Surell

He walked directly upstairs when reaching home, no time or thought for tea or such. When he reached the bed, he bled tears into his pillow, sobs absorbed by the cushion. He heard his father approach his door and knock, and wiping his face on the pillowcase, he called him in.

His father, somewhat realizing the distress, cut himself short.

“Hey. I just wanted to let you know I’m proud of what you did today.”

“Thanks.” His father’s worn hazel eyes, surrounded by wrinkles in his forehead, bags, and frown lines, and an overall hollow disposition, looked more worried than celebratory.

“It is what you want though?”

“I dunno.”

“Just know I can’t give you your path. No one can. As much as I think it’d be great, that’s just me. You have to do what you love. That’s where I ****ed up.” Isaac nodded and there was a silence. His father added “Goodnight,” and left to his adjacent room.

With his clothes still on, shoes kicked off, and no water to sip on, Isaac slipped off to sleep. The TV whispered advertisements and satire into his ear as he attempted to retreat from the day. As the electronic buzz became less prominent, he noticed that his closed eyes washed black over all of his senses. He looked around with closed eyes and found the same signal in every direction, infinitely and intimately. It would move but lacking shading would remain the wall it was before. The blackwash over his sight and finally over his sound provided invaluable clarity.

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