Apocalypse

I hear it, but I pretend I don't. I keep my eyes on the puzzle in front of me.

But do you know when your eyes go out of focus? And you're looking but you're not?

That's what it's like. I lean on one hand and hold a piece in the other, scanning my progress. But I can't, not with the sounds. I won't turn around, I tell myself. If I'm not going to ignore it, I at least won't give it my full attention. The world can come and go, end and end again, but I will not give it my full attention. That's what I tell myself.

I got out of bed at 3 today. The day was wasted and my hope was long gone, has been long gone, but I cleaned. I showered, then did my laundry, then wasted time and then put away my laundry. I dusted and broomed and mopped. Forgot to do the mirrors, but I had wanted to.

I haven't eaten anything yet. I don't have the courage to go to the fridge.

But it's only 8. Who knows what'll happen.

The sounds get louder. I wait. I feel myself still. I'm frozen, and I want to move, but I can't.

You have my attention.

I hear the creak of floorboards, the gentle thumps on stairs. Sounds I've only ever heard of myself. It's strange. Like hearing myself from someone else's perspective.

You sound like me.

Louder now. Doors in this hallway open and shut, quietly, almost politely. How silly, I want to think. It's like an echo in my brain. You'll find me in the only room without a door.

Terror crowds me now, but I feel hollow. It fills me up, not like liquid, like gas, as if it were not there. I feel something rising in me, a shadow, and I cannot think.

When you approach this room, the last room, I am paralyzed. If there was a bloodhound, it would smell the tears burning my eyes. Do you smell them?

What does death smell like? Do you smell it now?

Is it quiet? I cannot tell. My heart is pounding in my ears, in my head. I feel my pulse in my fingertips. The puzzle piece bends between them.

You linger in the doorway and I wonder if time is standing still. Is this what death feels like? Eternal?

"Hello," you say softly. I am paralyzed in my death, in my pulsing fingers and in the prickling in my eyes. In the floor that has begun to feel like the crushing of my bones.

Then you approach me and I feel a tear escape the bubble of my waterline and suddenly the world is back in motion. I blink and put the puzzle piece down. I'm too afraid to turn around.

I clear my throat, so quietly that it doesn't work, and I do it again.

"I know I wanted this, but I'm scared," I say, hoping my voice is strong enough. It wouldn't matter though. The dryer has already turned off and this part of the world is dead.

"You wanted this?" you ask, and your voice is hoarse. But gentle.

I can't find it in me to speak again, so I nod. You stop moving. My breath sounds too loud.

"I won't hurt you," you say.

More tears spill, and I wipe them quickly, out of instinct.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

"Are you behind me?" I ask, and fear injects itself into my voice without my permission.

"I am."

"Do you look like them?" I ask, wondering again if death is eternal.

"I do."

I turn my head to look.

You do look like them, actually. You are hideous, but you are handsome underneath. You were.