“Does anyone really care?” Yes, me. Who cares about anyone else?

“Everyone hates me.” You haven’t met everyone yet. How could everyone possibly hate you? I don’t.

“You’re my only friend, but…” But what? Am I not good enough…

The alarm blares at me, and in the darkness the red numbers glare at me, forcing me to shut my eyes, and fiddle with the clock blind. As with any dark morning, I bump into the things scattered in my bedroom, not really caring, though. I like to keep things the way it is.

Tears come to my left eye, but as usual, not my right.

“Today’s dream was about you again. When will I be able to see you again?”

Work is the same as always; I “see” myself doing it, but there’s no emotion or even boredom attached.

“Hey, are you alright?”

I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don’t notice their verbal prod.

They poke me, and manage a small smile when I turn and acknowledge them.

“Dax, you ok?”

I don’t know what to say. What can I say? If I tell them the truth, they’ll wish they never asked. If I lie, they won’t leave me alone. So, what should I do?

So I…

I turn, and run, leaving them to gather their wits.

“I woke up today, and thought you were sleeping right beside me, like always. It took me a few minutes to realise that there was no-one with me. Silly, right?”

Today there are people whispering before I arrive, but I pay no heed. They can talk all they like. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to do anything about it, except do my job properly.

All they do is talk, talk, talk, and then have the gall to tell me that I’m abnormal. They tell me that I should talk more, ask me why I’m so cold. What I do is my business. Why should they care? What would they know?

They stop when I get to my desk, but I realise that I’m gritting my teeth, quite subconsciously. It’s only when I start the day’s work that I make a conscious effort to stop.