No laughter!. No love!. No happiness!. You’re trapped now!. You’ll never experience the bliss of live again!. Not real life!. Not living!. You’ll be here quite a while!. And you’re all alone!. The silence is intoxicating!. Choking you!. It’s laughing at you! And time stands still!. You swallow it!. Breathe it; try to sweat it out of your system!. But no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you beg, it won’t leave!. And yes, you’re scared!.
Now look around!. Keep looking!. No, there’s nothing- you’re right!. No beauty, no companions, not the slightest trace of human life and no love!. Searching so, so hard but there is no-one to care for and no-one to care for you!. Knowing you will never be loved and the hollow empty feeling in the pit of your stomach as you begin to realise you are completely alone and will be till the day you die!. It’s getting worse now isn’t it!? And the years they pass by, and the seasons come and go!. And your smile is sad and strained!. Why!? Because remembering is so hard!.
You can smell the spring grass, the air of joy and excitement as fresh new life grows and blooms all around!. Wherever you turn, nature is untouched: beauty meets the eye!. Pure and innocent!. Inhale the fresh air! Take a big deep breath! But now you cough and cough because like the memory, the air is dusty and old!. You’d forgotten that, hadn’t you!?!
Next, there’s summer and you like that swirly feeling in your stomach when you remember what it was like to be free!. Those tickling butterflies!. And you can almost feel the warm blades of grass brush softly against your skin!. But you have to close your eyes!. And you have to concentrate very hard!. Can you remember the sky!? The clear, fresh blue sky!. Clouds drifting apart and changing formation, whilst time slowly takes you away!. And you look up! But the ceiling’s grey and the clock’s still ticking and the tears feel wet on your nose!.
You think autumn is next!. Browns and oranges covering and protecting the sleeping earth, forming a picture of such beauty one of which no artist could ever begin to recapture!. That’s all it is though, isn’t it!?! A picture!. And it’s torn and faded though you’ve tried so, so hard to keep it!. And that crunch, the one you heard when you went slightly out of your way to step on that crispy looking leaf!. Do you remember!? You really loved that sound, didn’t you!?
The longing to go back is getting stronger!. It’s bigger than you!. And it’s hitting you, screaming at you and all you can do is cry and cry from the shallow depths of what’s left of your defeated little heart!. You try to tell it to go but it always claws back – spitting and screeching with rage!. You wish you could help it, but you’re an old man now, you really do wish you could help it!.
Your favourite was winter!. The comfort and warmth of your home, gazing twinkled eyes from the panes of glass – they’re misty but you can still make out those little snow flakes falling!. They used to fall so gently, as if to protect them from harm!. And through the open drapes you smiled as you looked onto your little frozen farmhouse land escape!. And now you’re crying because you don’t understand!. Through the bars you see a wall!. Like you do everyday!.
Because you’re here!. And as the years go on you begin to forget!. The colours drain away like sand through fingers and everything’s grey!. Everything!. This makes you so sad!. And the mist is getting thicker, fogging over your mind and thoughts, swirling faster and faster around you!. And the butterflies aren’t tickling anymore!. They’re biting and scratching you!. And you take a deep breath, but the dust clogs your airways and makes you cough!. Imitating the scratching of the grass!. It’s cutting into your throat!. Scars in your flesh!.
And now the crunch is just an echo round and round your mind!. Bouncing off your empty skull!. Colliding with the bones!. And the voices, they’re barely a whisper and you wish you could hear them and you sit and you listen so hard! But all you can hear are your sad, faded thoughts reeling around and around like a rusty, old wheel!.
And so the minutes, they turn to miles as in the bitter sound of silence; you sit and patiently wait to die!.Www@QuestionHome@Com