The voices of the night blend together to form a chaotic symphony. Cars rumble through the streets, a rhythmic beating that ebbs and flows through the city. People talking, laughing, crying. Their voices intermingled to form a loving harmony resounding with the human spirit. Nature adds its voice to the melody, the chirping birds and scurrying squirrels filling the empty spaces in the measure. And atop the beautiful orchestra sit flashing lights and neon signs, their glow illuminating the world under the watchful eye of the moon above.
There is beauty in this chaos, and everyone around you can feel it, their hearts beating in unison to the rhythm of the night. And as your eyes pierce through the crowds walking beside you, you spot your destination. Huddled in a narrow alley, hiding from the rest of the world, lies a dark, desolate theater. It reminds you of an old nickelodeon, its vintage sign lying weakly across the entrance. The letters for the movies have fallen off, and the lights flicker dimly across the alley, barely enough to illuminate the trash scattered around. Your eyes flit back and forth, ensuring you’re all alone, and then you step inside.
The hallway stretches in front of you, seemingly endless. A pair of velvet ropes guide you along the path: a torn and dusty carpet lying beneath your feet. Along the walls lie mirrors illuminated by dim and flickering bulbs. As you walk, you feel your reflection in the mirrors looking back at you, their eyes piercing through your skull. They’re screaming at you, guttural cries coming not from the glass but from your very soul, threatening to rip it apart. You start to run, going faster and faster as their voices grow louder and louder with each step you take. Their pain cries out to you, ripping you apart and piecing you back together endlessly. There is no world, there is no time, there is not even a you. You are nothing but the pain inflicted upon you, simultaneously the source of your destruction and your own creation. You cannot live without it, and it cannot live without you.
And after their message has been given to you, you find yourself at the end of the hallway, a ticket in your hand. It appears your movie is starting soon. Wouldn’t want to miss it.
As you walk inside the auditorium, you see hundreds of spectators in the theater, waiting patiently for the movie to start. As you look through the rows, you recognize the faces in the crowd. It’s you, except for the eyes. No pupils, no irises—just dull, cloudy glass. They stare ahead at the screen with vacant expressions, their thoughts hidden from you and the world. Maybe they don’t have any thoughts at all.
As you slowly pull your gaze away from them and turn towards the screen, you notice what they’re looking at. It’s your bedroom. Your bed is neatly made up like it always is: sheets tucked under the bed and your pillow placed gently on top. Your posters decorate the walls, spots of bright color amidst a drab and dreary space. Your television is on, talking heads spouting words you can’t understand. Amongst everything is you, lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The real you. Not the ones vacantly staring into the abyss, not the ones shouting in pain from the mirrors. The real you is laying in his bed, staring blankly into the abyss, dying slowly as he watches his life pass him by.
You let out a scream, and the crowd turns to look at you, their clouded eyes piercing through your soul as they now stare at you, tears welling up. You were supposed to protect us, they say, walking towards you with arms outstretched. You were supposed to give us something to live for. But you’ve left, and now we have nothing. Their tears form rivers around you, slowly filling up the theater as they approach ever closer. Why did you have to leave us here, an empty vessel that can no longer be filled?
Their arms reach out and grab you, pulling you deeper into the ocean of tears below you. As they drag you down, you see your reflection in the water, your real reflection, and you wonder why you left. You thought you were protecting him, keeping him safe, but as you lie beneath the waves, you realize that you failed. You didn’t protect him, you couldn’t protect him, and the only thing you did was leave him all alone. An empty vessel, without thoughts, without feelings, without a soul. Why, why did you leave him? Why did you do this to him? Why did you do this to yourself?
In a surge of strength, you push yourself away from the zombies and swim towards the movie screen, the theater slowly filling up with tears and drowning you. You need to fix this. You need to find him again. You need to be there for him again. You finally reach the screen after what feels like an eternity, your hands touching the cold glass that keeps you out. That keeps him in. And as you look up, you see him looking at you, his eyes clouded and dull. Eyes of glass.
Furious, you pound and pound at the glass, trying to shatter the barrier into a million pieces. The zombies swarm you, their arms clawing at you and pulling you down into the abyss. You fight them off, pounding away at the glass as cracks start to appear. You punch again and again, the cracks deepening as you feel the glass shattering.
This is it. You can make up for your mistakes. You can make up for the pain you’ve put him through. But yet again, the zombies drag you down, and you’re losing the strength to fight them. You scratch and claw, but you can’t win, and the bodies pull you down as you feel yourself drowning. As you close your eyes, you see his face looking at you through the glass—through the barriers you put up in hopes of protecting him—and you see his eyes. They’re glass.
I’m sorry.
