Escape Into Life

Part 1: Without

 I live in a house without windows. I am sitting in the most dilapidated attic anyone can ever imagine. The creaky roof boards are about to break, but I hope they do. I don't want to live in this world anymore. I'm sitting scrubbing mud from my shabby boots. All around are my only acquaintances: a burned out candle, incredibly cold floor, dull knife, and piles of seedy old books. I elaborately remember every single nail on the roof, 389 on the left side, 400 on the right side. But everything doesn't make sense because I perceive myself as a caged bird without wings. Since I can't fly, I'm not free.

I've never seen sunlight. I don't remember who I am, I can't even hazily recall my parents' images. I don't know my exact age. I've been starving for eternity because I don't know what food looks like. I've never seen my image in the mirror. I never loved anyone, I never had family because I'm completely out of reality. I feel don't even exist.

I have neither life nor story. I'm addicted to books, I've read one thousand and three of them. And amazingly, after reading all of these piles, I'm absolutely sure that there is only one incessant story, the story of lives. It is significantly noticeable for me that every single book from one thousand and three I've read was filled with someone's life story. This is the purpose of my addicted reading, I want to live vicariously through the stories because I don't have my own.

I want to hear, but I'm deaf. I want to exclaim, but I'm dumb... Sometimes, I put my left ear flush to the wall in an attempt to eavesdrop on someone's voice from the outside. I love to imagine the sound of rustling when I'm touching pages of my dusty books. But every time this endeavour is vain. I can't even hear my dead heartbeat.

Right now I'm closing my eyes. My breath is quickly softening. Suddenly I sense a scent, it is blossoming forth. Dulcet sweet fragrance with gentle hint of something fresh and clean. I hazily see a picture of shadow-figures. Now I can recognize emerged colors, they are still under the pall of darkness... Green, yellow, orange, white. I'm standing amid the field-flowers. Here I am - a boy with sparkling eyes full of curiosity. Everything feels like real, and I can feel the swish of soft grass and resplendent luster of the sun, the serenity of the azure sky. I see an old swing suspended on rusty hooks which is gently vacillating as quiet wind blows. Now I can feel the world!

'Mom,' I quietly murmured. There was a beautiful woman with a long blond braid looking at me. Her lips are flattering, and she is trying to say at least a word in vain, but she shrugs her shoulders and peacefully smiles.

'Mom, why you are mute?' she shrugs her shoulders. 'Do you know who I am?' I murmur desperately. She shrugs her shoulders. Some way I know that this amazing woman is my mom. She is my affinity. I'm crying. Now I know what tears should feel like. I'm afraid to close my eyes because I don't want to lose this glorious place. Suddenly I'm feeling slumber and falling on the cold ground. It is the last time I see my mother's eyes.

Am I here? I'm feeling sudden a chill crawl through my body. I don't want to be awake. Do I really have memories?

Once again, I am sitting in the most dilapidated attic anyone can ever imagine. The creaky roof's boards are about to break down, and I hope they will because I want to be no longer alive. Wait. There is another object. Here are the rusty hooks pegged to the roof. The loop is suspended on them. I want to die. I put a loop on my neck and...