Insolvent

    I found it difficult to open the door. It wasn’t as if anyone on the inside would know about the happenings of the outside, seeing as how I barely remembered them, but the sensations of the past hour, I felt, still lingered on my face; a bright marker on the brow, the splash of concern on my cheek, and the sting of deception from my tongue- I could feel all of these happening momentarily, and I hadn’t even gripped the door knob yet. So many screeches. They were all I could hear. I was still unsure where they had come from, but for the duration of my hardship, I couldn't hear anything but them; nails on chalkboard that go on forever, even after your eardrums have ruptured and the resulting blood drips down the lobe and leaves tracks on your collar bone. Speaking of, why wouldn’t that crimson vision leave my retina? The only thing I garnered from my feeble attempts at evading the red stains were a sense of frustration tantamount to that of a river pounding away at a tree that has fallen in its path. On top of that, my hands were scratched to the tissue, and my arms burned in agony. My psyche would splinter soon, and I had to make sure to not be in anyone's view when it did. I winced slightly as I gripped the gilded sphere, the many little cuts that covered my palm sending a myriad of signals from every direction, and did my best to not draw any attention as I turned it. Entered into the fluorescent room where the family often resided held no apparent stock to me; just another place I had rested my eyes. Nothing about it was memorable, but that didn’t stop me from maneuvering it with my eyes closed.
   
    Luckily, I heard no voices, which meant I didn’t have to fear questions, nor glances of distrust. It was in this instant that I decided actual  vision would be preferable to that of my mind’s eye. Lids thrown open, I found myself standing in front of the behemoth of a mirror that was placed at the hallway entrance. The reflection looking back wasn’t mine, but rather that of a strange and darkly shrouded entity. Immediately hereto, I felt alone; desolate and stranded in a room painted a white-eternal, which is odd, considering that such an emotion would summon the darker counter part. I understood why I was where I was though; the silhouette before me wanted me to know that there was no one else around. That it was only it and I. It wanted there to be no confusion, and that my visibility was completely fixed on it, the only stand alone object in the vast space.

“ I am an effigy,” it spoke.

“Of what?”

    It wouldn’t reply to my question, however, and did nothing more than repeat its phrase. “I am an effigy.” I continued to ask what of, but to no avail. Again, a brief vision of the past few hours flashed before me, forcing my eyes to close so that their covers would serve as a backdrops for the projections to play out on. Flashes of earth, instances of sky and hours upon hours of dirt; a trudging commune through the disgraceful display of self corrosion. I shuttered at the reality that had now become memory. So many screeches, only now, they were joined by an acrimonious scratching, and I felt my teeth grind against each other. Air escaped me, and, for a moment, I even forgot what it was.
   
    When I opened my eyes, I was once again standing before the mirror. The reflection was my own. When my lashes twitched, so did the mirrors; if I made a figure with my hand, the reflection followed, and when my legs led me the rest of the way past the looking-glass, the figure on the other side also moved on. From the looks of it, no one was at home. They must have all gone out somewhere, though how was beyond me, for all of the cars were still in the driveway. Perhaps they just went for a walk with the dog, because it wasn’t around either.
   
    I entered my room, and threw myself hungrily onto the bed. Never had something felt so right as that moment when I made contact with the spring constructed box. I looked at my night stand, and noticed the dog’s leash was still on it. I found it odd that they wouldn’t take it with them. Perhaps they went to the park and thought they didn’t need it? In that case though, I would have passed them on my way home. When I thought about it a bit more though, I remembered I came from the left side of the block, with the park being on the right. I still can’t remember why I came from that side. There was nothing over there besides a large field of nothing and a small, hole in the wall burger joint.

  Maybe that’s where the stains on my shirt came from.