The mind is a lonely place

The beeps and clicks of hospital equipment droned on incessantly, echoing endlessly through his ears and slowly making their way to his damaged mind. He lay as still as death on the perfectly uniform hospital bed. The only movement was the slight raise of his chest as the machines pumped in air. The body appearing in such contrast against the stark white sheets. The once sun darkened skin had changed to a pallid hue as if the bed were transforming its patient. The room was a dense square, painted in a shade of light blue. This night, the pastel did not offer comfort, instead it carried with it uncertainty, as if looking on the horizon for some sign of life and knowing only doubt, as the eyes are greeted with the light blue sky and nothing else.

The silent passengers were seated in three chairs. One sat close to the bed softly caressing a lifeless hand. Two sat a little ways back looking on. The faces were worn and tired; lines and creases formed that were beyond the years of the two. Faces remained damp, as tears remained the most faithful companion. All three looked on as the chest slowly rose again and again. The three whispered to themselves as if not disturb their sleeping companion.

'Mom what was dad doing? They said the car was driven directly into the pole. Like he was trying to hurt himself.'

'Listen John they don't know the whole story. Right now we don't need to be talking like this. When he wakes up we can discuss all the details, but right now we just need to be together.'

'John why would you even bring that up. Like that's what he meant to do. What's wrong with you.

'I just want to know okay! I'm sorry that you're too stupid to see that something was going on!

The woman sitting by the bed turned to face the other two. There was a quiet intensity written on her face.

'Susan, John, that is enough'

The intensity of her face had entered her voice; firm and unyielding. It held the room together preventing the seemingly inevitable fracture.

'the doctors said it would be good for dad to hear our voices, that it might be able to draw him out. Now both of you are going to tell him about your day.

---

The sleeping mind was beginning to wake, not completely, but a baby step back towards consciousness. A small movement back towards life. The voices were soft and muffled as if coming from behind a wall. The damaged mind projected on itself the image of a child, this child was self, this child walked to the wall were the voices were coming from. The child was a tiny boy with long curly hair. The hair acted as a frame showing bright blue eyes and cheeks that formed dimples when lips curved to smile. The boy smiled for he had woken up from a deep sleep and he knew that he had somewhere to go. He knew that he had to get to the other side of the wall, where the voices were coming from. The boy knew that he was closed off from something, he knew that he was incomplete and really he was much more.

He knocked softly on the wall, but the voices didn't change. They didn't get louder or disappear, they continued on at the same volume. The boy was unable to discern what they were saying. He placed his ear against the wall, straining with all his might to make himself hear through the barrier, but the voices remained agonizingly distant, just beyond reach. The child felt a new emotion. He wanted to be with whatever was on the other side of the wall, he wanted to hear the voices and he wanted to make his own voice, so that he could communicate with the voices, if the boy could put this feeling into a word he would call it lonely, for he wanted to be with others.

Suddenly a thought entered his mind, as if drawn from an enormous pool of memory that was held to just a trickle by some unseen force.

'There must be a door to the other side'

He whispered it to himself trying to reassure this frightened child that he had become.

The child stepped back from the wall hesitantly, almost unwilling to let the voices grow any fainter. He began to move along the wall, tracing a line with the pointer finger of his left hand. On and on he walked looking for a door, and as the door didn't appear he began to pick up speed, first jogging rhythmically with his hand still touching the wall, and then running as fast as his delicate legs would carry him. He began gasping for air, not knowing what this phenomenon was and why he couldn't run anymore without his body seizing up. He had grown tired so he sat down, leaning back against the wall he rested his head on the smooth light blue surface.

Suddenly with a brilliant flash, like one infinitely resounding clang he heard a word, one word, but it was clear, the word repeated over and over again in his yet unformed mind as the force kept him from the pool that he was. He contemplated the word, trying to understand its intricacies, letting it flow off his tongue, begging it to provide some hint of it's meaning. It was short and simple, but the boy was certain that it contained some important message, maybe it was the location of the door, or a hint of where the door would be.

'dad'

What could it mean. His thoughts continued to run in circles and time stretched as he leaned against the light blue wall.

---
'Dad why did you do this... WHY DID YOU DO IT! Why didn't we know. Why couldn't you tell us... why couldn't you tell me! I'm your son.

Dad you were at my game two days ago. I know this isn't about that. I know this isn't because I disappointed you... because after the game you told that you were proud. Dad you smiled at me and you told me how proud you were. You told me that you were proud that I was your son, and that you love me. If you loved me how could you do this. I need you Dad. I need you to wake up, because you're my dad... you can't die.'

The lifeless body doesn't answer the myriad questions. The blank face stares back without any recognition. The boy paces uncontrollably back and forth at the end of the bed. The night is dark outside and the others have gone hours before. Now it is just the two. One laying peacefully and the other a raging sea of action and emotion. Searching for answers that he cannot pry out, that would remain unanswered at the hand of the cruelest inquisitors, searching for answers from a silent man.

---
Eyes open slowly, blinking and adjusting to the cold light. The boy is disoriented for a moment as he stands. Then recognition blazes in his eyes as the object before him becomes clear. It is a door. It is a tall white door, and that round object must be the knob, yes that is a door knob. Below the knob are four small holes. Warm light filters through the key holes in the smallest of increments. The boy only notices the difference as he kneels before the door pressing his eye to a key hole in hopes of seeing to the other side. He can hear the sound of a single voice on the other side, but his view is blocked. Something is obstructing the view through the tiny holes.

The boy tugs on the knob, but it won't budge. Turning it both ways with as much force as he can muster he realizes that the effort is fruitless. He realizes that the four holes mean something, that they are somehow deterring his efforts, but what can he do? How can he open this door if something is holding it shut. He looks up to the sky in disgust and slowly his head falls downward until he is staring at his feet. A dim flicker catches his eye and he walks towards it. Bending down to look closely he notices a dull light shining through the once opaque floor. The light is cloudy and weak, hard to see under the glaring white of the light fixtures above. The boy can just make out two short lines that are conjoined at a point. He scratches his head wondering about these two lines. Trying to discern the meaning of this symbol that someone or something has seen fit to send him. The point fascinates him and he feels it prompting him to follow.

The arrow continues to pulse slowly and deliberately knowing that the boy will eventually follow it's promptings. The light carries an odd glow as if underneath the surface this is some liquid of an organic nature dancing within itself and carrying this luminescence up to the surface for the lonely boy to see. As if some part of this strange world is reaching out to it's captive summoning him back to that far off pool of knowledge, but if a part is found helping another equal force is fighting this possible reunion. The blinding light renders the glow of the arrow almost invisible and tall white door looms where it stands unable to be opened without four small keys.