Sanity

Today is a special day here on Memory Lane.

Today is the day that a new neighbor moves in. Words can’t express my joy. I packed a gift basket of my favorite things to give to the newcomer: my favorite empty lighter, my favorite dead flower, and my favorite broken record among other treasures.

I still had on my Visitor Suit from yesterday. The front was a little damp, and there was a bit of dirt on the knees from when I fell on my way back to the house. It had taken me a couple of hours (days?(time?)) to get inside.

I walked out into the street. I did my best not to look at the other house across the way. It was forbidden. The door was locked and it was bad. (No, Because it was bad.)      

             tripdownmemorylane1.jpg

Days where I looked at it by accident were bad days. The house next to it, on the other hand, was very good.

It belonged to my only neighbor. That is, until today.

I walked up the walkway to the door and knocked.

“Come in.” My neighbor (I) said to me (myself- help me).

The door opened and I walked inside. The house was barren. Salesman was a minimalist, I think.

In the kitchen there was a table, where I sat across from another chair. Upon the backrest of that chair, sat Salesman. He was starting to get old, and his colors were beginning to fade. In spite of the years (Years, days, time: the joke I tell to myself) of age, I could still make out his emotionless gaze.

“Hello, Salesman. I have big news for you today.”

It’s an odd thing, Insanity. Where does it come from? (From time? HAH, a funny joke, I tell myself) Is it the natural condition of humankind (I miss humans (Oh, don’t be rude to Salesman) SHUTUP HE’S NOT-), held at bay only by daily social interaction? When we talk to one another in passing, are we keeping ourselves from that which lays just beneath the surface (Decay? Food for the worms?) ? When left to its own devices, does the mind fester? I sat and mulled over this, while I talked to a photograph.

While I talked to a photograph.

I’ve lost it. I’m insane.

Insane.

My world spins on an axis around that word.

It’s not just a word, though. Words don’t take your

                          Reality

    and split it                     ||                     in two.

Insanity is at the center of a fear that makes me claw at my head as I try to ease the waves of fear. Have I really lost it? I plead with myself under my breath (NO, please, no. I WON’T DO IT AGAIN, BREAK THE LOOP, DAMMIT), reaching out for something to ease the anxiety.

                            I’m in

                                    Control?

Please.

This isn’t real.

                Why?

No. I can’t be insane.

My breathing is back to normal and I look back at Salesman.

“I’m sorry about that. Anyway…” (Where was I?) “ Oh yes! The good news!”

Silence.

“You’ll never guess.”

Silence.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. We have a new neighbor.”

Silence.

“I know, I’m excited too. Perhaps we can all have dinner tonight? Yeah. Of course, we can do it here, but only if I get to cook. I haven’t cooked in so long…”

I reclined back in my chair. There wasn’t a sound to be heard for… for any amount of distance, really. That’s how it was there on Memory Lane. Completely silent.

“Anyway, I should be going. I’ll let you know about dinner tonight, alright? Good, talk to you later.”

I left the house and made my way to the street once more. Crossing the road, I walked to a domicile down the ways from my own, on the same side of the street. It was a little house, with faded blue paint and a defunct doorway. It was perfect.

I walked up to the door and gave it a push.

Nothing.

I gave it a go once more.

Nothing.

I backed up a few paces and scrutinized the door.

Then I ran head first into it.

Results were attained.

I walked through the portal into the decrepit abandoned house. There was scattered debris laying around that I had to awkwardly shuffle by as I made my way into the kitchen area. In there I found the perfect spot for my new neighbor. I pulled out the photograph and my old roll of tape. Scooting out the nicest of the worn out chairs from the dining table, I placed the photo against the front of the back of the chair. Then I applied tape.

Mailman was finished moving in.

Next Chapter

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