Every door is closed. Darkness oozes in from the cracks.
Hello, darkness! We will not be able to accommodate you today; as you can see our doors are closed and our room is filled with light. So sorry! Please do try us again another time.
It retreats, it waits. It knows we cannot keep it out forever.
We sit on the bed, hunched over, and push fingers into our bloated, marshmallowy stomachs. Our bodies seem to be expanding and we watch the skin spill over the waistband of our underpants. We are hungry but did not bring provisions.
The food is out there, in the darkness. We will not be tempted.
We stretch out, pulling our chins out from our necks, jutting our hips into the air and pointing our toes. Our skin is taut; light bounces off and creates a golden sheen. Aren’t we magnificent! We lick our lips and run our fingers through our hair as if they were watching.
No one is watching. We drew the blinds some time ago.
We are spectacularly alone.
Our bodies betray us. Millimeters of hair bristle out from legs shaven just hours ago, nails recently smoothed and filed split and crack, eyes carefully shaded and painted redden and fill with tears. No one is here, though, to see us lose control.
Nothing can be done to keep out the darkness.
We focus on the light. We stare straight into it until we are forced to close our eyes. We are awake, we are here, we are now, there is light.
It is artificial. The bulb burns out. The bulb can burn out. We cannot stop it. It hurts our eyes to look at it too long. The darkness rushes in and embraces us.
It feels good to rest.
Marisa S. Palazzotto lives and works in Kosice, Slovakia, for reasons still quite beyond her understanding. Writing helps her figure it out.