Knock twice, tap thrice, walk around the chair once in a counterclockwise ellipse.
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“Boy,” A voice called from the other side of the wall, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He murmured.
Then all was silent again.
The room was empty, his room, his kingdom, and his fate. The chair stood in attention in the middle of the room, crosshatched, a stuffed toy cat curled up in the middle of the seat.
One. Two. Three. He must not lose count. Dark brows furrowed, a young face in distress, if he saw himself in the mirror, he would not recognize himself.
A fly buzzed toward the window, seemingly coming towards him until it crashed into the glass.
Tassels! How many times has he completed the ritual now? One. Two. Three steps completes a round but how many should he make?
A creak on the floor startled him out of this reverie. He turned abruptly, cursing under his breath. His brother stood in the doorway, lazy blue eyes scrutinizing the scene beneath pale bangs. “It’s time for dinner.”
He considered. “Alright, a moment.”
“Thirty seconds.” He sighed as the small figure disappeared from view.
One. Two. Three. One more time, and hopefully he will not die tomorrow.
He sat sullenly at the dinner table, his parents casting worried glances at each other, mouthing silent words while he picked at his food.
“It’s just a phase.” They tried to convince each other.
Finally his father spoke, “Amoeba?” He asked pointedly, referring to a certain singled out survey question.
The boy looked up, and answered evenly, “Sure, why not?” Forks and knifes paused.
They seemed afraid to say more so he continued on his own accord. “Be mindless, soulless, purposeful and alive.”
They stared at him as they would a dodo bird.
For one whose life had hardly begun he should not sigh so much, but he never heeded opinions.
Great eyes wondered from one slightly wrinkled face to the next, and lips curled slightly at the sight.
The quiet whirring of the air conditioner formed a dreary background noise, momentarily interrupted.
“Wouldn’t that be great?” He said, “Isn’t that the point?”
They were ready this time. “NO!”
The conscious shape reality.