Of an evening in December ’14

Exactly what were his thoughts he did not know. It was an evening, already getting dark out. He was hungry with little idea about what he would have for dinner. This was not very unusual for him. He had had many evenings like this. This evening was not a different one. He was just sitting doing nothing. “I’m having a little headache perhaps”, he thought, “but it doesn’t really feel like an ache. It’s more like something is stuffed pack in the skull and it’s making pressure from within.” It was not unusual.

He lay back for a while, rested his head on the pillow. Eyes closed. Trying to feel his breath. It was such a silence. A servile fan whirling above his head. His hunger was making a call.

“Why do I need to be so tense all the time?” he thought, but then he suddenly shirked off the thought and started staring at the fan. He was still not feeling alive enough to get up and get something to eat. “It’s just a waste of life”, he murmured. He could find no reason for anything he was making through.

Today, it’s place A. Tomorrow, it’ll be place B. He had no affinity to places, but these places grow up on one’s self. This cot crackles when he jerks off on it. These bed sheets and blankets and pillows – no, he doesn’t have any attachment to them. When he leaves them tomorrow, he won’t feel any sad, just a little hurried lest he couldn’t go if he makes it late. Then it would be an end. He would find another cot to jerk off on.

What was it that was holding him together so long, he wondered. He was not sure. He was not sure even if he was still held together or was already fallen apart. “I would save this question for some later date”, he said to himself. Was he afraid? Perhaps, he was. But what was it that would make him afraid; he was not sure. It was only an evening, not the end of world.

This will take him nowhere, he knew. But it was not that he was planning to go somewhere. He was content in standing where he was – but this goddamn headache or whatever! The evening was getting darker. Some kids are playing in the backyard downstairs – happy and yelling. They’ll get tired and go home and straight to the dinner table. Mother will ask them to wash hands and such. Good kids. Mama will hold them close and caress through their hair. Kids don’t have headaches.

It’s useless, he muttered. Why on the earth that it was those kids and their fathers and not him? He was not sure if their fathers had headaches or not, but he was sure they don’t jerk off at least. He knew happiness doesn’t come for free, but he was tired of this headache, this constant buzz he was holding in his skull for so long. Something was missing. It had been months since he had been in bed.

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