Space

            He sat on that couch and felt his legs burn. He was afraid to look down and see the fire, even though he knew it wasn't there. His lips were chapped from imagined heat while his fingertips were frozen. His head felt too large, and he let it bob slowly while almost forgetting that he was surrounded by other people. The other people around him had certain smells. Sweat and drugs permeated his throat and he tried to remember if he liked it that way. Choking on wrong things. He wondered if he had bad breath. His arm was too heavy to lift even if he wanted to check. He was on fire, yet pronounced goosebumps with needles of hair layered his arms. The skin on the back of his neck was tight, and he felt a ghost's hand glide its way in his scalp and set his hair aflame. It was like a tidal wave. He was completely alone yet no one could touch him.

          Completely alone yet surrounded by people. Sitting on a dirty couch in a smoky house with people who were different. He watched them. He watched them run with worn shoes because their parents didn't love them enough to buy them new ones. He watched a pile of lonesome bodies sit in a recliner and laugh about nothing he understood. He watched people who were dazed just as he was, yet in a completely different way.

          He was alone with everyone else.

          Lifting his head, he rose his slow eyes to look out of the black window. Flakes of snow hit the glass like sparks and if he didn't feel so blurry he would've raised his eyebrows in surprise. When had it started snowing?

          That tidal wave of ache scorched over his body again and his lips parted in panic. Just an inhale of healthy air might help, but he couldn't move. That wave of cold fire slid over his chest and up his neck, cutting off his breath. And then that ghostly hand would climb its way into his hair and leave another fire there.

          Every nerve was on end and he couldn't yell for help.

          He was on the wrong side of the window – he wanted to be outside. He was trapped in a lonesome house with too many people. He was in a snow globe and he couldn't remember how he got in.

          Because that's how a snow globe is. Outside, it looks pretty and glittery and inviting. You shake it and the adrenaline starts. Everything inside seems interesting and new and free, because where you are, it isn't.

          Where he was, it wasn't. When he walked into that snow globe, he couldn't remember his old room with a dip in the floor because he paced so much. He didn't think about his door that couldn't lock and his father screaming on the other side. He didn't think about the dusty, clustered clothes hanging in his closet.

          Everything was always cold. Intangible for someone like him. Silent. Emotionless.

          So he ran. He ran so fast that his legs were always tired and on fire. He ran right for the snow globe full of people and lights. And when he turned around, the glass was behind him and all he could see was space.

          And that's how he feels now. Like space. Freezing yet scorching. Floating yet heavy. Right there on that couch, yet irrevocably alone.