The Dark Secrets of a Possessed Soul

The Boy Against the Wall

Insanity knocks on my door and begs to enter. I have always found that insanity is not bred into every human being at birth, but after experiencing even a small amount of life, many would choose it over living. Insanity is a form of suicide. It takes one to a different world, where he or she can be free to do whatever they wish, and no harm will come of it. Others will take care of the physical body, but the mind cannot be reached. The mind has put up a shield to keep out the world. It is always successful, so long as it wants to be.

Do I want to be free, or do I want to live?

I sit on a bench, alone. I hold the hand of my beloved fantasy, and wonder if he is worth giving up my life. In my life, the boys are perverse and rude, the girls gossip and the teachers are inadequate. In his world, all I ever have to see is him. Perfection. Of course, in this world we share, life is not easy. We are still living real lives and running away does not solve our problems. He is often upset when he comes to me. He cries and begs for death, or for any form of escape. I always tell him no. It would not be worth it. For whatever reason, life had been forced upon us. Who are we to say it is not worth living? We have not yet lived.

He nods and lapses into silence. He is very rarely so silent. I imagine he is like that in the real world, whenever he visits me. Silent and forlorn. Of course, he is not in the real world. I am. And I am the silent martyr who sits upon the wooden bench. I am alone. I see myself as the embodiment of many, but I am physically dispatched. My heart beats slowly, wishing it were still dancing. I ignore its incessant beating. It has no right to intervene in my wishes.

A door opens to my left. That boy she kept dancing with is coming to see her. He looks concerned. I roll my invisible eyes and tell her to get rid of him quickly. She refuses. I made her too lonely, she says. The fool takes a seat on the bench. My beloved fades. He is no longer welcome here. I sigh. The boy takes her hand and asks what is wrong.

She shakes her head and, trembling in the cold, pulls her arms tightly around her knees. "I just can't be happy," she says. "My mind keeps telling me all that's wrong with my life, and I can't see a reason to live... I don't mean I'm suicidal, I just don't understand why I am here." She stares down at her hand that he holds. He watches her eyes carefully, looking for a path into her soul. She carefully avoids his gaze. He would not understand, she tells me. He too, is mindless.

He purses his lips and brushes a piece of hair from her face. "If you knew that now, there would be no surprise," he says. "What is the point of life without surprises?"

"But does everything have to be a surprise?" she pleads. "I need to know that it is all worth it."

The wise boy drops her hand and stares straight ahead. He says nothing. She waits, excited. I wait, confused. He turns, lifts her head in his hands, and kisses her on the forehead. He does not let go, but stares through the crystal balls to the future which she holds so dear. He sees me. "Surprise," he says.

The boy slumped against the window smiles at me. I wave shyly, and I take his hand.