Tiny Man Hiding in the Window

I've seen you there, tiny man hiding in the window. And I don't think what you're doing is right. I don't.

The things you've shown me, the things you've said. They're all things that have no place buried in my head.

You come out at night and I wish I knew why no one else could see you but me. I wish I knew what it all means.

I write stories of you, I do. I write them because no one believes me. I write them because they're comforting. I write them because I like you. Because you're mine.

You've come to me, tiny man hiding in the window. You've come to me when the others have left. You've come to me in my time of need and, for that, I can never repay you. For that, I owe you the world. And more.

I still remember the first night I saw you. The first night you showed me the other world. The place where you come from and where I long to be.

This is the story I tell the most. The story I need the others to hear. But the others don't like what you've done to me. They don't like that you've changed me, tiny man.

But I don't need them. I really don't. Not when I have you.

You'll never leave me, right?

I hope not.

Don't go away. Not yet.

I want to grab my notebook so I can write of this night. The last night I'll spend with you, tiny man hiding in the window. Because tonight, I want to go with you. I want to hide in the window too.

I want to see the world from the other side. I want the chance to experience everything for the first time again. I want to be taken.

Taken from the wreckage I've let myself become.

Taken from the world that ignores me. The world that doesn't know I'm even here.

Taken from the monotonous routine of waking without a purpose.

So, tiny man hiding in the window, I want you to know I'm ready.

Ready and willing and eager and alone.

That's the best kind to take. Remember? That's what you told me. You told me to be ready when the day came I knew I'd be ready. I knew it'd be my turn to shine. I've been waiting, tiny man. I was afraid you'd never come back.

But you're not like the others. You don't disappoint.

I brought everything you asked for. I have the rope and the phone and the chair and the matches and the candles, tiny man. I have it all. It was the first time I'd ever stolen anything and, if your plan works, it'll be the last.

The room is caked in a cloud of smoke and a shield of sulfur from the matches that have accumulated at the base of a cherry candle I had problems lighting.  It was too much for to take and I started coughing. Though faint, I heard the disappointment in his voice. He won't admit it, but the coughing was what bothered him. The tiny man didn't like when I couldn't show my weakness.

His voice was powerful and rich and deep and controlling. It was music to my hears as it filled my head and consumed my every thought. No one else heard him.

And that was all right with me.

I asked the tiny man hidden in the window if he was finally ready to meet me. Like for real meet me. He answered almost immediately, though not with words. I could feel his response.  I could sense that he was ready and I couldn't barely hide my excitement. I always loved trying new things.

He told me to climb the chair and I did. He told me that I needed to call my sister and ask her to stop by the house. Ask her if she wouldn't mind feeding my kitty while I stepped out for a few days and I did.
Then he asked me to climb the chair and slip the rope around my neck and I did.

"Now," said the tiny man hiding in the window, his deep, baritone whisper of a voice filling my head with a clarity and calmness like I've never experienced before nor since.

I did what he said and dangled there, the wooden chair crashing to the ground. I'm not sure, but I think I saw my sister right before I got on the other side. She looked confused and angry and hurt and sad, but I knew all that would pass. The tiny man said so.

It got dark for me for a minute. I called and I called and I called, but the tiny man hiding in the window didn't respond. Not this time.

From the tiny man's side, my world seemed all too clear. I could see things ... all of things in all of time and I could decide which places to visit and which lives to invade.

I was on his side and I was happy because it was all I ever wanted.

I looked back through the window I had come through, and that's when I was sure I saw my sister. She was crying and I was on the floor, though I hadn't seen how I got there.

It hurt me to think this way but, deep down, I knew she'd get over it. Over me. She'd realize that the times we had were great and I never meant to hurt her. Had she seen the tiny man hiding in the window, roles would've been reversed, I know it.

I watched her and I felt uneasy.

I watched her and I wanted to scream out in anger because there he was.

There on the other side - my side - was the tiny man hiding in the window.

I've seen you there, tiny man hiding in the window. And I don't think what you're doing is right. I don't.
You lied to me and I bought into it and I can't take it back.

You said your world - this other world I'm trapped in - was the ticket to eternal bliss. To a shot at never being down again. You said these things and you promised I'd get to be with you.

You promised me, tiny man, and you broke it. You broke me.

I've seen you there, tiny man hiding in the window and I wish I hadn't. I wish I never came across your face and your voice and your lies and your betrayal.

