REVELATIONS
TWENTYTHREE
Alone.
So alone.
He'd never been good at it. Just like he'd never been good at sitting still, or being quiet.
A tiny ember of anger suddenly flared up in his core, but was just as abruptly extinguished.
He shifted painfully. There were sores on his body from the blanket, from the hard floor.
And there was the taste of blood in his mouth. He wasn't quite sure where it was coming from; perhaps he'd bitten himself – he seemed to recall that he might have. Or maybe it was related to the pain he felt in his chest when he breathed. Breathing was starting to be a problem…
Yes, alone. He'd always tried to avoid it. Most of the bad times during his life had taken place when he'd been alone – he couldn't quite remember them distinctly, but he understood well enough that being alone was not a good thing.
He had also concluded, although it had taken him a long while to work it out, that no one was coming for him. It had been too long.
He had been forgotten, forsaken, abandoned; but by whom? He couldn't quite grasp it. Who might've come for him? And who would possibly want him now in his broken, worthless condition?
For want of crying, which was no longer possible, apparently, he allowed sleep to overtake him.
It was the only way to deny the loneliness.