I walk in the shadowed tunnels of his mind. Turning into a small, cavelike room I notice a small, ractangular shape laying on the dirt floor. I bend over and pick it up - it's a picture. A middle-aged man - maybe in his forty's - is standing in a lush green yard with a child of about fives years in his arms; a large hedge makes up mose of the background, with a lone pine tree to the left-hand side. But it isn't the child that interests me - it's the man. I can't place him in any memory, but yet I feel as if I know him; or at least should know him. Uncle...Frances..? I dunno...
I continue to wander about the tunnels, drifting from scene to scene - a forest of overgrown shrubs, a desert of dead and looming ever-wood and oak trees, a black swamp; and the tunnels again. I start to stumble, begining to feel the effects of being in such a place as this. A hand appears out of the darkness, "Follow me." a voice says, comforting me. I take his hand, and I follow.
We run down the tunnels, hand in hand. He runs faster and I can't keep up; I'm half-dead by this time. And then I lose his grip. He runs on ahead and I struggle to keep and not lose sight of him - but I do. I run blindly ahead -like a rabbit caught in a thinket - hoping to catch some glimpse of him; I don't.
Exhuseted and drained, I slow to a halt. I duck inside another one of those cave-like rooms to catch my breath. Huddled up in the far corner of the room, I notice a small boy curled up his head between his knees. A red, tearstained face looks up at my approach. "You won't leave me, will you?" he whimpers. "Of course not; I promice.: I tell him as I hold him close.
I already know I can't keep that promice.
I went to my gramma's last night and got yelled at for not eating more food. I wanted to take her aside and scream,""I'm anorexic! This isn't normal! Do something!" - but I didn't. I controlled myself. I suffered - alone. Again.
All your lives blend together in a never-ending waking nightmare of hurt and half memories. Everywhere you turn you see the shadowed face of someone you once knew, once cared for, once loved. And it hurts, so you close yourself inside yourself. You lock it all away. But the pain is still there, and it hurts. It hurts like you heart and spirit are being ripped out. It hurts and it hurts, and you wish you'd just die. But you know you can't.
And so I cut myself with razor blades to dull the pain inside, inhale bullets like cigarette smoke, and look for a way to die.