Sundays are a day off from the A to Z Blogging Challenge so to keep my posting momentum I am posting a piece of flash fiction I wrote.
Damn It All
I don’t want to talk about it anymore. The truth of it is that I am all talked out. I’m sick of talking, I’m sick of the sound of my voice in my ears and I am sick of the feeling of it in my throat and I’m sick of the vibration in my tongue and in my teeth and in my brain and I am sick, sick, sick of the whole damn thing. I don’t care what you think about it and I don’t care what you think about me, I only care to lay my head right down here on this table and breath in and out really slow.
That’s all I can do right now is concentrate on my breathing. I don’t think it is fair of you to ask me for anything else because I just can not do it. I cannot do anything else but sit in this chair and put my forehead on this table and breathe in and out. Frankly if you had asked me five minutes ago then I’m not sure I could have even done that. So that’s a kind of progress right, to go from not being able to do something to being able to do it? That’s a way of improving or at least of moving? I’m not sure if I am moving forward, it might be forward, but it is definitely moving and it is not moving backwards because I feel like I am getting somewhere, I’m not getting worse at it so I must be getting better. A kind of better at least.
But I won’t keep getting better if you are going to make me talk about it. I can’t imagine talking about it right now. I can’t imagine forming my lips around the words, I can’t imagine that they will come out of my mouth. Instead I will have a big pile of words hanging around in the back of my throat and then I will choke on them and you will feel terribly guilty because you were so determined to make me talk all about it. And I don’t want to talk about it, not one bit. I don’t know what else I could say to make you understand and I don’t know why you think that making me talk more about it will be any sort of solution. I understand that we are all supposed to buy into the idea that talking will make it all better but I am not purchasing that. I will return that to the store, I will sell it to someone else. I do not want to own that.
I want to just sit here.
I want to sit here with my head on the table.
I want my forehead here on the table, I want to breathe in and out. And I want to do that slowly and I want to feel a bit more calm with each exhale. Breathe in, breath out. Warm forehead on cold table.
Damn it all, I just want some quiet.