Whatever by Siyana Ivanova

For a moment in the dark, I existed only as the twisted reflection of a shadow, until the rain washed it from the window. The next minute or eon all that was left was the memory of my touch on the glass, as I stood still and waited. Nothing happened.

I breathed again.

The morning came slowly, as does anything you’re waiting for, and anything worth waiting for. Night moved on quickly into nowhere, and as it was spinning away, I felt all the dark-dwelling beings and unbeings attach their claws to it and disappear. I didn’t see the sun, hidden somewhere behind the rainclouds, but I saw its light, grayish and dull, gradually breaking through to the wet glass of my window. The clouds were running away from the crime-scene of last night’s iniquitous storm. It would take, though, at least one more hour of a gray, wet morning until they made their way. I lay still for another half an hour, waiting for my own storm to disappear on the horizon. Then I fell asleep.

Two hours later the sunlight on my eyelids woke me up. Almost eight o’clock. Monday. School. I slowly got up.

Eight fifteen. Classes started. Almost not late.

Random images, random sounds.

Eleven thirty. Lunch break. Random people, faces, hugs, smiles, the bell rings.

Classes.

Random images, random sounds.

Three thirty. On my way home. Random randomness.

Eleven fifty-one. To bed.

I thought it would be another night of waiting, but it wasn’t. I fell asleep almost immediately, but it was not because of the heaviness I felt in all parts of my body. “I fell asleep” is not the right choice of words. “Sleep fell on me” would be closer: as if something pressed hard upon me and pushed me under.

I remember all my dreams. Especially nightmares, because they are always so palpable and somehow immediate, like there is nothing between me and the dream, not even the soothing voice in the back of your head that tells you that you are sleeping and are going to wake.

So I heard it so clear as if it were in my own mind, and still not its creation. A sound so impossible that it could hardly be called a voice.

Hey.

Come here. I’ll tell you a secret.

I felt like I was moving though the blackness.

Don’t be afraid, I couldn’t do anything to you. Just look at me – am I someone who could hurt anybody, even if I wanted to?

It was not trying to make me less afraid. It was mocking me.

I’m so alone… But I guess that’s okay, ‘cause I don’t feel lonely. I don’t feel anything at all.

Then I suddenly realized that I don’t really feel anything anymore either.

So why do I want you to sit beside me and listen to this? I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t know what to do with all this time… I have time till the end of everything. It’s running fast, so fast that I can barely see it, but it’s so much, so long, that it seems I’ll never free myself.

I didn’t want to believe that this conversation, which was indeed a conversation despite my not saying anything aloud, was really happening. But there is a difference between believing and knowing, and I knew.

No, I am not alive. I guess I once was. But now I am not alive. I am not here, I am nowhere. Nowhere is everywhere. The difference between those two things is slight, still huge. Nobody can be everywhere, but some can be nowhere…

Nowhere. Nowhere.

Don’t try to touch me. You won’t like it. I’m too cold.

I wouldn’t. It was mocking me. It knew something I did not know.

I know you want to say something to me, but you don’t know what… Or you just think I’m insane… Well, maybe I am. But don’t say anything – I hate hearing human voices. They are too alive. I like listening to the wind’s voice.

I was the insane one. And the schizophrenic voice in my head was making fun of me.

Hmm, I’ve said too much already… I talk too much, don’t you think so?

Stop it.

I promised to tell you a secret. I’ll do it, and I’ll let you go. You shouldn’t stay with me for too long.

Stop it now. I want to go.

So, my secret is this: Death does not exist…

My eyes opened wide in a fraction of a second and I stared into the ceiling. Morning. It was cold, extremely cold.

Tuesday. School. I slowly got up.

Eight fifteen. Classes started. Almost not late.

Random images, random sounds.

Eleven thirty. Lunch break. Random people, faces, hugs, smiles, the bell rings.

Classes.

Random images, random sounds.

Three thirty. On my way home. Random randomness.

Eleven fifty-one. To bed.

That night I fell asleep again. Only this time I didn’t know which one of the two realities was a dream. I didn’t know if I was going to sleep or waking up.

I couldn’t know anymore.