I listened, tiny man, because I thought you were sharing something with me.

I listened and I acted and I did what you said, tiny man and it ruined my life.

I want to get my old life back, tiny man hiding in the window, but you said from the start it was a one way trip.

Her Lost Shoe

Shoe by zpitt27 on deviantART

Storytime

"Tell us a story, Grandpa."

"What kind of story?"

"How about something scary?"

"Scary, huh? I don't really know that I know a lot of scary stories."

"Then just tell us a story of when you were younger. We don't want to go to bed yet, Grandpa."

"Yeah. We're not tired."

"Okay, okay. Let me think."

"Yay!"

"Hmm, now that I think about it, I guess I do know sort of a scary story."

"Tell us! Tell us!"

"I will, but first you hafta get covered up. Gotta make sure the boogeyman can't get at you."

"The boogeyman isn't real, Grandpa. Mommy told us so."

"Don't tell her I said so, but your mother is full of shit."

"Grandpa! You owe me a dollar."

"I'll leave it on your dresser, okay? Now go on. Get covered. This is the story of how Grandpa lost his best friend."
---
"So I found something today, Sadie. Something huge. Well, not so much huge in terms of size and everything, but huge in its importance. Are you ready for this?"

"Yeah...I guess so."

"I found a robot."

"A robot? That's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it?' It's a fucking robot. How often have you come across a real robot?"

"Well fuck, Race. I don't know. At a toy store, prolly."

"This isn't a toy though. It's a robot."

"Yeah ... I heard you the first time, and I'm still not impressed. Actually, I'm less so now because you keep going on about it."

"Jesus, you're a dick."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, Sadie. A dick. You're being a complete dick.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too, babe. Listen to me for a second though."

"I've heard about all I can take."

"Well then lemme show you at least."

"Fine. But make it quick. I got shit to do."

"Check it out. Isn't this shit cool as fuck?"

"That's it?"

"...Yeah. I fucking told you it wasn't that big in size, but I guess you really don't listen to me like you claim to."

"Oh I listen. I listen plenty. It's just that all I really seem to hear anymore coming out of your mouth seems to be nothing more than a load of bullshit, Race."

"I could say the same thing about you."

"Really? So what you're trying to tell me is that you hate me."

"What? I never said that."

"You implied it."

"The fuck ... How?"

"By telling me that everything I say is bullshit."

"That's not what I said. You're just twisting shit now."

"I know."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome ... and also running out of time to impress me with this robot of yours."

"Shit. Uhh, lemme see. I mean I kinda found it just laying in the snow and everything, but it kinda created a crater and it was smoldering and everything."

"So it's a robot that also fell from the sky? That is pretty cool. I'm leaving now."

"No, wait! There's more to him, You're just rushing me."

"You're goddamn right I am. I'm still not impressed by a dinky little robot that's rusted through. I can see your shit through the body of him for chrissakes."

"It's not all about appearance, y'know."

"Well, it definitely helps. Can he ... it even walk?"

"Uhh. Good question. I haven't really tried."

"Wow."

"What? I just found him and brought him here, Sadie. Cut me some slack."

"Wait. This doesn't make sense."

"What do you mean?

"You just said you found it --"

"Him."

"It, Race. You found it in a crater and it was smoldering."

"Yeah. I did. What's your point?"

"And you just told me that you have no idea whether or not it can walk because you were so excited to have found a fucking robot that you rushed over here as soon as you could, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well if the crater it created was still smoldering, hold in the hell were you able to pick him up right away without burning the fuck outta yourself?"

"I dunno. It wasn't hot."

"I should've known."

"You done?"

"I guess so."

"Well, here. Lemme set him down. I'm sure he'll walk to you, babe."

"That thing comes anywhere near me, I'll kick the shit out of it."

"Well that's not very nice. I don't tell you that when your parents visit."

"Yeah, because you know my mom would beat your ass."

"I dunno about that."

"I do ... and see? That piece of shit isn't moving."

"He's prolly still frozen or something."

"True. Or, and this is probably the case, it's just a piece of shit. Bye, Race."

"He's not a piece of shit. He's prolly a collectible or something."

"I highly doubt that."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing, really. Just looks like there's a button or something on his back. Maybe I was supposed to push that."

"Maybe."

"Hang out with me for one more second. At least see what this guy does."

