Why, love? Why are we here? Sitting here in this room as if nothing is happening? The banging still hasn't stopped. Yes, sure. There have been breaks - moments of tranquility in the endless sea of pounding - but the relentless pounding persists ever onward.
At times, I am able to forget, to drown it out. Perhaps that's why it stops. I don't always notice the stopping, but one can't ignore when it starts again.
How long has this gone on now? It's been more than a few minutes, but has it been an hour yet? Maybe a few? I left my phone and anything else we could use to tell time behind when we ran in here.
Why did we choose this room of all places? There are no windows, no way to reach the outside world except one. One dreadful portal to freedom, blocked by...
Wait. There it goes again. Silence. A temporary oasis of quiet. Perhaps we could make a break for it. Maybe our villain has left to find other avenues of entry. I understand. It's likely just fatigue. Or maybe it's a trap to get us to try and leave.
Oh, the sinister nature of these things. Hah, sinister. Ironic that I should choose such a word. I, a person born sinister and living that way every day of my life (as I am left-handed, after all), put down by a sinister foe.
Ironic. Is that the correct usage of it? I don't know anymore. I feel as though my mind has taken to the lifeboat and is attempting to sail away from my sinking ship.
Perhaps we should make for the door, and should the cursed intruder be waiting for us I'll...
No! No, no, No, NO NO!!! The incessant banging has returned. It taunts me. It teases me. "Come out and play." True, there are no words. Not really. But I know. I know they're waiting just behind the throat. I hear the taunting lure latch onto my mind, tempting me to just open the door and accept my fate. But I will not give in.
Perhaps you can comfort me? Sing that song you used to sing and help me drown out the creeping madness.
What were we thinking? We need a plan. We will escape. Next time the banging stops, we will make our way out of this room. But we need a plan.
The obvious first step is to attempt to defend ourselves just in case the intruder waits outside the door, but what could we use? I have this pen, but it would require me to get too close if I am to be effective. I could carry the chair, but it would be difficult to swing and could be caught on the door frame.
Ah, I see it. A microphone stand. It's long enough to jab from a distance and easily wieldable. A relic from my younger days come back to grant me older ones.
I remember how I used to say that there was no feeling quite so great as being on a stage. It wasn't the roar of the crowds that couldn't be seen or heard over the lights and music. It was the feeling of being entirely one with myself - being exactly who I am in a way that I never knew how to be otherwise.
But that dream ended long ago. I haven't used this piece in years. Now, it sits as a reminder of a man I once was - a testament to one of the many lives I've had the pleasure to lead.
If my attack is successful, which I must move with certainty that it will be, I need to find my phone. I had been sitting in the living room watching the television when I heard the intruder. The show was nothing special, and I was dreaming of another story - a man, a woman, a life in dreams - while eating chocolate truffles.
I generally leave my phone on the side table when I watch television.
I remember picking it up, though, to start dialing the police.
But then, I dropped it on the floor. I attempted to reach it, but it had slid under the couch.
I'll have to try again to get it. It will make things much easier if I have it. I can call the police. Then I can call someone to pick me up as I run from the house. I know. I know. It makes more sense to do it the other way.
Curse this banging! I cannot concentrate. My head is throbbing, and my pulse is pounding. I feel the heartbeat in my own chest. It's as if my ribs are a nearly failing gate holding back an increasingly strong battering ram. Soon the gates will fail, and the enemy will flood the castle.
Funny how this is not the case with our intruder. Though the banging continues, and it is loud and maddening, there has been no attempt to actually knock down or break through the door. The knock demands, "Let me in!" but it never attempts to force the issue.
My heart and the knocking have synced their rhythms. A beat in need of a song. The beating, despite its breaks, remains perfectly in time. My heart is the metronome that keeps the band from getting off-beat.
Right, I'm getting distracted from the plan now.
Even if our foe is not outside the door, we're not safe until we're outside at the least. Fortunately, there are no surprises between here and the kitchen.
The kitchen - the place where I first spotted my intruder before running in here, standing right by the refrigerator. Wait. That doesn't make sense. I wouldn't have, couldn't have run in here then. I entered from the other side, where the living room is. That would have required me to walk right past the intruder.
No. I ran back into the living room. I remember now. I accidentally tripped over the coffee table, knocking it ajar and... revealing my phone!
Oh yes, it was under the coffee table. That's why I couldn't find it under the couch. I grabbed my phone, and by the time I looked up, the intruder was in front of me somehow, opposite the kitchen.
Then, where did my phone go?
I need my phone. We need to get a ride out of here if we are to be certain of survival. Sure, I can run, but you know I'm not very fast. And I'm very out of shape. I doubt I would last long even with the rush of adrenaline that will likely push me through the first part of my escape.
I made my way through the kitchen, and then? Then, what? There must be something else, but I can't remember.
Ah, yes! Thank you! I tried to find a knife. There were none sitting out, so I checked the drawer. Empty as well. They must be in the dishwasher. I must have set my phone down when I looked in the drawer. It has to be sitting right on top of the counter, next to the picture of us.
Wait. It's stopped. When did it stop? I must have drowned it out again with my scheming. The microphone stand, my phone on the counter, then out the door. Call a car then the police. Alright my love, as they say, here goes nothing.
