Most Likely to Survive the Apocalypse
I think I'll just hide out here until the coast is clear. Until the monsters have made themselves scarce. I hear them at night when they think I'm sleeping. Stirring, scratching, creeping. In here, I'm as safe as I make myself. I feel shadows dance by the windows but they can't get in. So I keep on dancing in the shower, protected by the walls that separate us and them. I feel their eyes on me from a safe distance, so every once in a while I will put on a show for them. I will fashion a stage and flash a bit of a smile and put on a classic side face, the kind that makes my cheekbones look just right under the lights, just in case they're still watching. I don't know if they really are though but I don't know that it matters much either way. I don't have more than this corner to myself, but it shape-shifts into a castle when I let it. Perspective warps time and space that way. Expanding and contracting like the highway does behind the headlights of a long drive. The way the minutes make themselves known differently depending on how much caffeine and nicotine I've had a chance to consume. You can get lost going in one direction if you're not careful. If the road doesn't veer for you after a while, your mind will take the wheel. You'll start seeing them, hearing them a bit differently. Start recounting the things you wish you could have stopped or slowed. You'll drive on, numb to the blinding lights before you and you'll start reliving the moments in parked cars where you got out too soon. Where you said too much, where nothing you'll say will ever be enough. Life stretches on like that, but I can wait it out. Here I am, under the safety of the same worn sweater I've worn since the day I got in. Haven't seen the road in months but when the minutes are what you make of them, you'll do what you can to keep the beasts at bay. It helps when you can get lost in your brain that way. It's a form of survival, I think, as long as you don't let your guard down long enough to let them trick you. I hear them knocking, and I'll do what I can to resist the urge to let them in.
Leave a Reply.
One sketch + one story, all October.
Author | Artist