Young Writers Society

Head Down, I Walk

I walk. Head down, I walk. Through the never-ending corridor, my tunnel of darkness. I walk, yet there’s no light at the end. Head down, I walk. Hair brushes my face as I take each step into ‘the never’ – ‘the never get there.’ My eyes, weary, cautious, suspicious, dart from floor to corridor, floor to corridor, floor to corridor.

In the distance I hear laughter, cheer chaos. The world is morphed around me. I see morphed people around me, everywhere, packed in, everywhere. Yet, I’m alone. Alone in my own little world, compacted, closeted, constricting. It’s just me – walking down the corridor. Head down, I walk. Alone, I walk.

Surrounded by life, I walk in the depths of death. I am dead. Alive to myself but dead to them. Them. The ones around me, the morphed images, the blurred movement. Them. Do I exist to them? Do I exist?

Head down, I walk. I walk through the valley of death, the depths of despair, the nothing. Head down, I walk. My eyes continue to dart, floor to corridor, floor to corridor, floor to corridor. They’re getting closer? ‘Not again, please’, I silently beg, ‘not again’.

But I’m silent – no one hears my scream.

They’re closer. In front of my eyes. I can’t walk anymore. Stuck to the spot, glued, held against my will.

He, it, she is next to my face. Inches away.

Distorted images, faces blurred, streaked, ruined. Noise bandies around yet the silence I hear is deafening. My world tilts. My legs give way, I fall. Head down, I fall.

Helpless, vulnerable, alone I fall. Head down, I fall.

The floor hits me hard. But I don’t feel it, I hear it, see it, but don’t feel it. I can’t. I don’t exist remember, I’m dead to them. They can’t hurt that which doesn’t feel. It’s all a game.

I wonder sometimes what it must be like to not be in the victim in this game of Cat and Mouse we call Life.

Each dig, poke, prod, punch drills into me the undeniable notion that I will never be. Imagine, me, a winner, a succeeder, an achiever. It’s all a joke.

I lie here, broken inside just waiting for the next attack, for the next round. I deserve it really. I mean look at me; I lie here surrounded by my blood, my sweat and my tears. I just ponder on my menial existence. Maybe I’m just a pawn in a surreal game of Chess, being sacrificed to protect the better ones. The ones that are always right and always on the top rung of the ladder, being silently watched by the wannabes, the failures.

I begin to stir, I dare to open my eyes, to take the peek at the people who hide, slip into the dark I dare to cheat. Maybe if I was strong enough I could find their hideout and keep away from it – no mans’ land, the forbidden ground.

But deep down I know, deep down inside myself, that I’ll never be able to do that. This is me, I’ve got to accept the fact that all I am to them is a game. I am the game.

I’m alone again. Really alone. Not a sound resounds around me. There’s no more blurs, morphed images, there’s no more of anything. I’m not sure whats worse – feeling alone in a world full of people or actually being alone. I don’t like being alone – bad things happen when I’m alone. Things I can’t stop.

My whole world turns into a cinema – a wide-screen view into my own menial life. And, unwillingly, I watch. I’m just a spectator. I hear the footsteps, I sense the call but it’s not ‘me’ who answers. ‘I’m’ not the one who lets him in.

I watch myself sit in the all too familiar place and just stare. I don’t move, I don’t even try to prevent it from happening. I observe as ‘I’ grab the visitors’ hand and pull him closer. It’s like I’m watching a scary movie over and over again. I know exactly what is going to happen yet I still sit there and wait in expectation, as if I’m waiting for the plot to change at some time. But some time doesn’t arrive. All my shouts and screams are in vain as I watch the visitor surround me, as if he is overtaking my whole world, my whole being.

I watch as the visitor advances towards ‘me’. I watch as he sears through ‘me’ as if to delve into my soul. I silently observe in terror as I see ‘myself’ falling apart. There I am, letting him do it to ‘me’. I just let him press harder and deeper into me. I watch, in stupefied disbelief as my life just slips away. It just falls to the floor. And only at this time do ‘I’ look down at what is happening, I watch myself as I see the pain just fall to the floor. I see myself smiling as I watch my life disappear in front of me.

I just look numb. Each time I see a droplet of me fall to the floor it feels like a thousand stabbing pains, but when I watch myself all I can see is almost relief on my face.

The droplets just carry on falling as the visitor sears away at me, he seems to become more vigorous as the relief I see on my face turns into ecstasy. I just sit and scream at the window into my world, but neither the visitor nor ‘I’ hear me.

It gets worse as the time progresses, suddenly the cuts become deeper and more dangerous. I watch myself as I slip away, but I’m not dead yet. It’s like I’m watching ‘me’ murder myself but I don’t want to die just yet… so I have to just sit here and watch it worsen and worsen, yet I can do nothing about it. I can just see myself and the ‘me’ I see - I am ashamed of.

And then the movie ends – abruptly, suddenly, unexpectedly. Did I really want it to end? Do I watch in disbelief or because of morbid curiosity?

Tears blur my vision. Life is blurred more than usual. I can’t see anything anymore yet I know I’m not alone now, at least not in the true sense of the word. It’s Them.

They’re back again - Distorted images, faces blurred, streaked, ruined. Head down, I walk. Tears stream down my face. Tears mixed with blood.

Head down, I walk.

I walk.

Alone, I walk.

Nobody cares, nobody notices, nobody knows me.

I won’t let them.

Head down, I walk.