Unknown Location “The Non-Thing”

“I really tried this week. I really did. I got plenty of rest, ate all the meals I was supposed to have. I even went for a walk in a local forest preserve. But I can't seem to gather my thoughts. I get halfway through making a sandwich and have to check what I put on it. Just this morning I woke up and went to my window and looked outside at the street.

There were a few cars parked. The sun was only just rising. It was gray and cold looking. My vision clouded, and I zoned out. Staring at nothing. Focusing on nothing. By the time I came to, my left leg had fallen asleep and my right leg was aching. I woke up at seven, and didn't come back until nine.

I read somewhere that zoning out is a sign of stress. Our brain is trying to get us to stop so it can rest. I don't know what is bothering me. I don't feel much of anything. I feel hot and cold, like the heat coming off my computer. Or the cold of the kitchen floor. I don't feel happy or sad. I just feel numb.

Empty.

I keep a notepad next to my bed. For ideas. Every morning I check it to see if I scribbled something in it. Last few days I have drawn the same picture over and over again. I have a bottle of ink for crafts. I had grabbed it while cleaning out an old house. When I wake up, my fingers are stained black, like I had been working with my hands. And every morning there are more pictures.

Pictures of a head, framed in smeared blackness. It has a face like porcelain, and white, vacant eyes. It does not smile. I don't think it can. It is simply a face in the void.

I close my eyes, and I listen to the sounds of birds and of passing traffic. I feel the heat of sun on my face, and the texture of blood running down my cheek. My head is pure and devoid of unnecessary thoughts.

It looks at me. It looks at all of us. And when it does it takes something away.

I've gone through this so many times already. It is three now. I started writing at ten. Just can't seem to focus. I want to be awake. Make phone calls. I can't remember numbers. Can't remember how I know people listed in my phone. It is all so far from me. Everything is far from me. I am in a glass box. I watch Matt move.

My name is Matt.

It has white eyes. It wants to be drawn. With my fingers. With Matt's fingers. Fingers in ink. Fingers in dirt and blood. In coals. Coals for their eyes. I have to give it image. It can't just rest in my head. It takes up too much space. There isn't any more room. The longer it sits, the more I forget.

I get to keep one. A memory. When I zone out, I think of it. I am sitting on a rock, looking at the sky. The sun settles above the horizon. Larger than the horizon. It is the horizon. It burns with white fire. The world is made of black and white. Shadows stretch long, the sun coming down to earth. To the planet. It is falling.

The sun stops. All is black.

I am allowed to keep that memory.

It isn't my memory.

Why is it coming after me?

She says she is worried. The one texting me right now. I tell her I am alright. My screen timed out. I try again. The password isn't right. Wrote it down. Where is the paper? Found the paper. Told her I am alright. I already told her that. The sky is bleeding. The sun is setting.

I feel something. I feel petrified. I am waiting for the sun to end. To be swallowed whole. Then I will be like it. I will be an imprint. Non existence imprinted onto reality.

I don't feel tired. I am supposed to sleep now. I set an alarm. Sleep can wait.

I am looking at the night sky. There are stars, burning bright. White suns, waiting to fall into the worlds. Long time ago I knew the constellations by heart. I learned them to impress someone. I wanted to impress a girl. It worked. We dated. She cheated. We ended.

It ended.
The stars are wrong. Big dipper. Easy enough. It is missing stars. Constellations are missing. In ways. Virgo. The Hydra. Corvus and Crater. They are gone altogether. There are more now. More stars. But the wrong stars.

Writing hurts me. I want to see. I am in trouble. Focus. Focus dammit. Focus.

Focus.

There are so many stars. I must have blinked. There are less. There are more and less.

There is a face framed in black. No joy or sadness. No fear or pain. Nothing. Void. Empty. A non existence.

Pages upon pages. Pages upon Pages.

I really tried this week. I really did. I got plenty of rest, ate all the meals I was supposed to have. I even went for a walk in a local forest preserve. But I can't seen to gather my thoughts. I get halfway through making sandwich and have to check what I put on it. Just this morning I woke up and went to my window and looked outside at the street.

The face.

It is a scream.”

Been having to close up the museum on my own lately. The crew I normally work with haven't been coming in. I don't mind though. It gives me time to have the place all to myself. It is just me, and all those exhibits. When I am alone, I close the windows. Eric says it gets stuffy in here, but I love it. That wonderful smell of damp and moss collects itself after I the cold breeze of the night has been cut off. It gets warm, like a sweater.

Sometimes when I am all by myself I light a candle and wander about the place. It is like a ghost town, a place abandoned. The light of a candle makes strange shadows on the walls. It makes me feel close to this place, as if by seeing it like this I somehow see it more intimately than other people do.

And sometimes I wander around with the lights off completely, using the light from the streets to make my way around. I can close my eyes, and I can hear the building creak and shift. It has always marveled me how a building of brick can make so much noise, but it does. And when it is dark and I am sitting on the floor, I feel as if I'm the only one in the world.

It is fun to feel that way, every once in a while.

I hope to hear from you again soon. Hopefully your neighbors will calm themselves long enough for you to get enough rest. Can't imagine the quarantine is helping with their fighting. Everyone is getting a little stir crazy, and are maybe a little sick of each other.

I still haven't settled on what the first thing I want to do when things open up again. Probably get myself a malt, and probably eat something greasy. After that, maybe I'll go to the beach. There is a nice one up in Kenosha. When you come stateside, we should go.