Senseless

Schizophrenia is such a disturbing reality...

Senseless

            I frantically dig the broken spoon into the wall, shoveling tiny chunks of drywall loose and letting them fall where they will. They don’t care about the damned floor. But the walls! Every inch, every corner, every single speck of wall has to be done just so. It’s maddening. What are they expecting of me? All I know if that if I do these things, if I do what they want, something will happen. I don’t know what that something is exactly, but the thought of not giving them what they want fills me with terror.

            I pause, muttering to myself as I try to stop my frantic heart beat. It has to be done. It just has to be done. Broken spoon in hand, I return to my task.

            What is it they want from me? I don’t know! It’s definitely something about these walls. I’ve tried painting them, twice. Then I drew on them, wrote on them. Something about the damn walls really pisses them off, but damned if I know why.

            All I know is that I have to do something. I can’t go into the big room anymore, I’ve spent months on just this closet, I don’t need them getting any new ideas.  

            “Idiot, that’s the wrong way.”

            I freeze. No, not again. Couldn’t they have told me that before I got this far along. I want to leave, I want to go into the big room and open the windows. My music! Oh, I miss my music. The violin, the piano. My many, many sheets of beautiful printed music…

            All long gone, glued to the wall ages ago, all for naught. Pity. I feel the loss of my music. It was the first thing to go, you know. It was the first thing they took away. Punishing me. For what? For what!

            No point. There’s no point in trying to reason with them. They want me to do something, but instead of telling me, they just sit back and watch me fail. Over and over and over again.

            I pretend that I can hear my music again. I can’t, not really, but if I pretend hard enough it feels the same. I bump my head on the wall, drumming along to the tempo. They can’t take the feeling of music away from me. Oh, but they will try, you can bet on that.

            From deep in the big room, where I cannot go, there comes a crash. “Micah Smith?!” 

            I turn of the light, burrowing deep into my bed of winter coats. They can’t take me away, I’ll never be free of them if they take me away…

            The door opens and I scream and I cry, I beg, I plead. I struggle for a while and then there is a sharp pain in my hip. The room goes dark. “Damn it, can’t you do one simple thing? No, you failure, you just had to mess it all up.” 

            I awake in a new room, a small room with all new walls. “Do it.”

            I kneel down and rub my gnarled fingers along the cinderblock wall. “There’s nothing you can do. Idiot.”

            I curl my knees up to myself and weep. I can’t even pretend to feel the music anymore.

Author's Note

This "story" has no cohesion because it is supposed to represent the thoughts of a schizophrenic. I hope I stayed true to that target.

Reviews

[Storm K.]

I really enjoyed this piece of writing - haunting, mysterious and very powerful. I think you've put across the overwhelming emotions and confusion a schizophrenic must feel excellently, and though I would say that the punctuation is a bit choppy for a 'normal' story, in this case it makes sense being so cut up. A fine piece of work :)

[Jack Cassidy]

I enjoyed it. Great job of character dialogue. It definitely pulled me in when I was reading. Thanks for writing..

[Mary Beecroft]

I liked the urgency in the tone. I think it works for a short story. It was definitely intriguing -- actually I just wanted to know/read more! I'm not schizophrenic, so I don't know what it's like, but I almost think 'they' should be more defined in the story, or if not, then what they want him to do should be more defined. I realize it's all in his head and 'they' aren't real, but I would think someone with this type of illness would make sense to themselves, if to no one else. My favorite part is 'I pretend that I can hear my music again. I can't, not really, but if I pretend hard enough it feels the same.' I think that's great! There's something really tragic in that. I'd like to hear more about that as well. But for its length, its well done.