The Bulkheads

“We are raising the bulkheads, William. You need to be ready for the deluge.”

I have heard this before. My name is not William. Get away from me. I always have bulkheads raised. It makes it harder to move, I feel a lot heavier, but it is a lot safer. There is no sewage seeping in. There is much less risk of the enemy gaining entry.

It’s very difficult, sometimes. Always. Maybe. Focus is impossible and energy is low. Not sure how to remedy. Eyelids half-close and damage reports no longer even come, because they themselves are overburdened by the weight of having to exist. Even much-loved pastimes – drinking, video games – seem useless and inconvenient. Desire only to sleep. Or not even to sleep, just to sit in silence.

Silly talk. Silly boy. Looking around and seeing associates, friends, becoming snakes and threats and mocking me by their actions. They’re not mocking me, of course, but I put on different glasses and suddenly all I hear are whispers and sniggers. Need to calm down and make some effort, but with energy low, with signal strength poor and batteries leaking acid on the floor, it’s very difficult.

Continue on and try to eat more green vegetables. I am not Woyzeck. I am no literary or cinematic character. I am silly.

Fuck the bulkheads. I will drown.


About dcduell

Failed musician. Trying to write for TV. Never sure quite where I'm headed. Serial un-funnyman. I used to do a lot of writing. Sometimes I still do. So I decided to put it on the internet. I'm on Facebook and Twitter. Pretty active on the former, not so much on the latter. Holler at me.
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