one more line

The fan swirled. He watched the blades as they spun. It shook a little. He wondered what would happen if it fell. Was it not fixed to the room enough. Of course it wasn’t. Nothing here was a job fully done. Of course it hadn’t been. Why would it. Who would care. None did. If it wasn’t in the self interest of someone, and doing a good job wasn’t because everyone was equally as useless, then they didn’t care. Even if only to save a few seconds, they would leave it. And from day one, the fans would shake as they spun. Just one example. Others were equally as bad. Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. They would come to pick him up. One day, it would be done and dusted. One day, it would be all there was. Dust. Chaos. Rubble. Silence. Emptiness. None would remain. Life as we know it, would have ceased to exist. Nothing in this pathetic rabble of humanity, sneers and wide grins with hearts made of stone. Eyes coveting thy neighbor's wife.

The fan spun and shook. The storm clouds in his head grew ever louder. The voices shrieked. The witches cawed. The broomsticks were loud. The smell of acrid fumes wafted into his nostrils. The feel of dust on the unswept floor - how long had it been? - weeks, at least.

There was a thought. A thought he didn’t want to explore. The thought of what if? He had opened a Pandora’s box. One of many littered through the graveyard of his mind. And it had thrown his world a kilter. Titled. Jilted. Sideways. Askew. What if? What if this fan that was shaking slightly violently fell down. What would happen then? He would be very excited for that to happen. He would want it to. He edged ever closer, to be right underneath it. The fan spun and spun. He closed his eyes and wished. He put that energy out into the universe. Soon it would be done. Soon it would come dropping down. He could not wait.

The scales of chaos and balance would tip. In the direction he wanted them to. And everything would be alright with the world. He was tired. Tired of the platitudes. Tired of the expectations. Tired of never being enough. Tired of being told he never would be. He never could be. Nothing ever was. This was all beyond him. He was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. In more ways than one. It was time to go. He looked up at the fan in silence. His eyes spoke tales. Begging. Pleading. Justifying. Do it. Do it. Do it. It wouldn’t. Not yet. Maybe one day. But right now was not the day. He sighed and stood up. He walked over to his desk. Grabbed a utensil, and marked on his hand, one more line. One in a list of many. It had been so many days he had wished for this and it had not happened.