I'll fly to the moon again

25th January 2019

Ever since my little breakdown they're trying to guard me or whatever. They behave like I am somehow important to them, but I don't have the slightest idea why. Why won't they let me die finally?

I am now forced to lie on a bed I hate so much. I am not really sure because I am not awere about the time, but it seems that the annoying woman is still coming less and less often. Sure it sounds nice, but for some reason she is not the only who stopped visiting me every now and then.

No matter how hard I try to concentrate I don't hear Sebastian or Emerson anymore. Sometimes, when I accidentally fall asleep, I can hear quiet whispers and footsteps. Maybe it's someone from outside, checking on me if I am still alive or maybe it's her. I still don't know who she is, but Sebastians words still haunt me and won't stop until I die I guess. Maybe they'll haunt me even after that. Who knows?

Or maybe I've gone insane. Probably. When I hear it almost everynight, I am not scared anymore. I am hopeful that it-whatever it is-will come for me and help me leave this world. There's nothing I would possibly want more than that at this moment. Except meeting my brothers of course, but I really don't know how would that be possible.

I haven't realized for how long am I now staring at the blank ceiling without blinking, not until in my ears resonates that familiar sound of opening heavy metal doors that keep me trapped here and I sigh. This time I trace her way with my eyes, obviously making her nervous. Who would guess that woman  like this can still feel emotions?

I don't really care about her awful outfit or disgusting parfume like I always do. Today I lock my eyes with her hazel brown orbs which grow wide at my sight. I still lay on the bed on my back with arms peacefully laying along my sides, they even stopped shaking after couple of injections they gave me. She has to stand opposite the bed. She looks really shocked that I look at her, so I decide to shock her even more and break the silence.

"How many?" I say with my weak dry lips, not breaking our eye contact. She uncomfortably looks at her feet, not daring to answer me. I wonder why she acts so weird today and if it means something bad for me, but I ask again: "How many days am I stuck here?". Nothing. She writes something down in her notebook, but remains silent and not looking at me. I direct my stare at the ceiling again, smiling slightly, don't even know why, breaking the silence once again: "So this is how you felt... Now I get it."