Missing

    You closed the door gently behind you. As it creaked shut, a wave of relief washed over your face. You slipped off your shoes and walked to the couch. Comfort seized you. Refusing to lessen its grip, you drifted off to sleep. It was a sleep like you had never felt before. No worries. No responsibilities. No awareness of what was happening right beside you. The only thing that mattered was that your eyes remained closed.

    When you awoke, you took a moment to reflect on the sleep. Your face showed confusion, but it quickly shifted, reflecting your newfound energy. “I didn’t think I was that tired” you mused out loud. Shoving the thought to the back of your mind, you walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and retrieved a drink. I find it quite interesting, how people tend to just ignore irregularities, even when they take note of them.

    I watched as you took your drink to the kitchen table and opened your bag to retrieve your notebook. Of course, it wasn’t there. It’s with me. Instead, you found a pen in its place. “So that’s where that’s been!” you said. “Of course, it was in my bag the entire time.” It was not. You should have known that. You checked there a dozen times, and no pen was ever there. It was with me. You don’t even bother looking for your missing notebook. You ignore it, just like everything else. Why? You were so sure that it was there, and yet you don’t question it.

    Truly, this game we play has gotten dull. When you were young, I watched as you tore apart your room looking for your action figure. Listened as you whined to your parents to help you look for it. Smiled as you cried after being told by them that it was lost. You noticed then. You still notice now, but you don’t care. Why don’t you care. Don’t you know how much it hurts? Well, you don’t now. But before, I mean.

    Sitting at that table, your blissful ignorance was astounding. Your notebook was gone. The thing you used everyday. The thing that stored your dreams, stolen away. I flipped through your notebook. I saw it all, as you of course know now. Your hopes and your dreams. Your fears. And whilst reading it, I felt my growing anger ready to explode. 

You brought this on yourself

    Suddenly, tiredness swept over you once more. You dragged yourself up the stairs. You took note of how loud the creaking was, but assumed that it was just your tired mind messing with you. You grabbed the handle to your bedroom door, twisted, and pulled, just like you do every night. It didn’t move. You tried pushing it in. This time, the door opened without a problem. “I didn’t realize how tired I was. Can’t believe I just did that.”

    Laying down on your unusually warm bed, you drifted off to sleep. I was there to greet you.

    The scream that you let off in your mind was fantastic. It was like a thousand sirens sounding all at once. If I had blood, I’m sure it would have curdled. Normally, I wouldn’t know how I would be appearing to you. But I read your notebook. I think I have a pretty good idea of what I looked like. I shot you a smile before sending you on your way.

    You felt yourself leaning forward, then suddenly lurching backward. As you fell, your eyes were wide open, staring at me. I stared back at you. The smile never left my face. Eventually, you landed. You felt something pushing into the square of your back. You shift and see a toy, long lost to you. A favorite shirt. A ring forgotten an eternity ago. And then there were the things you didn’t recognize. A woman’s necklace. A wedding band. A pair of headphones. The realization of what this place was sunk in. 

    A chorus of screams drowns out your thoughts, and all that was left for you to do was scream as well. You strained your lungs, screaming out over the chorus. You screamed and screamed until eventually, your voice was just another member of the choir.

    I’m sitting here, listening to that beautiful music, finishing this page. And when it is done, I will place your notebook, our notebook now, I suppose, on top of the pile.