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 |   All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. |
| Attempt at Allegory When she sidled up, she couldn't match his long strides. Roxanne had introduced herself with simple innocence. He slowed his pace, knew he was not to be left alone, roam free. She had accosted him with such clever sweetness it could make any man's head turn. But, he could not know her. She was not even a vision -- just a guardian to lead him back to his room. Brian had a history of anxiety, meltdowns. He couldn't just wander about, conjecture to the others. He had felt that soft hand guide before. He was always led to quiet places. It was like the smell of glue, crayons and markers -- given busy work to help with the obsessing. Each time he realized even sooner the ruse. Feeling manipulated, he would go along with the game long enough to earn their trust back...again. A door slid partly opened facing a gray wall. "Why are we here?" "This will be your new home in a few years. I thought you would like to see it," Roxanne pleasantly replied. A concrete floor laid before a windowless room. It was just like he imagined: no air vents, square and dead silent. He noticed the peeling numbers '6, 0' on the entry. What he dreaded was presented like a new opportunity, or the beginning of the end. His days wandering the halls were now numbered. Before waking from this dream, Brian had an odd feeling. How long had he lived in this asylum? Maybe, stay in bed a little longer, give lucid dreaming one more try. |
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