Twisted life

"I feel like there’s a knife in my chest", he said, "it feels so real I can almost grab the handle."
She put her glass down and moved up to him, slowly.
“Where is it?”
“Right here.” He pointed to his left breast, a little under the collar bone.
She put her fingers around the imaginary knife’s handle.
“Are you going to pull it out?”, he asked, with a half-smile.
“No.”, she replied, twisting her fist.


"I need to rest", he said, in a low, drawn out tone.
“So rest”, she replied, taking a sip of whatever drink her mug contained.
“You don’t get it, I really need to rest!”, he insisted, exasperated.
“Take a day off, then. Stay home and sleep the day away, you’ll feel better”, she tapped his thigh and smiled, showing the usual dimples on her cheeks.
“You don’t understand, there is no rest, there’s no days off, no sleeping, there are no naps that can make this go away. The brutal and constant noise, always buzzing in the background, no matter where I am or what I’m doing!”, his eyes watered up as the words tried to climb out of his throat. She put the drink down and looked lost.
“Imagine your entire life is chaos under a surface of apparent peace and quiet; that while the days float by in front of your eyes, there’s a war raging behind them. A bloody, ruthless, unending battle that you can’t escape, can’t turn away from and cannot win.”, he shook his head, eyes on the ground. “No, I can’t rest”
She left. He starved. They disappeared.


"You look happy", he said, "How do you do it?"

She moved a strand of hair from her face and shrugged. Then, she jumped in the water.

He knew it had something to do with jumping in the water, but he couldn’t see the answer, and she never came out again. So he sat and stared into the sun.