Or... listen to it here (may sound like crap tho) Big thanks to Keira for that little trick. Anyhow. This is part of the writer's block challenge. Details can be found over here
The familiar decaying walls, the wallpaper peeling away, whole pieces of plaster crumbling on the floor.….. This is where I go, but…. I am probably always here. Maybe leaving the room is the illusion.
In my familiar there is something different today. Alone, in the not quite center of the room there is a crumpled piece of paper. I look at it, my head slowly swaying from side to side.
Crumpled piece of paper.
I crouch suddenly like a demented animal. The room smells of different.
I approach warily and look at it. This crumpled paper piece. I scoop it up and dusts falls off its crumpled edges. There is no light in this room, yet the dust shimmers in it.
Hello piece of paper all crumbled up I say. I roll it around in my hands and suddenly as if it was on fire, I let it fall to the ground. What are you doing here, I yell. THIS is my room !!!!!
It doesn’t do anything, it just exists. I kick it and it rolls to the not quite corner of the room. I watch it hit the wall and bounce ever so slightly off of it.
What did I just do ? I panic, rush and sit next to it. Still, I sit. I don’t look at it but I want to. I look at it sometimes, but only slightly through the corner of my eye.
I take it again. It has changed, but it still looks the same.
In a fit of rage I UN-crumple it on the floor. In my maddened state, I push the edges out. I flatten it as best I can. There it is in front of me. The realization of everything is too much.
Yes. I am the crumpled piece of paper. However I try, I will never be smooth again. The creases, the torn edge.. that is all me.
I look at it, flip it over. It is blank. No instructions.
Fuck you paper. I push it away. Get out of my fucking room !
But it won’t leave. I pretend it is not there. I refuse its existence. It will go away I tell myself. It will just go away. It doesn’t. I pace, repeating in my head that it will go away. I glare at it. I hate it.
I will tear it up. I will set it free. I want to hear that sound that paper makes when you tear it apart, you know, that sound that probably has a name and if it doesn’t one should exist for it. I’m ready.. to do it.
Wait. Just wait. Think. If you tear it up, it will still exist. It will be pieces, but pieces of crumpled paper.
It wants something. It needs something of me.
I want something out of it.
I crumble because now I know.
I write. I make it mine.
With someone new