Me Still

Big Fishes' Carnival at The Lake - Me Still

Again I sat, resting my hand on the armrest while having the other arm support my temple as I begin once again doing what I have been and will be doing from now on. The sofa I sat on, a sofa only for one person, appeared to be made of dust, for I had never bothered by it nor have I been bothered to clean it. It was as it was, and so would the rest of the house be. Dirty, rotten, uncared for, that’s what this house will be.

It wasn’t as if I enjoyed sitting, staying, being, but with what happened there was not much else to do. The cicadas were loud, yes, but their noise was merely a breeze that came and passed, and much like those who came, would go away in no time, perhaps never to return ever again yet keep returning still. There was no one else to feel this way, to stay with me, to be here, but I had been alone for as long as I remembered, and lonely simply wasn’t me. What was I doing again? Sitting, pondering, perhaps waiting for time to pass. Yeah, I was waiting.

While the house that I claimed to be mine was as big as a mansion, I had only been in this living room, a somewhat cozy room with sofa, a rectangular table with numerous porcelain cups, and a piano, all which had been withstanding age along with me. At noon the curtain couldn’t stop the sunlight from penetrating the window as tall as a man, and width twice its height, while the slowly rotting furniture became a bit brighter, a bit more hopeful. No such thing during the night; it was chilling, dark, and felt like where this place really belongs.

After what seemed like ages being here, an unusual noise came from the front door. I usually would have stayed where I was, not even budging one bit, for I was sure that like others, their presence were nothing but temporary.  There had been people with a bright torch coming into my presence dead in the night, some with this openable mechanism with a glimmering, round glass that was pointed accross the whole room. Some tried to talk to me, but why should I reply? In the end, most would leave. Some had trespassed without any word, sitting right where I should be sitting, and to these people I just expressed my anger by dropping one of the cups on the table, shattering it with a striking impact. Words needn’t be said, and off they go, away from me.

However, this time felt.. different. Again I sat, though, staring lifelessly at the remaining cups, trying not to be bothered by this presence that was different than anything else before. This girl then tried to go into other rooms, as if searching for something, and finally stopped in this room. Unlike many others, she stared at me the moment she entered. That didn’t stop me from being what I had been, though: ignorant and idle.

Her stare continued for a while, before she shifted her gaze to the long sofa next to me, where I was sleeping peacefully for long. I did the same, somehow interested what I looked like while sleeping, and it was weird since I could be looking at the sofa so long as I was here, but was never interested in doing so till now. And there I was, both palms under my head, body rotten from head to toe. Some kind-hearted spiders had taken their time to coat my being with their artwork, giving an ancient feeling to the whole of me. While I was captivated (god knows why) by the sight of me sleeping, a melody began to seep into me. The girl was playing the piano.

Only then did I take a good look at her, from behind, even if the only feature that I could actually notice was her long, silky hair that dances with the music she created with her own hands. Fingers so thin that it barely made it to hit the note, yet the frail touch was what the melody need in order to achieve perfect harmony; it was as if the girl was born to play that melody. Along these tunes she was whispering something that I couldn’t quite grasp, and when I was about to ask her about whatever that she was mumbling about, it hit me that I shouldn’t. Even with her whole being seemingly a bit thinner than most, she was well. Thus I held back.

For the next few days, she repeated the same routine. Before sunset, she would bring a box of strange mix of food, put it between the cups in front of me, and smiled at me? Then she would proceed to play the piano. It was always the same melody, but it wasn’t tiring or boring like the cicadas. Right when the sun finally set and the darkened atmosphere began to cover the house, she would end the melody and walked away without even saying goodbye. Only when she left did I realize that maybe, just maybe, the food was for me. Yet she was well and, if anything, she was the only one to touch that food. She didn’t, though, and that explained the pile of boxes that began to block the cups from my vision.

Another sunset, yet she wasn’t here to play. She crouched next to the sitting me, trying to cover herself with a grey blanket that seemed to swallow her whole. For a moment I thought she was there no longer, until the chill of the night sent her shivering. I was still sitting, thinking that letting her be might be the only act of kindness I could do to repay her company, though I didn’t need it nor did I ask for it. It didn’t feel enough, though.

Deeper into the night, another entered the house, a few it seemed, with their bright torched that pierced through the furniture. There were noises from afar, but it quickly faded; only the creaks of the floor enduring the footsteps echoed. One of them stopped just before stepping into this room,  his bulging eyes seemingly following the torch to scan the place. At his whisper of a name, the girl stopped shivering, staying dead still, although not as still as the sitting me. Maybe she didn’t like to be with another person, so I tried to drive him away by dropping one of the cups. Its shattering sound pierced through the silence under the moonlight, and before long the man was heavily breathing and then running away from the room. I did all I could, I thought to myself.

I felt like pulling the grey blanket, and I did, at which she gasped in terror. Yet after seeing no one that was around to pull the blanket, she sighed in relief. The moonlight was dim, but somehow clear enough to paint my first impression of her beauty. She looked down for a while, and I do hope she didn’t, before finally took her blanket, sit on the sofa across the table, and finally slept. I was then still sitting in front of her, wondering if she would stay – if she would end up like me.