"Fine. But this is it. I really have other shit I gotta do."

"Ready?"

"Sure.Why not?"

"Sweet shit."
---
"I'll never forget that day."

"What the hell, Grandpa? What happened when you pressed the button?"

"Oh, you girls don't wanna hear that kind of thing, I promise."

"Grandpa, you said you were gonna tell us a scary story. Nothing happened."

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah, Grandpa."

"Fine, fine. So I pushed the button, but it was stuck because he was rusty, y'know? Actually that's what I named the robot. Rusty. I loved that fucking thing."

"Grandpa!"

"Right. Another dollar on the dresser. Anyways, I pressed the button and Sadie stood there, waiting. Growing impatient. I remember she started stomping her foot on the ground, kinda like when your mother gets upset with me when I let you girls stay up late watching movies you're far too young for. Point being, Sadie was upset with me and I was growing nervous. I started thinking the robot really was a piece of junk and I had been holding out hope that I found some sorta supernatural being from another world or something equally as obnoxious. I had pushed the button in on Rusty as hard as I could and I remember the sound it made. Scraping and grinding as the button slowly made its way into the inner recesses of the robot's body. Then he started getting hot and I couldn't figure out why. It was a heat I've never been able to come across since that day. By all means, I should've had third degree burns on the palm of my hand, because that fucker got red hot and you could smell him burning. Hell, I thought I could smell my flesh burning too, but it wasn't. I can't explain it, but my hand wasn't burning at all.

"Then the screaming started. It was Sadie and I think she must've been screaming out my name or something similar because she kept staring at me with this look on her face like she wanted to kill me. That's when I realized why I kept smelling burning flesh. It was hers.

"It started with her legs. I hadn't noticed that there was a laser coming from the robot's eyes because I had been so confused about everything else going on. Her screaming had grown and became so high pitched that my ears started bleeding. She kept crying for help, but there was nothing I could do. It all happened so fast, yet seemed to have lasted an eternity. Her legs had become a sort of gelatinous pool as she started melting in front of my eyes.

"Then I remember the smoke billowing out from her ears, like a teapot you'll see on cartoons, only she shouldn't have been boiling. Blood started pouring from her eyes in a slow, steady stream where it gathered in her mouth. Her screams became a gurgled, mess of incoherence as her voice ceased to be. Just like that, I had to watch her body melt into the earth as quietly as when a fresh powdery snow dances its slow waltz to join its stark white brethren.

"There was a pop then, at the end. I don't know what it was, but I'll never forget that sound. Not that you'd know from experience, but it sounded like the cross between popping a cork from a bottle of champagne and the dull thud of someone's fist makes when it punches some unlucky son of a bitch.

"It was done then and I fell to my knees. I dropped the robot as tears I couldn't control streamed down my face. I sat there in a dazed silence for a good hour. Maybe two. You kinda lose track of time when you watch a person turn to a jellied pool of flesh and bone.

"I couldn't sleep for weeks. And you wanna hear the best part?"

"...S-sure, Grandpa."

"Every night I would hold that robot out in front of my face and I'd press that button, hoping that I'd get to join Sadie once again. Hoping that by taking my life in the same way she lost hers, I'd be able to sleep. It was selfish of me to think that way, but I couldn't help it. But every time I pressed that button, nothing happened. Not a goddamn thing."

"...Grandpa?"

"Yes, honey."

"Where's the robot now?"

"I think it's time you paid a little more attention to your surroundings, sweetheart."

"What do you mean?"

"The lamp right on the table in between your beds, girls. That's the robot. I recycled him. I know I should've trashed it, but I couldn't bring myself to. Deep down, there's still a part of me that wishes I could press that button and join Sadie, but I'll be damned if it works. Sweet dreams, girls."

Don't Tell...

I have a secret.

I just overheard something and my mind is racing and I wanna tell someone because I feel that if I don't I'll explode. But I can't just tell anyone. This secret is the kind of thing that could make heads explode because of how great it is ... I mean if that sort of thing was possible.

Which it could be. I don't really know.

So what I need from you is simple. Just one little choice.

Yes or no.

Which will it be?

If you choose not to know the secret, I completely understand. Some people may not always want to have that burden on their shoulders. Knowing is powerful and ignorance is bliss ... or at least that's what they say.

I mean it might be really difficult for you if you were to know considering you see Jenny almost on a daily basis.

