Fainthearted Joe

Agressivice, repetitive knocking startled me awake. I stayed as far away from the window as I could. You see, I am what one may have a labled, a-few-too-many times, scaredy cat. It continued. I got up and scaled the wall for dear life, huddled in a blanket and slouching as low as I could get. Attempting  to avoid being seen, in case whoever it is, finds a peeking hole.

 I gave myself one mission, and it was to leave this forsaken room with the beating window. I desperately just wanted to run for it, lock the door from the outside by placing a chair or something, and then..? Well, I will probably panic somewhere else. Instead, my knees betrayed me, shaking and slaking, my breath quicking as the knocking increased in pace. The sound seems to resemble a loud heartbeat slammed against glass.

I hear shrieking in the hallways. There were at least two reasons why that was scary, first off, the sound itself of course, and secondly, I live alone. Clearly I will not be planning to get out of the room. But what now? 

I thought I hated the knocking, maybe I became slightly comfortable with it or something, because when it abruptly stopped, I felt my heart follow. I froze. 

 In a very still manner, I was waiting for something to go very wrong. A stone, or a bullet to pass through.I was waiting for the door to be knocked down. A giant dysmorphic human-dog-bat appears. Something bad was going to happen. My gut told me, and my gut was always correct.

Well that's not true, it's actually almost never correct. At least this time, however, it would make sense if there were any observers, which for the sake of my sanity, I hope there weren’t.

-------------------

It’s been 12 days that I have not caught a glimpse of sleep.  12 days I haven't left the house. I was running out of food, since I was already overdue for getting my groceries before this quarantining that I have been doing. At this point, I was awaiting fatigue to come by and bless me, the heaviness of my dry eyes to defeat the inner feeling of hyper alter fear and shut. I wanted so desperately to just pass out.

Not in a suicidal manner. I just hoped that when I just caught a glimpse of sleep, maybe I would be able to escape my cursed thoughts. Damaging, ever so deceptive and creative. My imagination was not controlled by me. It cannot be, for how can I come up with something that shocks me as though it is new?

I looked down at my fingers, the ones that have been holding my blanket around my body as though my life depended on it. They look different now. Wrinkled, abandoned with soiled long nails. I tried to open up my arms, and they felt sore. Sore in a way of picking up heavy grocery bags for so long that moving your claw starts to hurt. The wind picks up speed and I shudder. My joints have ached, my eyebags sagging almost off my face, my skin, I'm sure, like my fingers,  has aged more the few days than it did my whole life, not to mention my soul also feels the weight of a lack of sleep. Then why is it that when I am in this state, does my brain not allow me some freedom?

-----------------

After a certain level of tiredness and rock bottom, you reach a state of utter disparity, that even a coward like me could reach a stage where they have had enough of the bother to the point that they would rather face it. If not to overcome it, then to be buried by it, because living in a constant cycle of fear - the bouncing of eyes at the movement of your own shadow, the constant awareness of your breathing patterns, your heartbeat pumping very in your head like a drum- it's Exhausting.  I reached that point where I've had enough.

“AHHHHHH!” My lungs feel fully used. My blanket drops and I feel light as I run towards the window. I rip the curtains diagonally down with such force that they fall right in front of me. Panting, free and ready to tackle the bother of my life, I am faced with a note taped to my window. Curious, I grab it and it reads.

Sorry sacredey Joe, the kids thought it was funny to disturb their neighbours. Don't worry, they are grounded for two weeks. I baked you lunch as an apology. It's on the porch.

My heart sinks. Why is the note on the inside. I drop it, and drop to my knees. I shuffle away from the alarming letter. When did they get inside, why is it taped inside my house? It doesn't make sense. I think back to the shrieks that night. Lunch outside? I try to get up, but a hand is placed on my frail shoulder. The tiredness all caught up to me at once. I am too weak to deal with this.

I was being swirled around in a rough manner and kicked on the chest in the same moment, my head hitting the rod that used to hang my heavy curtains that now lay on the floor. I feel warm liquid flowing  down my head.

‘Omg omg… I'm gonna die…’  I thought to myself. At least it isn't because of a prank or something stupid. Why though… who would do this to me. My eyes blur from being moved too much too fast, they don't want to focus. 

“I’ve been feeding you drugs with your food. That's why you're awake. That's also why you're suddenly not very… alert. I stopped today.” I hear the sharpening of a knife, the blur gets worse. This time, it's tears. From where? I don't know, because my eyes dried out from games ago.

The hoarse female voice cackles, and shrieks like a mad chicken, she reaches forward and grabs the collar of my musty shirt filled with days of accumulated stress sweat. Inching towards my face, my eyes make out crazy long curls, bright eyes, and lipstick. She looks cynical, smiling for a moment of silence. I forget to breathe for a while, and I suddenly gasp, my ribs and lungs crashing into each other. I take deep, fast, painful breaths.

“Listen up Scaredy Joe, people like you piss me off.” she spat on my face. I feel nothing. She wastes no time dragging me out of my room. I stare out to my comfort zone for the last time as we exit and she kicks the door shut. 

The next moment was my  last. I don't know what happened. I'm glad I'm mostly numb, and have been aching for so long,and  my eyes finally decided to give out. I remember my lungs let out all of me, squeezing through my tight, unused vocal cords into a horrible, familiar sound. I know I’m smiling, I know I'm free, but other than that I don't know what else I am anymore.

----------------------------------------

What I know is three days after my memory paused, I woke up on my bed, my curtains hung and not faded. The colours of the world around me are bright. I wake up and eat, go about my day. I feel normal, but at the same time, I feel like the inner me lived another life before.One I can't quite remember. I grab my coat and head out, a woman about my age gets out of the house next to mine. I wave at her. Her crazy long curls, bright eyes, and bright lips smile back for a moment, then she rushes back into her house. Slamming the door.