Diminished

There was no evidence whatsoever that I’d caused it. It’s not as though I’d walked in on the suited man reading the envelope I’d delivered, then acting to preempt the rebellion. But I ran as fast as I could manage. I knew that something was wrong.

The distorted voice on the phone popped into my head again and again. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else. I hadn’t ever known the voice to lie.

A current. A current running through me and the man in the suit and the factory workers and the deli owner. Through Linda and Zoe and back to me again. An inescapable flow.

I saw it for a moment. For just a heartbeat’s time, I understood what the voice meant. There is only one distinction that matters in my world. Those who observe fate, and those who don’t.

Then the current was gone, and it was me and a thin blanket and my head resting on a couch’s armrest. I was exhausted and it was morning and I smelled something cooking.

I heard a faint sizzling, and I returned to the present. I was on Zoe’s couch as she cooked what smelled like pancakes. I was a murderer and a sadist. But she was making me pancakes.

I watched myself sit up on the couch and rub the sleep from my eyes. The soul attached to my body wasn’t something I could identify with anymore. I saw myself rise and stretch and sit down at Zoe’s kitchen table. Make small talk as she asked me what I had to do for work today, what I’d done the day before. I felt nauseous as I watched myself eat one pancake after another. She made me coffee and I seemed to drink it.

There was no fear as I realized my disassociation. No relief, no confusion. There was an invisible wall that separated my consciousness and body. I immediately accepted this and continued to observe.

My body went to work. Tessa noted my high spirits. I saw myself smile slightly. Enough for her to nod and head back to her office. I seemed to write an article or two, clock out, and head home.

I watched as I spoke with Richard about something. I couldn’t seem to follow the conversation. At the end, Richard told me my room would be ready again within a couple days. I told him I hadn’t seen any construction crews. He said there wasn’t much of a need for repairs after all. I asked why I couldn’t return now. He shrugged and told me my room just wasn’t ready. I watched as I nodded and returned to Zoe’s and read some magazines until evening. For dinner we had spaghetti and I ate it and we laughed about something. Was this any less distinct than this morning? My connection to my body seemed to be waning. The invisible wall was like glass now and it was fogging. I thought I heard something shatter, and watched my body fall to Zoe’s floor, my head caroming off the edge of a neighboring chair beside me on the way down.

I was alone in a blank black space drifting listlessly.

It was me and my memories and an infinite void.

A voice. A room. A white door.

Why do you do this? Why do you sate your loneliness with hope? Don’t you see that people get hurt? Does that mean anything to you?

Realizing I’d have to respond, I walked to the door, opened it, and dissipated.