he was unique in his perception; he did more than imagine others' pain, he himself felt it, as though it were real, as though it were all happening to him. And this killed him inside. All the pain of the universe crammed inside his head and it really was destroying him. Such are the consequences of a battle. He needed to feel unique and special, but at the same time he needed to know if anyone left in the universe felt pain like this. Maybe this is why he 'fixed things' as it were. People always try to fix their own pain, but seldom do they go looking to fix others', because no one feels your pain like you, but if they did, would they not help you?
He was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the situation as he didn't seem to be able to snap out of it. He didn't wish to think like this for too much longer, the universe wouldn't be much fun otherwise. That is, after-all, what he loved; having wondrous adventures that others could only dream of. There's nothing quite like the thrill of adventure. But the consequences of these escapades were what were starting to worry him.
So what now? He forgets all these thoughts; ignores them, and continues as before? What kind of person would he be if he allowed that? Change, as we know it, is a naturally occurring thing, and will happen weather we like it or not, and change of the mind is no exception.
He really was beginning to get frustrated at his current situation. He had had enough of this place, he needed to set out and find his companion and leave. But it took him this thought to actually realise that he was lying face down on the floor. The carpet surrounding his face was damp with tears. This episode was over; he wanted to be his old perky self again, sincerely hoping that was possible, despite the way he was feeling at present.
He twitched his fingers which were lying at his sides. He pushed himself against gravity, against the floor, and rose from his motionless position.
They say eyes are the windows to the soul, and at the moment, for him anyway, it couldn't be closer to the truth. Even though his eyes were now dry, sadness and deep distress bled from them like a grazed knee of a child recently fallen from a bicycle. The difference was that the child is then picked up by another and set off strong once more. He was not; no one to pick him up, no one to reassure him, no one to strengthen him in the way he so badly desired. An intriguing dilemma, but one he didn't fancy investigating any further.
He thought he felt better for it; an extreme release of emotion now and then is good for the soul. Although he couldn't help but feel his heart was heavier, almost more burdened than before, but for now he could ignore it, what worried him was just how long he could keep that up for. Ah well, another challenge for another day, he decided.
He ambled down one of the seemingly many hallways, the air was so still and the silence ever so present. All he could hear were the rhythmic poundings of his heartbeats, but that was fine, it reminded him that indeed he was alive, even if he didn't feel it. It was so still that even the shadows refrained from dancing around as they often did. Only the bland orange glow of distant lighting attacked the blackness. But some light was better than none. Much better.
Why did his companions always wonder so far? She's probably in some horrific trouble by now. He sighed. For once he hoped not, he wanted to leave, he also wanted to sleep, something he normally avoided at all costs. All the crying made him very tired, and his collapse was inevitable, the sooner he found a bed, the better.
Out on the street a crisp breeze swept though, and made him shiver slightly. His exhausted eyes scanned the area for his companion. He rolled his eyes as he began his trek down the road, luckily it wasn't too long before he spotted her, and to his delight she was completely and boringly safe.
She took a quick glance up from her magazine, and immediately noticed him. It didn't sit right with her, his eyes; he looked so tired, so spent. She'd never seen him like this. She decided not to ask, he was highly unlikely to tell her anything even if she did. She merely embraced him, almost holding him up, he reached around and squeezed with so much sincerity it scared her a little. They parted and he looked grateful for what little support she could give.
As they walked back up the street he could only stare blankly at the ground, while every couple of seconds she worriedly looked across to him, but what could she do?
He slithered into the bed, and was beyond grateful to feel the sheets up against his skin. He pulled the blankets up to his face and snuggled into them; their warmth was calming as well as comforting. As he lay once again in darkness, a last few tears fell softly from his face to his pillow, and with that he drifted to sleep, the most peace he had had all night.