One week would pass by and he would never remember what happened then.
Starting a new life on dreadful mornings.
Living on in the afternoon.
Retiring to the night.
Haunted in sleep.
Again and again.
Till 7 days.
And then.
***
Gilbert woke. Cold. Panicked. Alone.
He sunk back to what he was resting his head on. He let out a sigh and fluttered his eyelids shut again only to feel the darkness hunting him again. He shook his head and reopened his eyes to half-mast.
The young man slowly stood up and began walking. Where? He didn't know. Nobody would tell him or talk to him. And he would never remember anyway.
He looked up into the hazy sky. Why? He didn't know. He only hoped for something, anything, to happen but it wouldn't. And he wouldn't remember it anyway.
He looked back to what was in front of him. What was meant to be a landscape looked like a form of abstract art, misty, ambiguous and shapeless. How? He didn't know. His dreams spread from his mind and created the scenery. Beautiful it was. Though he wished to see reality again. But he wouldn't remember it anyway.
He had nothing else to do. He would ask questions in his mind for days with nobody there to answer them for him.
All he wished was to sleep for ever.
But every 7 days Gilbert had hope.
Today he gazed at the 'art' and walked almost non-stop. Just straight. The curves would mess with his mind. There were times when he would just stop. And contemplate everything that was going on around him.
He would occasionally hear what was actually going on. He'd hear the whispers of brushing leaves and chirps from birds. Of course no one's there. Gilbert thought. Gilbert thought a lot. What do I even look like? He stared aimlessly at his bony hands. I need to eat. But there wouldn't be anything there. Or at least he couldn't see them.
It was unexpected for him to walk so much today. Usually he would find a corner in his artwork and sit there. And cry.
He didn't know what tears looked like – apart from being small lightly outlined circles – but he imagined that they glistened through the little light he saw.
His feet were now over ragged sharp things unlike the soft almost ticklish things earlier. He grew tired of walking and stopped afterwards.
Today he gazed at the 'art' and walked almost non-stop.
He also counted. Today he went up to 6. Then he closed his eyes and let go.
VOUS LISEZ
Dreams are just Dreams (Or are they?)
FantasyGilbert was alive. He had 7 days. When that was over he'd start a new life. Gilbert didn't know. He would never remember it anyway.
