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“Can you hear how the children weep,” he puffed air, clogged with hoarse gutters, a sound so wet it turned tangible. Yet the girl didn't flinch at the sight of what others attributed to insanity. This man, who appeared so hideous in the eyes of others, could neither be conjured from the barred sectors of her mind, nor show itself as a mockery of human form. Fact was she didn't know how they could see him. He didn't exist. A pathological play, an orchestrated tragedy of decrepit misery playing all its acts with her fragile mind as the main stage. And how the floor cracked under such bravado, one after the other the planks turned to splinters of wood, and soon the curtain called. So how did they know? Why did they weep at the sight of this man, his name lost by the merging of personalities, and then loudly proclaim not only madness - but the audacity to assume he existed in real flesh and bone? She frowned at the stupidity. Either he was made up by herself, which admittedly did warrant some introspection as to the makeup of her brain – or he stood tall as a manmade creation. They couldn’t have it both ways. Perhaps she was insane. But to then contradict themselves mere moments later, going as far as to assume his metaphysical existence - how could he be a product of illness only to be accused in the same breath of standing right before their own eyes?

She didn't know anymore. Perhaps the others weren't real either and she decided to play games, pretending them to be exist only to fabricate a false scenario to keep herself occupied. Why did she do it? She didn’t bother to speculate, it was compulsory at this point, which annoyed her as she genuinely believed the whole charade to be real. But only for a moment. A flicker of time, then her memories disintegrated. Just like every time. In this damp cellar her guardian angel kept watch, no matter his origins, or if he ever existed in the first place.

Description

“Can you hear how the children weep,” he puffed air, clogged with hoarse gutters, a sound so wet it turned tangible. Yet the girl didn't flinch at the sight of what others attributed to insanity. This man, who appeared so hideous in the eyes of others, could neither be conjured from the barred sectors of her mind, nor show itself as a mockery of human form. Fact was she didn't know how they could see him. He didn't exist. A pathological play, an orchestrated tragedy of decrepit misery playing all its acts with her fragile mind as the main stage. And how the floor cracked under such bravado, one after the other the planks turned to splinters of wood, and soon the curtain called. So how did they know? Why did they weep at the sight of this man, his name lost by the merging of personalities, and then loudly proclaim not only madness - but the audacity to assume he existed in real flesh and bone? She frowned at the stupidity. Either he was made up by herself, which admittedly did warrant some introspection as to the makeup of her brain – or he stood tall as a manmade creation. They couldn’t have it both ways. Perhaps she was insane. But to then contradict themselves mere moments later, going as far as to assume his metaphysical existence - how could he be a product of illness only to be accused in the same breath of standing right before their own eyes?

She didn't know anymore. Perhaps the others weren't real either and she decided to play games, pretending them to be exist only to fabricate a false scenario to keep herself occupied. Why did she do it? She didn’t bother to speculate, it was compulsory at this point, which annoyed her as she genuinely believed the whole charade to be real. But only for a moment. A flicker of time, then her memories disintegrated. Just like every time. In this damp cellar her guardian angel kept watch, no matter his origins, or if he ever existed in the first place.