Pain
This is a short story I wrote a while back :
It was warm and cozy in his room.The walls, adorned with peeling wallpaper, seemed to hug him in a comforting embrace. He was safe here, cocooned in this familiar space. As long as he didn’t open the door, he could pretend. Pretend that everything was okay, that the world outside was just as gentle and forgiving as his secluded corner.
Sometimes, he heard loud, jarring knocks on the door. Bang Bang. Each knock sounded like a thunderclap, threatening to shatter his illusion. The door, scarred from previous assaults, was almost giving way. He remembered being afraid, trembling as he went to the door and pressing his body weight against it to lend it support. After all, it was his sole protector from the outside world, a barrier between him and the chaos lurking beyond.
He couldn't allow them inside. It would be much worse, wouldn't it? Fear had been a constant companion in those days, an unwelcome yet familiar presence. He hated it when it wrapped its icy fingers around him, and now, paradoxically, he missed its intensity. Now, when he heard the banging, he took his position behind the door out of duty, not fear. For the past him would have wanted this. The past him, more naïve and hopeful, would have wanted him to fight, to stop them from breaching his sanctuary, his little protected corner of the world.
It had to be him, leaning against the door. There was something almost cathartic to it. Feeling the thud, the reverberation of each bang as it vibrated through the door and into his soul. He would shift his weight just the right way to reinforce the weaker spots, feeling like a general on the battlefield, directing his soldiers to hold the line. But little did the soldiers know that their general no longer believed in the cause. He performed these actions out of duty, a tribute to a past self who still had something to fight for.
There were days when he believed it was right to let them in, to embrace the end. To let the other side give him the kiss of death. In those moments, he wondered about the afterlife. Would it be just as hellish as this forsaken place, or would it offer the peace he longed for?
Two weeks had passed without the internet, a week without electricity, plunging his world into darkness. Four days had gone by since his food ran out, and now his water supplies were dwindling. There was no sanctuary. He tried to keep himself occupied at first, to maintain a semblance of normalcy. But slowly, even that became a burden. His mind began to play tricks on him, time became an abstract concept, with no window in the room he lost track of days and nights.
At first, he fought against the shadows that danced on the walls, dismissing them as mere tricks of his mind. But these days, he welcomed them. They whispered secrets to him, wisdom unknown yet powerful. Once, he woke up in a feverish state, convinced that he needed to document these revelations. It felt crucial, like he was the chosen one. He was sure he had scribbled them down somewhere, but now, they were nowhere to be found. Had he imagined writing it? Or was the act of writing real, and his current state the illusion? The room wouldn’t even let him escape in his hallucinations. He longed to hallucinate about the outside world, to escape this confining space even in his mind. But why? He couldn’t tell the difference between the real and the imaginary anymore. But then again, what was real? Everything seemed like an elaborate, unending dream.
He was now a little rat, scurrying away from the loud noises that invaded his space. Bang Bang Bang. The sounds were relentless, more terrifying each time. He was scared. Where was the valiant general with his army? The one who was supposed to protect him? He had to stop them. In his heart, he knew they were not kind to rats. Everyone knew that. Everyone knew. He whimpered, cowering in a corner under the table, feeling smaller and more insignificant than ever.
Now he was the door. Afraid but unable to run, unable to hide. A victim of his own nature. They were coming. He could sense their approach from the vibrations on the floor. He didn’t have eyes, but he felt their presence. The first bang brought a sensation of pain, an unfamiliar yet acute agony. Bang. Bang. With each hit, the pain spread, becoming a part of him. He knew of pain, only of pain. He despised his existence, wishing for nothing more than to end the suffering. If only he could plead with them, beg them to stop. But would they listen? Lost in the rhythm of unrelenting pain, he longed for release. "End me. End me now. Break me. I am already broken. Let me be done," he thought desperately. He felt the human press against him. No. No. Not again. The human wouldn't let him die. What was more cruel? This pain? Or the fear of this human? Fear that wouldn't let it end. Fear that kept him suffering. He was getting more and more numb. All he could feel now was the rhythm. Thump Thump.The warm breath of the human behind him, the feel of his sweaty palm against his surface, and the cold, merciless blows from the front – there was no end.
Bang