The inside walls of my apartment were as solid as smoke. I slipped through my kitchen wall, but surrendered at the front facade. I could not be freed.
My entertainments lay wasted but unforgotten on the floor. I tried to distract myself, but they all slipped through my fingers. Only my chairs and bed would hold me.
I didn't look at myself. There were no mirrors in the apartment shy of the bathroom, and it held a gentle compulsion, keeping me away. I thought of myself as wearing black jeans and an orange shirt--that was the last outfit I could remember putting on, and had no memory of taking it off. My perspective knew nothing of time passing, only that I was tired but could not sleep, could not dream, could not leave or participate
In a single, sudden moment, the apartment shook, and the front door flew open. Somebody staggered in, and though I felt as if I knew them once, I knew them no more. They stormed through the rooms, one by one, ignoring my presence, drifting along beside them.
"Empty. Empty. Empty."
They stomped toward the bathroom at the rear of the apartment, and the compulsion broke before them. We entered together, and together we stopped, staring down at the bathtub. Smeared red letters on the tile above it read "no more pain."
I felt myself lighten, and the outside walls that once held me now pulled me through them and while I gazed down at the body in orange and black.