Disclaimer: I don't own DNAngel.
AN: Presenting Exercise #6: The exercise of ANGST! (duh duh duh!) Well Les Scribbles, I had said that thatlocked in your mind idea had been an idea of mine from the other night…so this is what became of it. I'm surprised at the speed, but I'm glad I don't have to look forward to three more days thinking up an idea for this. Lemme know if you find anymore words to define. -t-t
There are many sides to my box. I count four. That's a lot. I don't think I have that many of anything else in my life. Not four memories, not four friends, not four glimpses of the Sun, not even four different thoughts in my head anymore. For in my head I am.
I am locked in a little tiny corner of myself, not able, not allowed, and not willing to break myself out. To me, it's a little personal Hell that keeps me chained to the wall. But I can't leave. I can't move. I can't do anything but live.
Perhaps my body is alive in the real world. Perhaps they've strapped it in a straight jacket, or locked it in a padded room, but that doesn't matter, because it's just a body without a mind. Here I am, confined to my little box of black and torture, and there it probably is being labeled a madman. But how can you consider an empty body any type of man?
I've lost track of time in here. For, how does one keep time when they are packed away to live in nothing? Like I was an old book, put on the shelf in the back to make room for the dust to settle in.
And I remember sand. That's the last picture I can call forward in my mind, and one of the only ones left. It was clean sand; fine sand. White and glimmering when it was hit by the Sun. I remember lying down in the sand. It was hot, scorching my back, but it was soft like a blanket, and I remember sinking a few fractions of an inch into it. It was hot, but it felt good, I think. I remember looking at the sand, and then looking up at eyes that shone like the sand. They were light and glimmering and all throughout them were little flecks of dark and black. Just like the sand. I remember I sank deep into those eyes. And then I was in a box without a body. I wasn't in a place or even in a time, I just was.
I can't exactly say when I came here; it wasn't just like a distinct snap-of-the-fingers kind of change. I can't draw a line to separate when I was there and when I was here, I just know I was. And now I just am. I am alone and in the dark.
Dark.
Dark…
That word means something. I don't know what, but every time I say it to myself a little bell seems to ring in my memory, but what it means, I have no clue. That word is so mysterious, though. Like it hides secrets or ulterior meanings. Like there is more to the 'Dark' than meets the eye. And yet, what could there possibly be in the dark here? It's an empty cage of dark. What could there possibly be in the dark…except me?