The Prisoner--Short Story

I grabbed the lamp by its base and snatched it from the desk, hurling it away from me. I paused for an unsatisfied moment when the lamp crashed to the floor and shattered to pieces. Resisting the urge to throw something else, I listened to my breathing; it was coming in short, quick, labored sets. My eyes focused on nothing as I began heedlessly pacing back and forth over the shards. I did no feel the broken glass scraping against the tender skin of my feet anyway. I could not keep up with my thoughts. They were coming too fast, too quickly.

I knew what they thought of me. I suddenly realized that I was acting exactly how they thought I should. Stop it, I commanded myself. Don’t let them win. You can’t let them be right about you. But maybe they are right. Maybe everything they say about you is true after all. You’re sure not doing anything to prove them wrong, I told myself. If anything, you’re validating their point.

“Is everything alright in there?” Mother called, suddenly interrupting my thoughts.

“Yeah, everything is just fine!” I replied as cheerfully as I could manage.

But that was the problem. Everything was NOT fine. It was funny that the word “fine” in my world meant depressed, angry, confused, upset, sad, bitter, lonely, lost… anything but “fine.”

With an unsteady hand, I reached for the dented plastic cup on my nightstand and took a long, slow drink of the stale water. I can’t take it anymore. I turned and stared into the mirror. Looking long and hard at my reflection, I knew. I could tell by the dark circles under my wild eyes, by the gaunt creature with the slumped shoulders and the untamed hair that stared back at me. I just knew. They were right all along.