Oh. Shit.

Shouldn't have let that slip, should I?

Well that's all I'm going to say about it for right now. Fuck, I'm really sorry I said anything. It's probably making your choice that much harder. Knowing that there's something about Jenny that I know and no one else does. Hell, if I were you, every time I saw her, I couldn't help but think that something could be very wrong with her. I'd be diagnosing every possible ailment that she could have and, in my mind obviously, I'd already be making plans to get some time off work so I could be with her.

Or I'd be worried that maybe she's thinking of leaving in general and not saying bye. She could be like that sometimes.

Spontaneous.

Whimsical.

She could just decide to take off and trudge through Moscow.

Or change her name and flee to Canada without thinking twice about how she'll survive there.

Or maybe she decided to cut off all her hair and tattoo the names of each and every lover she's ever had on her head as a sort of way to show others that she's proud of her life choices and she doesn't give a fuck what anyone has to say about her.

Hell maybe it's nothing.

Maybe I was kidding about it being about Jenny in general ... I mean I'm not, but I could be.

But I'm not.

Fuck, I'm so bad at this.

So have you decided yet? Do you know if you want to suffer once you realize you can never look at Jenny the same way again, or do you want to play ignorant?

I don't blame you if you prefer the latter. Hell, I wish there was a way I could un-hear what I heard. To be honest, it disturbs me in ways I never thought possible. I knew she liked dancing, but I never thought she'd do it for coke.

Fuck.

Why didn't you stop me?

You just had to let me go on and on and keep talking, didn't you? You wanted to know. Deep down, you wanted me to keep talking because you knew there was a chance it would slip and you'd have a clean conscience because you did nothing wrong.

Well fuck you.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.

Any of it.

Jenny doesn't dance because she doesn't have legs.

Jenny doesn't do coke because she doesn't have a nose.

Jenny doesn't have tattoos all over her head because she doesn't have one.

Jenny doesn't do anything because she isn't.

I made her up.

All of it.

It's just that I get bored sometimes and I kind of make a lot of things up in my head and live through them. Watching things unfold in the lives of people no one else knows.

I'm sick of not having secrets because no one trusts me.

I'm sick of not having anyone to talk to me because I might be a little weird.

So I might smell everything I touch and lick things that are filthy and should make me sick to my stomach. What's life if you're not doing something daring?

So I might cross the street in heavy traffic wearing a blindfold. What's life if you don't trust others?

So I might burn myself the watch my body repair itself. What's life if you don't rebuild?

Don't judge me for being different.

Don't judge me for being destructive.

Don't judge me.

Hate me.

Ignore me.

Shun me.

Just don't tell me that the things I do are wrong.

Don't tell me I've fucked up.

I already know that.

Everything Must Go

Honestly, if you were to ask my opinion, I would hafta say that I'm pretty sure her voice was the first thing to go. To really leave me. For me, at least.

Lemme explain.

I have all the pictures, so I'll never forget her face. I have all the memories we've shared, and when I focus on them hard enough, it almost feels like I'm there again.

With her.

Enjoying all the best moments we shared once again, even though I know my mind is playing a horrible fucking trick on me. Those emotions and thoughts and feelings that I have aren't real anymore, but they sure feel like it.

And I have her perfume. A whole bottle. It was a gift that never got open before she left. So I'll always have the sweet, sensuous aroma of her at an arm's length away if ever I'm getting down on myself.

Because that smell helps fuck with my mind enough to think she's still somewhere close to me. If I lie and force myself to believe I wasn't the one who depressed the little trigger on the bottle of perfume, anything's possible.

Sometimes I do that, and I almost believe she's in the next room. That if I hurry up, I can see her again before she walked out the door.

But it's just another lie.

And it hurts.

And I'm angry with myself for getting this way to begin with.

If you'll bear with me for just a second, I might also be able to answer a question you may or may not have.

Yes. I do have a camcorder. And I do have videos of us together. So, in theory, I should be able to remember her voice.

And I do.

But it's not the same.

Not by a long shot.

My TV and computer both have a tendency to play back a little on the tinny side. Sure, i can pop in some earbuds to cut out the tinny sound, but then you gotta remember every differet brand of earbud or headphones or whatever you wanna use seem to calibrated a little differently. None of the most expensive brand I could buy could ever truly give me back the sound of her voice that I was most familiar with. None of those brands could ever playback the same soothing tones she had.

