He lays down in his bed. That’s all he does for quite some time, just lay. He doesn’t think, doesn’t get up to be human, doesn’t force himself to be alive, he’s convinced he hasn’t really breathed before. He knows that no one's here to stop him from falling or rather leaping off of sanity. There is no tv static in the background, no ranting elders, no music to comfort his body. His mind growth has been stumped, there are no signals being sent. His cells are as idle as he is, as stationary as they can get. No oxygen, no carbon dioxide, no whatever the hell cells are made of. His nucleus is soaked in saudade, and his lack of a mind is comforting.
He’s not sure if he sat up or if he remained laying down, but he remembers being surprised by his voice. It leaped out of him and all at once he felt the pain, and cried for help. Howling for a god he knows isn’t listening, or existing for that matter.
He cries out, “Why can’t I be plea