Mark slowly came to, feeling good for just a second.
In that split moment, his brain sent a signal that something was very wrong. And he was not alone. Or so he thought.
But there was fear.
The fear that accompanied the feeling of loneliness was strange—he’d never felt so before. He glimpsed something. An excitement almost sprung out of that fear when a thin human leg (of brown skin) appeared on the stairs.
George?
Why was his vision upside down? The stairs, an old, creaky one, was positioned at an awkward angle. An attempt to ‘fix’ it by getting up sent the most horrifying and explosive pain to the back of his head and down his back.
Mark fell back to the wooden floor, screaming. Panic paled his features when he realised what he thought was a human leg on the stair was actually a plank sticking out.
It was a nice illusion—a perception his brain created to mask the pain of injury and loneliness. His brain was protecting him and at the same time giving false hope.
“Fix this darn, old stairs, Mark or ‘t might get you in trouble one of these days,” his mother warned every time she visited to check on her only son.
He would wave her off dismissively. “I rarely go down into the basement, Ma. Can't waste good money fixing that.”
Her voice was irritatingly loud as the memory crashed into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking down his face as he tried to moderate his breathing against the agony.
He remembered.
He must have passed out as he descended the stairs, and the plank broke, giving way beneath him as he fell.
But for how long was he out?
Another attempt to move led to another bout of pain and crying. Mark couldn't remember the last time he cried and now, they breached his eyes with vigor.
It was the loneliness…and the fear.
His phone was upstairs in his bedroom. His closest neighbour was a mile down the road. He rarely had visitors except for his mother and sisters who came by on Sunday evening.
It was a Friday afternoon. And from the agony he knew, he had broken something major.
Yes, that was when the fear bloomed. He would die a very lonely and pathetic man.
Like a succession of flickering images from a black and white projector, his memories played before his eyes. He smiled at the good ones, even chuckled, before groaning in pain as black spots clouded his eyes.
Was that the door? Was someone in the house?
Maybe it was another illusion.
He happily welcomed the soothing darkness that claimed him. There was no more fear or loneliness.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece inspired by Freewrite #dailyprompt word, “a nice illusion". It's fiction and therefore a product of my imagination. It's not tied or connected to any person or event.
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Image credit: Mariano Ruffa