Thought sat in the
dimly lit interrogation room of the Mind, slumped over the stark wooden table
feeling dejected and exhausted.
“I’m just tired,”
she moaned into her hands, “and I want to go to sleep and never wake up again
because I am not strong enough for the world.”
Thought closed her
eyes, addressing the inside of her eyelids.
“I feel as if I
should be feeling more, but I am simply too tired to feel. I am looking at the
world through a grimy window that needs a good scrub and I have no means of
cleaning it. On the other side of the window, everyone is living
unapologetically. They’re laughing and crying and eating and loving and falling
in love and falling out of love and listening to music and watching films and
experiencing art in a way that makes you feel
the art and I’m desperately trying to open the window but I can’t. And I’m
starting to believe that I’m never going to.”
Thought opened her
eyes and sat back in the hardwood chair leaning her head as far back as she
could so that she was looking at the ceiling. It was grey and cracking in
places. A naked bulb hung from it, casting a weak, grey light onto Thought, who
found it appropriate that Mind’s interrogation room should feel so small and
constricting.
“You know what it
feels like? It feels like the rest of the world has figured out how to use the
technology that was designed to make everything Technicolor and my world is
still monochromatic. Except I don’t have that jazzy backing track that the old
non-speaking films used to have. My backing track sounds like a radio that has
hasn’t been tuned properly. My world does not make a very good film. Maybe a one
star rating on IMDb. And I know I’ve mixed my metaphors. You can add that to
the ever-increasing list of things I don’t care about.”
For the first
time, Thought looked at her companion who leant towards a microphone fixed onto
the table.
Speech looked at
Thought with pity and spoke, her words echoing around the room.
“I’m doing
alright, thanks. Just a bit tired.”
