The mirror was lying to him. He just knew it.
Shapes flew around the edges of his vision as the swinging lamp did nothing to calm his demeanor. The color was warm, the moment cold and unforgiving. It was a nightmare that woke him from a troublesome sleep, coughing out the weekend flu. A nightmare that showed him he was completely alone in his mind, lost and never found. His eyes drifted towards the scratches on the concrete wall.
59.
Well, he thought, I'm breaking a new record every day.
Days were getting shorter, he knew, but there was still a doubt as to the time of the day, the sun not yet gracing his window. The stars were hidden from him, the clouds playing the part of the cruel siblings, teasing him and tormenting him in that subtle way that prevented him from lodging a complaint. Besides, in this place of ultimate solidarity, who was there to hear him? His hand drifted towards the bedside table.
The mirror was lying to him. He just knew it.
7.
He sighed loudly, frustrated that he was left with only 7 more sticks of slow burning nicotine to compensate for his lack of sanity. The tip caught the flame with a quick embrace, the way he wished he could embrace the finality of death. Caught in this limbo of his own machination, he knew his only reprieve from this torment was a hand's breadth away. Just out of reach. To compound matters, he lost his will to try at 45. Funnily enough, he had no idea what he was to look for. His eyes drifted towards the opposite wall.
The mirror was lying to him. He just knew it.
Stubbing the dying light out 'neath his heel, he observed the cemetery of cigarette butts that was the floor of his cubicle. The only break in uniformity of the floor was the patch of clear flooring that was habituated by the day's rations. This was sacred. This was ritualistic. Other than the corner of the room that he used to relieve himself, the small tray of sustenance that had kept him alive since 1. His existence no longer held reason nor rhyme, just the passing of time that haunted his mind, for a crime unforgotten, beyond a line he once crossed. Until 7 he tried to resist the food as a protest to whoever had overpowered him, but his will gave way and survival took over. His hands drifted towards the tray.
Surely the mirror was lying to him. Doubts crossed his mind.
The shapes that flitted at the edge of his vision seemed to be on the mirror, images within images that he was sure could not exist. Was he going insane? Was his mind cracking under the pain of solitude? He watched his face countless times yet he could not find anything other than a broken man. He tried to scream but all he could hear was a soulless wail. His eyes drifted towards the window.
The food was filling, and the day continued. Sunlight cut through the thick clouds as he could observe from his sturdy, small window as he scratched 60 as a sign of continuance. At least he was not caught in an unmoving insanity, he thought idly. At least the numbers were going somewhere. He scratched his head, his hair growing longer and longer with no hope of being shortened. One day they'll fall, was what he told himself. One day he'll be rid of this annoyance.
One day.
His mind drifted towards oblivion as he picked up the small box.
The mirror never lied to him.
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"Do you think he would ever act on it?"
The observers pitied the man, yet their orders were clear. Observe.
"He has seen us behind the glass, yet he hesitates. What can we learn from this?"
They watched the man sit on the bed, his hands deftly arranging the cards. One of the observers smiled.
"At least now I know a multitude of combinations on that game. What is he playing?"
"He's playing the game of his life, win or lose, only two outcomes possible. He's playing solitaire."
Their eyes drifted towards his collection of cards. Solitaire.
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Author's note:
Dear Readers,
I wrote this piece not based on any experiences, only a subtle curiosity of the mind of a trapped man. It is loosely based on the Korean movie plotline of OldBoy, and if you haven't watched it yet, I'd recommend it.
I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as my other works! I know it's different from the others, but my style remains the same.
Love,
Axam
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