ORIGIN: One of the props was an echidna with an uncanny resemblance to a bottle. Leaves and pieces of paper have a common origin. For some reason tears pricked our eyes, and we felt a sudden urge to throw a message in a bottle into the sea.
It’s a monster of your own making, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to be saved. Just don’t cry for help, my spiny echidna. Throw your message-in-a-bottle into something fathomless like the sea, where your tears would disappear in the crowd. Into something endless like space, where your voice would go unheard. And cross your fingers for good luck. An X on a map. Somebody is bound to come looking for you.
Don’t let appearances fool you. That pencil is a monster. It promised me forever. But what it did was stab my memory to death. I have lost the capacity to know things by heart. And this is me, begging for help. In the only way I can. Using that same pencil, that detached me from everything and everyone else. Even my own heart. Hahaha.
I don’t believe in fate. Nothing is written in the stars. But people are nothing if not contrary. Ticktock. Ticktock. Ticktock. That’s what the stars sound like. There is a time and a place for everything. There is a natural order to life. But monsters always know best. There was freedom in the dark. Dreams offered a respite. That’s why the monsters lit up the world. Millions of teeth. Candles. Street lamps. Neon lights. A tight, unforgiving bite. But I can’t bring myself to ask for help. Because I believe that we get what we deserve.
Have you ever seen fresh air stretching to the horizon and beyond? Blue skies as far as the eye can see? Neither have I. But there was a time when I had more space to breathe than I knew what to do with. Fear came out of the blue. Like raindrops down my spine. I didn’t feel safe anymore. I sheltered within four walls and a roof, and I hurried to lock the door. That key was the first monster I created. My world becomes smaller every day, and soon I will run out of air. But I see no point in asking for help. Because a day hasn’t gone by that rain hasn’t slithered down my windows.
My monster goes by a fancy name. Sedentarism. But that word has too many syllables, and I prefer pet names anyway. Chair suits it so much better, don’t you think? When my message-in-a-bottle reaches its destination and help finally comes, I will say goodbye. And I want my monster to know that I loved it very much.