The Mind's Electric

The Mind Electric

Think of these thoughts as limitless light. Exposing, closing, circuitry of fright.

Think of each moment holding this breath, as death wishes my pain in decimals.

The room appeared to be moving on it's own. The walls were made out of pure padding, it's cushy exterior a false hope for comfort. Soft. Delicate. Cold. Nevermind, walls couldn't move, it was just my head. I resided in a cell, which was usually a bad thing. The walls were as big as a dreamspace, enough to float around and spiral out of control. But dreams could't flurry here, it would be nightmares instead. I was stuck here. And for what? To keep me safe from the outside world? To keep the outside world safe from me? I forgot

Was this the day of the electric? I'd forgotten. As of late,

I'd been forgetting a lot.

How could I have let this leave my memories? Though ticking away in a tauntingly meticulous manor, I knew today was where my deathbed would stand. My memories were usually hazy, filled with scattering sparks of thought, delivering me and carrying me away. Away from what was to become of the shell I now was. It was becoming harder and harder for me to find my way back to reality. Everything was so scattered.

Today, I'd almost forgotten how to get back to the real world. It seemed as though I'd fallen in a hole I couldn't climb out of. I couldn't see.

Begrudgingly, I soon remembered how to cut the rope from false memoirs. Now, with the memories syringed into my head, the thought of sitting in a sparking chair would be the last my brain ever thought. How comforting.

Death by sparks.

Father would be there, would he not? Seeing to my execution? I was only certain of his glee, knowing he would take joy in the circuitry to be wired within my bones. It was a stinging thought, to see the paleness of his skin smile with sadistic joy. I could understand his disappointment in a wayward sense. I was just his little boy, you see. His messed up, shattered window of a boy. Fathers didn't like it when their windows were broken. And now, I would die.

Yes, father would be there.

I seemed to have fallen in a hole I can't climb out of; I can't see.

I'm falling down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

They knocked my being unconscious, readying the soul for torture. It felt a tad insensitive to let me roll helplessly towards impending doom, but I obliged anyway with expectant fear. How long would they take to prepare my welcome party for the grave? An hour? A year? I'm not certain, but it felt immediate the moment my vision went black.

Skull heavy, my eyes finally opened after five lifetimes of contemplation. The lights were bright, spiraling into an amoeba of judgement across the wood-clad room. I caught the angles of this place's purpose, slowly remembering where I was to be condemned. The room was stained with chairs, worrisome people filling the seats in such content.

I was sitting in a courtroom. A courtroom. For criminals.

Was I a criminal?

I seemed to have forgotten why I was here in the first place. The only reason I had to be in this room was because of something bad I did. Surely the crimes committed by me were nothing but a mere falsehood, a social construct of the ill-minded. I don't have such memories of unlawful acts, so what had I done? Why was I to be stuck in this faulty-martyrous fate?

Oh wait.

I was the shattered window of a boy.

Was my crime being merely broken in the head? Was that such a bad thing; Seeing the world a few degrees to the left?