All I have known in this life is loneliness, locked in this little five-by-five cage I call home. I have had no contact; I do not even know how I have learned to speak. All I remember is waking up one day (Or night, I have no clear recollection) in my bed; the only piece of furniture, save for a desk filled to the brim with paper and pencil, in my little life room. There is only one source of light; it is the small window perched above my desk. From it I can see trees, I can see fields, I can see the sun and the sky; I can see natural beauty, but these immovable glass plates prevent my breath of fresh air. I cannot touch the grass. I cannot bask in the sunlight. I cannot swing from the trees or lay in the fields. I cannot experience life.
I do not even know what I look like. I long to compare what I look like to the beauty of the outside; something tells me my face is nothing in comparison. I only know that my skin is pale and my limbs thin. I do not know how I have survived all these years with no food or water; I know that I hunger and I thirst, but not for food, nor water; nay, I hunger and I thirst for days outside of this forgotten space, naught but a foot from freedom. Why was I placed here? Was I at one point a man among the men? Did I walk amongst others? Have I ever breathed fresh air, or seen the sun, or lost myself in the overwhelming love of nature? Have I ever danced in the rain?
I have visions when I sleep at night; dreams, perhaps, of days long past. Or, perhaps, they are visions of days that are yet to come. May haps they are visions of what I shall never have, or what has never happened. What if I am the only man that has ever lived? What if I am the only man left after all others have died off? O bitter fate, why have you done this to me? Why have you secured the lock to my life? What could I have been if I could set but a foot outside of these walls? It is all that I long for.
This day’s thoughts are no different from the others. The deep depression I’ve begun to spiral into has led me to insanity or, perhaps, enlightenment? What if I have attained Nirvana? What if this is my reward for a life well-lived?
Nay, this is not a reward.
This is a curse.
What could I have done to deserve such sorrow?
These thoughts course through my head as I lay down to sleep once more, my eyes tracing the outline of the moon high above through the window. Oh, how I long to run amongst the trees. Oh, how I long to feel the grass beneath my bare toes.
Oh, how I long to live.