He started out with so much space.  The room was huge from want of stuff.  But when you’re born what do you own, except your life and mother’s love?  From there he went on to gain things, some toys and friends to help him grow, and words to help him understand the world the kind old sun did know.

At school his head was filled with facts and dates that marked the world’s mistakes.  He played some games and took some tests.  He went on dates and wore a vest.

The boy grew into a young man, his life shaped into hatching plans.  He traveled far and wide, found love, lost faith, bought time, and picked up tips on how to live from people he’d remember later when he was older, and alone, back in his house, with wife and children running wild, loud music on, windows throbbing, his pulse going into convulsions.

As convolutions in his brain evolved, so did those in his gut and world, even if the earth itself grew simpler, if only for awhile, in its newly-won dearth of variety, the price it had to pay to maintain its sole spectacularly spoiled species, the one that appropriated everything from all the rest in its effort to usurp the throne from the father and the mother.

The man did his best after his wife left, taking the children with her.  She didn’t want them wounded by his weird world of words, his thicket of thoughts.  He bought a new computer that held more than his arms or even heart ever could, and built a brick wall of books to surround himself with, never getting rid of anything, not even a single sheet of paper, saving every precious possession to make up for the lack of friends, fading faces of loved ones that barely remained like shredded clouds in the cluttered skies of his eyes.

The walls meandered around him until he could no longer move, having everything delivered, including food.  Since he rarely rose from his chair, his body too grew, till flesh and shelves met in a slow-motion collision, and he froze, lungs fumbling for air.  But it was too late; there was none there.

He waited patiently in the same place he still waits today, his cries for help growing faint after going so long unheard, nowhere to go and no escape, forced by his own mental flight to remain, alone with thousands of friends stuck in similar types of cells, everyone out of reach, but always in touch.

The only thing missing from anyone’s life is emptiness.


One thought on “Accumulation

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