I’ve always been a loner, enclosing myself inside my imagined paradise between these many walls. I had become an agoraphobic, never realizing how much of an impact it was having on my mind. I developed a very, intriguing since of imagination, striking up conversations with the random objects I decided to keep after my parents died, leaving this house to me. So many memories of pain and neglect that have trapped me within this never ending cycle of insanity and lucidity. I walk around this lonely prison, trying to conjure up the courage to escape, but he won’t let me.
He, the one who has kept me in a servile state of mind since the embryonic stages of my grieving. He, the one who remains the pinnacle of my conversations, while trapped inside his unnecessary agony. See, my parents had quite the talent; staring into their misty irises, imagining their nonexistent remorse, while they slowly lose consciousness sitting in that well deserved grave, I think about the many people stolen from their families, used in horrific experiments. Experiments only the disturbed could imagine, let alone conduct. Which brings me back to him.
My sanity through all the madness; the one I call, him. He lives, trapped inside the cold wasteland where my rotten, untouched food stays in the no longer working appliance. His body coiled into the many wires and electronics that kept the machine running for many, many years, disassembled and reconstructed in the most unimaginable ways. He has grown up here, through all the news reports and fliers of his disappearance flooding the media. I’ve always been aware of my parents activities, it’s why my guilt of being silent all those years, won’t allow me to leave this house. It is now foreclosed and on the market for resale. I can’t allow this place to be purchased, not while his moans and screams are so prominent. Not with all of the lost souls incased inside this home, allowing their presents to be known. There is a tour scheduled for today, as I grab my tools from the basement, its space occupied by the experiments I can now call my own, I wonder, who will the next victim be?
