I am stuck. Not the best situation to be in. The constant creaking of torn steel sneaks its fangs into my brain at every moment. I lay here, motionless; trying not to disturb the thing that lies in the corner of the room. I can only make out portions of its character. Most of the features however are distorted, making it impossible to discern if this thing is human. I believe it is but I’m not quite sure. I try not to make any noise. It doesn’t like noise. Sometimes I sit here for hours on end, barely breathing, remaining motionless; all not to disturb the thing in the corner.
“Whyyyyyy do you makee soooooo much noissssseee.”
Again and again, it asks this question. I always answer, trying to explain to it that I never meant any harm; that I never made noise to begin with. I was always trying my best to remain silent.
“WHY ARE YOU MAKING SO MUCH NOISE!”
It was a cycle. I would respond, therefore accidentally creating more sound to disturb the creature that lay, curled up into a ball, shielding its face from the universe, bunched up into the corner of the everlasting sinking metal monstrosity.
I go silent and it stays calm for quite some time. Yet, I am always aware that we will cycle into the same debate of my annoyance. When I sleep, I hear the thing looming above my shoulder; listening ever so closely for a hint of noise coming from any part of my body. I’ve learned to slow my heart rate down; so low that I appear dead to any spectators. It stares at me, waiting…..watching. It waits for me to slip up. It waits for me to make noise. It wants a reason to tear me to shreds. But I won’t let it. I hear its bones cracking, making a commotion so grandiose that I am starting to become somewhat resentful. After all this time I try my best to remain silent for the thing, and yet it presents a cacophony itself. Bloodshot eyes, no pupils, shining bright throughout the darkness. They stare into me. Inspecting every inch, to make sure the peace is not disturbed.
To escape this, would mean the death of the thing that lay. Or maybe it will be reborn. I do not know; for the metal that begins to grow sea life, infecting even my own cells through the cuts in my skin. Scars from distant noise.
Scars from a time when I did not adapt. Claws as sharp as tungsten needles sink easily into the soft skin I reside in. Clawing their way into my organs, forcing me to regurgitate to most pitiful of apologies for the everlasting noise I create. But I will not give in. Anger fuels my eternal motivations. Eventually, we two shall reach to end of this abyss, where our fates intertwine within the dance of death. Together we will sink. Together we shall bear the bleeding of each other. In this machine, that will consume us whole, I will remain silent.