A vignette I wrote about “Lain” a while ago
Enjoy!
I sighed as I stared at my white ceiling; its smooth surface would have reflected my disheveled figure, if it were a pond. My iPod lay beside me, looping music into my ears; I cocooned myself in a fluffy duvet, while I listened to a song with the same name. “And you don’t seem to understand,” I sang quietly, to nobody. My room is messy; if books were flora, then my room would be a garden. From the Mahogany floor, trunks of novels crawled towards the ceiling, while bushes of romances and adventures bloom up around them. Leaves of history, psychology, and self-improvement guides lay scattered haphazardly, like the brightly colored mess in Fall. Everything bathed in the cold, blue streetlight. And if books were flora, and the streetlight an icy sun that stared through the window beside my bed, then my computer must have been the moon, infinitely closer and more tangible. It whirred softly, a cascade of soft light emanating from the monitor as it lounged utop a wooden desk. This is my room; it is always cold.
A peal of laughter sounded outside, shattering the silence, so, I sat up and looked to my right. Below me, five friends came strolling down the street; I think I recognized them from school. They were prepared for the freezing winter weather; they wore fluffy coats, nylon jackets, sweatpants, ragged jeans, hats, and beanies, while their breath formed wispy clouds. Though it was late, they spoke energetically, as smiles and giggles and snickers and joy radiated from their faces. As they passed the house across from me, two of them, a boy and a girl, fell behind a few paces. I remember them clearly: there was an exchange between the couple, a fair-skinned young man, and a tanned, petite blond. Though I didn’t hear a single word, their lips moved as if in slow motion; their lips formed three syllables. Then, they met. The couple walked on into the chill, hand in hand. They never noticed me.
Without looking away, my hand fumbled for a book by my bed; it embraced a dry, dusty paperback. Finally, I tore my eyes away from the deserted street and whispered to it, “oh, Velveteen Rabbit, am I cursed with some disease like you?” Sometimes, one can only wonder instead of knowing. I returned the book to its place, arose from my comfort, and shivered. Taking a deep breath of that stuffy, frigid air, I tiptoed carefully over to my desk, quietly singing, “I am hurting…” With the touch of a button, countless eyes turned towards me, saw me. “I am losing…” Already, they were greeting me; in that moment, I knew I wasn’t lonely. “Help me to breathe...” But, I know I was lying to myself.