There’s strangeness I have yet to comprehend. The past nights since my return, I have lain in bed with a book; I am reading voraciously, devouring each page as if starved for literature, but just as the clock ticks 10 PM, my mind is suddenly overcome by heavy mist. Utter weariness. My cousin walks into the room on each occasion, I have promised to go for a movie, dinner, a drink… something of the sort. But the off-switch has been depressed, energy winds out in a slow hum, the squealing click. I pass out completely. There is only the memory of voices trying to rouse me.
At 5 AM, I jolt. My room is still brightly lit but even when I crawl over to shut the lights off, I am unable to fall back into repose. There is no significance but at that moment, I feel like I am on the brink of something familiar, teetering in between recognition and purpose. When did the pattern begin to assert itself? Last night, it happened again. My body caved in on itself just as I was contemplating dinner. So now, here I am, fully conscious, famished. I don’t have any food within my quarters, and there’s nothing to cook. But looking on my desk, there is one thing.
I walk downstairs wearing the blue slippers, the ones with the teddy bear sown on the top. It looks ridiculous but then, I have never purchased slippers in my entire life and besides, the tiles are cold. I carry my book outside and light a cigarette. The smoke hovers in between the porch bulbs. It is a beautiful time to be awake, certainly, watching indigo waver above the rooftops. Maybe this is it. I want everyone to be frozen except me, for time to stop. This is what I wish, to just watch the world end, endlessly, from the beginning. Nobody around, and nothing else to do.
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The book: Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World by Haruki Murakami