The world can't reach me, here. So long since the door was last opened, so long since I last ascended the steps into perpetual night.
It came because I called. Not knowingly; through my despair, my disappointment with the world. The way opening silently, scents of frost and sea, the music of midnight waves...
I actually hesitated, for a moment; attempting to find some anchor, some solution to the ruin of a life I'd made. Maybe it wasn't all lost; maybe it wasn't all shit. They could still come back; those I'd driven away, the children who wept at the sight of me. Maybe even the ones I'd murdered; leaving to suicide and sickness and random accident...I know ways.
Laughter. Heartbreak. The hymn of a soul sick of living.
I drag myself from my seat in the filth and debris, from in front of the TV as it silently burbles baby nonsense. Stand at the foot of the steps, breathing in the old dust, the old damp; the promise of stone.
No coming back; not this time. I lost myself there for so long, during the days of misanthropy, when the rest of humanity could have burned to ash and nothing for all I cared.
This time, I'll let it; tired of trying to pretend that anything else can be.
Tripping, almost murdering myself on the first step, its surface slick and smooth from water's passage, trickles of dark fluid seeping from the corrugated walls. I remember this; another time and when, another story...
The door clicks shut behind me, and I gasp, sobbing. Done; an end, my final divorce from creation.
No great loss.
George Lea is an entity that seems to simultaneously exist and not exist at various points and states in time and reality, mostly where there are vast quantities of cake to be had. He has a lot of books. And a cat named Rufus. What she makes of all this is anyone's guess.