I can hear her voice in my head when I think about it. Or when I see something that reminds me of her, but even then, it's my mind fucking with me.

It's my mind's interpretation of her beautiful voice. I knew her and loved her and spent every waking moment I could with her, but, still, her voice seems to have escaped me.

And I miss it.

I miss her.

I don't wanna even think about what's next to go.

I don't wanna be around for the day that her face becomes some distorted illusion of what I'd like it to be.

Or for the day I hafta dig deep into the recesses of my mind to remember her name.

I don't wanna be around for any of those unimaginable nightmares. She was mine.

And I loved her.

-And she'll be back tomorrow, sugar.

-What? Who are you?

-It's Martha, you know that. I'm your nurse, handsome.

-Right. Martha! What was I talking about, beautiful.

-Same thing you always be talkin' about, sug. How you afraid you never gonna remember your daughter's voice, even though she was just in the room.

-Chelsea? My Chelsea was here?

-Mmhmm. Who you think just walked out the room?

-I ... I don't know. Will I see her again? Do you know?

-Yes, darling. She'll be back tomorrow. She's been here everyday for the last year, wishing you'd snap out of it and remember who she is.

-Who?

-I'll tell you tomorrow, sug. It's lights out.

Numbness

I felt it. The pain you’re talking about. You might not believe me because I know it seems strange. Impossible even.

But believe me.

I felt it.

Maybe more than you ever did.

--

It started more as a sort of numbness than any actual pain, but it progressed and transformed into something I never thought possible, and it consumed me.

Day and night I felt nothing but pain coursing its way through my entire body. Fingertips tingling. Eyes burning. Toes curling and cramping into such a contorted form of what they were supposed to be that I no longer went barefoot. I was embarrassed and ashamed to look at them myself out of fear I might vomit at the sight.

Then the memory loss began.

Days slipped by me. I’d stare off into the darkness, where I’d hide. No one knew me there and it was comforting.

I had no one to answer to. No one to judge or mock me. No one to point out my failures.

I started writing as a way to help the memories remain. I didn’t want to live a life where I remembered nothing.

--

The words I’d write became my life. My world. They felt like a greater part of my being. My imagination had blossomed and taken form in words which, as a child, I never thought about. I took them for granted.

Words.

Names.

Things.

Everything with a purpose when a purpose seemed unattainable.

They helped me cope. Helped me grow as a person.

Helped me remember what I wanted to be.

At least I think so. It’s hard to tell anymore.

--

I still feel a numbness from time to time. That never really left me. It’s difficult to describe even though we all know the word and the meaning.

I’ll try to put it like this.

Say you’re learning something for the first time and you’re excited and eager to learn and when you first learn this new task you can’t wait to show all your friends what you’ve just learned. You can’t wait to show them how simple it is to do something that before seemed to be one of the most complex functions you’d ever come across at that point in your life. So you show you friends and they’re excited for you and they feel a new sense of being because they learned something else they’ve never known.

So now we’re all on this same page. We’ve all learned something new. With time, that new task that we’ve learned becomes less of an excitement and more of a monotonous drone that wears at you. It’s like you do the same actions that only a few days, hell even a few minutes ago, seemed like you’d never tire of and you get good at them. So good, in fact, that what once had taken you maybe twenty-five … a half hour to do, become something you can finish in ten.

And then you wait.

Wait and pass the time and think about nothing other than how you feel empty now.

Now that there’s nothing new to learn … nothing new to do … you feel empty.

Once you know that feeling, you can almost understand what I mean by feeling numbness.

Almost.

But not quite.

I don’t think you’ll ever truly know the numbness I feel.

But it’s getting better.

Because of her.

--

I’ll keep it brief for now because they’re coming. You don’t know them yet but, in time, you will.

You’ll be able to sense them as well as I can. And when you get that second sense … that extra feeling that you’re not alone, you’ll know why I’m cutting it short.

Suffice it to say that she helped me through more than I ever led her on to believe and I can only wish I’ve returned the favor.

I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to fully repay her or thank her, but I want her to know I love her.

If you take nothing else away from this, let it be that I love her. And that I want everyone to know how I feel.
That’s all I can say for now. The ground’s shaking, and I feel them upon me. Gotta run.

--

SYSTEM ERROR

fix me