I knew everyone was staring at me. I could feel their eyes lift from their computers as if I was more important than what was shown on their screens. It always happens like this. Someone opens a goddamn door and everyone’s heads peak up one after another like a deer in headlights. The deceivingly high ceilings make me feel like I am trapped in a small box. A box that is full of high-tech machinery and countless books that have pretty much claimed their spot as they look like they have not been touched in years.
I was tempted to sit by a computer. The luminescent blue screen was calling my name. Yet I was hesitant because as I took a few steps closer I began to witness the fog, and suddenly the sounds of the typing and printing and clicking became the only sounds I was capable of hearing. I could feel the combine creeping around me like a cheetah ready to pounce on its prey. The combine wasn’t going to swallow me this time. I had survived all these years in the asylum. I had eluded the grasp of not only the combine itself, but its main benefactor as well. The big nurse was the key contributor to the combine. She was like the ringleader in a loony circus full of ‘crazies’. I felt most vulnerable to the combine while in her presence, yet as I stand in this room I feel as though I am as defenseless as ever like a Cuckoo bird that had just fallen from its nest in hopes that it could fly.
The fog is past my hips at this point and my feet are no where to be seen. I close my eyes expecting that my mind is just fooling me and that I’m not really experiencing this state of loneliness. But how can something be imagined if it was seen by a man himself?
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