Of tunnel visions

This white wall.

I stare down this runway, psyching myself up. Concentrate. Think. One thing at a time. No more than one. There’s no rush. Yet there is, because I have been here long enough.

This film was a disaster that became a blockbuster and has now become the most tedious epic ever to grace the silver screen. I want FIN to appear, burning its way into my retinas before silent credits roll in artistic black and white. No music.

It’s a white, white light. Not enough shadow. I have to get very close to the wall at the other end of this tunnel to even see myself. There I am. I can barely believe it, and even as I turn away from him the tears begin to form in my eyes. Blink and stop and blink and pause and blink and continue. I am trying to concentrate. One thing at a time. No more than one. Saltwater later. Later, yes.

Another white wall assaults my vision. Another target for my shredding strength. Fix my eyes and work towards. Walk towards. Head for something, somewhere. I’m not sure what. All I know is that I keep seeing faces in that most glaring and most dazzling of clinical flat expanses. Faces I want to see, whispering encouragement. Faces I’ve never met and have never heard speak. But mostly faces I don’t want, faces whose merciless gaze I would rather didn’t spot the tell-tale moisture at the corners of my eyes. Why? Why must you? Why must you exist? Don’t haunt me here, don’t taunt me here. Here of all places. Have some respect and show some finer feeling, can’t you?

Eventually, I will show them my disappearing act. The day must be nigh, I tell myself with a lack of confidence that only my internal trembling can hear. Turn and leave, with eyes in the back of my head to tear them down and to shreds as I depart.

This hour and this moment brings only the wish to hide in a shoulder, between a voice and under a well-placed full stop.