It seemed like a normal Wednesday morning for him. He pried himself out of bed at the sound of his alarm for another day of school. Mundane. Sweater on, hair brushed, breakfast eaten, he walked out into the cold, January air. He drove the same 55 mph, two lane road that he had a million times before, and finally he got to school only to have his already collapsing world completely cave in around him. While everyone else was having a sunny day, he was in the midst of a hurricane. He sat there at a table and had a staring contest with his untouched Calculus homework as his mind journeyed to the edge of a cliff. He could feel his breakfast and his whole body rebelling against him. Shutting down. It’s like his eyes just glazed over and his soul experienced a solar eclipse: no light. No way out. No exit. In the shadows of his troubled mind, he was being stalked by his own fear. It’s like a masked murderer was chasing him down the hallway, but it was his own shadow chasing him with a dagger. Finally, in desperation, he was able to enter into a safe place, and his threatening shadow withdrew back into the darkness that he called his mind. He hoped it would be permanent, that he would be safe, but he had a feeling that he’d meet his dark silhouette again. As long as his eyes were open, he wasn’t safe.
The familiar waiting room was almost completely empty as he walked through the double doors. The name that he wrote on the clipboard was his own, but what did that name even mean anymore? The clipboard read Joey Lane, but it could have read John Doe because Joey Lane was a complete stranger. A man with an unknown identity. That meaningless name filled the air, and he took the pilgrimage that started with a scale and ended on a paper-lined patient table. Two doctors and two hours later, he had to be picked up and escorted home, forbidden to be left alone. His shadow just could not be trusted. It was out for blood. It was out for his life.
He felt like he was locked in a tower, isolated, looking for a hero that would never show up. A hero that would save him from the guy that stared back at him in the mirror. The guy that tortured him every day of his life. His heart thumped normally, but he felt like a corpse. Lifeless. Numb. His pulse felt like a lie with each soft kiss against his finger. He wished that someone would just inject him with a tranquilizer dart so he could escape the constant ache of his lacerated soul. But that was not an option, so he just sat there with his brave face on, waiting. Waiting for his hero. Waiting for his life boat. Waiting for dawn.
In the days after, his life felt like a chaotic game of pinball. The pin was pulled back, and he was launched from couch to couch, none of which he thought he would ever have to sit on. The constant pain in his soul and the shadow that was forever attached to his heels was becoming too much to bare. Little by little, minute by minute, he felt his sanity slowly oozing out of his head like he was on the cold, metal table for a demonic craniotomy. He was supposed to be the one in control. He was supposed to have his act together. But everything he touched seemed to crumble right through his cold, lifeless fingers. He was used to being successful at whatever he put his hand to, but he could not deal with his own demons that were slowly engulfing his soul. Piece by piece.
He simply didn’t understand, and frustration and anger built up inside of him. A blade turned inward. A twig of truth trying to hold back a tsunami of lies. Breaking. He wanted nothing to do with anyone, not even his Knitter. He felt like the scarf that the Knitter had screwed up on. A scarf that was knit with blue yarn, but not the proper shade. Trash. He was sick of hearing of the plans to prosper him when he absolutely hated himself. That he was more than a conqueror when he felt like the one being impaled on a stake. Words on a page. Wasted air. That’s what they had become. His cold heart plunged below zero. Freezing.
As he lay under his blanket, light peeking from the curtains, his eyes opened groggily. He woke up from the nightmare only to realize that it was his life. Another day to face, trapped in an 18 year old’s body, only looking forward to the moment his eyelashes would meet once again.
