Apathetic Dreams

Somebody is trying to kill me.
I’m not sure why. It started off simply enough – with the feeling that I was being watched. Often I would pause in whatever I was doing to the curious sensation that there was someone staring at the back of my head. Try as I might, though, I could never catch whoever it was. Sometimes I would feel the mysterious eyes in impossible places – in the shower, for example, or when I woke up in bed. It was a very unsettling feeling. Call me crazy, but somehow I knew that the eyes wished me harm, and for every day I couldn’t catch them, I got more and more uneasy.
I started to spend more time at home. I would hide away in my room, watching movies or television, browsing the internet. The feeling intensified. On the rare occasions where I had to get out and do things, the presence was right behind me. When walking, I imagined icy fingers grasping for my throat. When with friends, I imagined them all as conspirators – were they in alliance with the unseen enemy? I withdrew further and further into my sanctuary – but even as I did, the presence followed me in, slipping between the crack under the door as I bolted it securely, perching behind me on the couch as I attempted to lose myself in the mindless pixels. I was being tracked.
I began to doubt my sanity when I started to see him. Only glimpses at first – a flash of him in the mirror one morning as I stood shaving, a blink of his eyes in the reflections of glass. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks pale – in short, his face was horrifying to look upon, but the true horror was that he looked chillingly familiar. I began to see him more and more, shying away from any source of reflection that would allow him to look upon me. I knew, somehow, that his gaze was damaging – that to allow him to look upon me for too long would be a fatal mistake.
One day, I could take no more. I bolted my door. I covered my computer. I unplugged my television and hid it away. I closed the windows and blocked the sunlight. I even, to my shame, removed all my blankets and cocooned myself, a ball of quivering fear, on my couch. Now, I thought to myself, he cannot reach me. Now, I thought to myself, I can be free.
I remained there for three days. I took little food - only what I could dare myself to dash out and snatch from the fridge or table, eyes squeezed closed to avoid reflections. I took little water. I watched no television, I avoided the internet. I knew that the only way to drive him out was to hide until he moved on. To destroy him, I knew, I had to lie low. Eventually he would go and I would be free to live.
After the three days, I staggered to my feet, light-headed. I was filled with a wild excitement. Now, I thought to myself, now I would be free of him. I crossed over to the television, confident that I had at last destroyed the presence for good. I swept the cover off the television and looked upon the darkened screen.
There, upon the screen, was his face. It stared at me, eyes burning horribly, the flesh sunken, but most horrifyingly of all, it did not fade away. It remained, and it slowly dawned upon me that this was my reflection – that I had become this presence, this creature. And then, the final horror – it opened its mouth and spoke with my voice.
YOU HAVE DESTROYED NOTHING.
So I ran. I burst through the door, and tore through the streets, running and running, pushing my exhausted, horrified body to this new extreme. Panicked, I ran into the countryside, through the tall, dried grasses, past the withered trees, and I came across a small pool of water and here I could run no further.
I stumbled and fell, and in desperation I raised my head and looked into the still pool of water, and he was there. He was smiling now, triumphant – and I was transfixed like a mouse beholding a snake.
He spoke to me then, in a voice ringing with conviction. He sounded like a prophet.
YOU WERE ONCE FILLED WITH POTENTIAL. YOU ONCE CREATED EVERY DAY, AND DREAMED EVERY NIGHT. YOU ONCE HAD THE SPARK OF IMMORTALITY WITHIN YOU.
He began to grow, filling the pool, filling my vision. His sunken eyes burned into mine.
YOU COULD HAVE LIVED FOREVER IN YOUR CREATION. THE IMMORTALITY OF THE ARTISTS COULD HAVE BEEN YOURS. MICHELANGELO, DA VINCI, TOLKIEN. INSTEAD YOU HAVE FALLEN PREY TO DISTRACTION. YOU HAVE SQAUNDERED YOUR TIME IN HOLLOW MACHINES. YOU HAVE HIDDEN AWAY FROM THE WORLD.
His voice swelled to a shout, making my ears ring.
I AM HERE TO ENSUE THAT YOU NEVER CREATE YOUR MASTERPIECE. I AM THE SECONDS THAT PASS UNNOTICED BY YOU. I AM THE FORCE THAT DRAGS YOU INEXORABLY TO YOUR GRAVE, TO BE FORGOTTEN, AN INSIGNIFICANT LIFE IN AN INSIGNIFICANT WORLD. I AM HERE TO SEE THAT YOU ARE CONSUMED BY OBLIVION, AND LEAVE NOTHING BEHIND. I AM APATHY, AND I TIGHTEN MY FINGERS AROUND YOUR THROAT EVERY DAY OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE.
Now he was all that there was, and I felt in my bones that his words were law.
AND I WILL NEVER FADE AWAY.
I remained on my knees, unable to drop his gaze. Instinctively I knew that he had nothing left to say. He was all there was for me now. I had squandered my potential in television and computers. I had stifled my creativity, and I would never leave anything behind for people to remember me by. He was my curse, my death, and my oblivion, and there was no denying him. What could I do in the face of that overwhelming aspect of human nature, that inexorable desire that drives us to spend our lives in absolutely nothing? What could I do?
I returned his gaze steadily, and said the first thing that came into my head. In its way, it was reply, denial, and exaltation.
“This would make a fantastic story.”
And just like that –
He was gone.