ennui

I threw the ball in the air again.

Bump.

White ceilings, cold lights.

Bump.

Trapped, not physically.

Bump.

I made this prison myself.

Bump.

I could've done anything, gone anywhere, my power limitless and my youth slipping.

Bump.

I am so young.

Bump.

But I feel like I've lived for far too long.

Bump.

Throwing again and again and again.

Bump.

Each thunk on the ceiling feels like this self-made ennui and exhaustion extends.

Bump.

I don't want to be alone.

Bump.

I just want to be alone.

Bump.

I have things to do, other than just stare listlessly at this ball.

Bump.

So why can't I move?
Bump.

I need to make a noise.

Bump.

Prove I still exist.

Bump.

The ball is silenced.

And I shatter.

White ceilings, cold lights.

Express yourself.

I did.

Tell us how you feel.

I cannot.

Why?

My anger is endless, as is the cold emptiness I feel.

Well.

Let's get you back.

Bump.

White ceilings, cold lights.

Bump.

The ball hits the ceiling again.

Bump.

Self-made hell.

Bump.

My own choice.

Bump.

Someone says something regarding me that deserves speculation.

Bump.

A name?

Bump.

I laugh, a harsh cry.

Bump.

What name?

Bump.

I am nobody.

Bump.

No name should be attributed to me.

Bump.

Can you tell us why?

No.

How do you feel right now?

Blank.

White ceilings, cold lights.

They took it away.

They took it all away.

You aren't allowed until you can tell us.

What part do you not understand?

Bump.

White ceilings, white walls.

One light.

They're trying to kill me now.

Can you please just tell us?

Tell you what?

Tell you what you want to hear?

That I've trapped myself in here with good reason?

Yes, something like that. Just something, please.

I want to leave.

You came here of your own accord.

As you always do when you're alone.

What?

Leave.

No—what? What is this?

You want to go, so free yourself.

Leave.

How?

Try.