Wistful Declarations

Our slient battles

I wake up to the familiar sound of large and rough voices.

Shouting, fighting against each other.

Using tricks and short comebacks. To see who hits the hardest.

A long ringing buzz.

I blink open my eyes, trying to make out my surroundings.

But nothing has changed.

The walls are plain and tall and the floor is solid and cold beneath me.

The blanket isn’t doing its job and leaves me half uncovered. And itchy.

I stand up and my feet tense. My back is stiff and my breath husky.

A silhouette passes in front of the door and I can see the slowing shadow of feet stop.

The door is thrust open and I step forward. Keeping my head down as the guards pass by. Scrutinizing each and every one of us.

As I am standing there I begin to notice the dozen or so other clenched toes.

And I know this is going to be a rough day.

All of a sudden I hear a pair of stomping feet. My breath staggers as I come back.

DARN DAY DREAMER. He yells as he approaches. Shoving his way next to my ear.

YOU FEELIN’ ALRIGHT? He smells of beer and rage.

I don’t answer.

I silently hit myself. AREN’T YOU A BLODDY IDIOT? We both think as he paces back.