I'm Not The Sun

bland

Everything is bland. I have become nearly devoid of emotion and honestly don't know how I feel about that. After everything that has happened in my life I don't expect much. When I was younger I used to cry easily and get mad often. I still get pretty mad a lot actually. But I'm learning to control it. Instead of having some sort of outburst I keep quiet. Deathly quiet. That's how most people know I'm mad and during that time they don't come near me. It's oddly satisfying.

After going through the morning ritual again I sit in my room. I'm so bored. I find myself sitting in at least 20 different positions in 15 minutes.

I ask the guard if I can walk around.

He says yes.

But he has to come to.

So I walk around the confinement center and he stays about ten feet behind me. I walk past large sets of windows that reminds me of a hospital and think about the few times I've really ever been to one. Each time was from almost dying actually. The first time was when I fell off of our house. They thought I had a concussion but all I had was a broken leg. The second time was from an attempted suicide. I don't know what was really going through my head at the time. I think I was just extremely fascinated with death and had nothing to lose. That was four years ago when I was 13. And the last time was when they found me covered in blood after I accidentally killed someone. I went into shock and nearly got hit by a truck. Fun times.

I stop walking and wait for the guard to pull up next to me.

"Is something wrong miss?" The guard asks.

"Please don't call me miss. I'm not a princess. Far from it," I mumble.

"Sorry," he says.

"Do you like working here?" I'm bored out of my mind so I might as well ask some random questions.

The guard looks suprised for a moment before answering. "I...uh...I think I do."

"But you're not sure." I inquire.

"I guess not." He looks away.

"My theory is to do something because you want to do it. Because you like to do it. But that's just my opinion. Straight out of the mouth of a pyschopath." I move a hair out of my face.

"You know, you don't seem like you should be here. Like you're a pyschopath." He looks at me.

"Oh yeah? Then why am I here? Don't think because someone may look innocent that they are." I keep walking. He follows.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to judge or anything."

We keep walking in silence until we pass the lady who works at the front desk. Charla. No miss or missus. Just charla. She has light brown hair and dark eyes. My guess is that she's in her early thirties.

"Phoenix, I'm glad I caught you." She seems almost breathless, like she rushed from her desk.

"Okay...what do you want?"

"You have a visitor," She smiles.

Me? A visitor? Since when do people come to see me? I don't really feel like talking to anyone much but I can't help but wonder who it could be. Charla seems to pick up on my questioning look.

"It's your brother."

I just about choke on the air.

My brother. I haven't seen the guy in weeks. Months. And he thinks that he can just come visit me. Maybe I don't want him to visit me. I do though. Somewhere deep down I probably miss him.

"Okay," is all I manage.

"Okay David, I can take her from here," Charla says.

The walk to the front of the confinement center takes ages. I become fidgety and can't stop chewing on the inside of my cheek. What will he say? What will I say?