I did not think about the actions or consequences, the mistakes that followed, or the tragedies that ensued only of that moment. That dear moment in which I felt alive, yet dead and for that it did not end well, fairly all stories of my life have the same rhythm.

***

The reason for my not wanting to think was easy: I simply thought too much. I cared about the minuscule details, of things that seemed important to me that I thought was important to everyone else, but in reality no one cared.

When a person--me--got to sit on a bathroom floor, contemplating the tile patterns that hit against thighs (my enormous thighs) it put everything in perspective and sometimes that wasn't such a good thing. My eyelids were lead-heavy so my view was the bottom of the sink, which came in from the adjacent wall and then pushed upwards like a flower. I noticed there was a drip coming out of the sink itself, snaking onto its gangly tube until gravity pulled it down onto the ornate tile. And so that drip was slowly pooling onto a ceramic tile which was a beige hue with metallic lines, cutting off on each other to symbolize progression. At least to me it symbolized progression in the bathroom tile industry. It was a long way from black and white checkered boards which made the mind dizzy and foggy.

I thought hard and deep about that overlay of elaborate raw materials, how someone who worked long hours in a factory, touched those tiles, felt them with their fingers like they were made just for their working hours. This bathroom was lucky to have the tiles. And I was lucky to have my gaze on them, because if not my body would be floating in space, the tiles floating around like rays to a sun.

My skin. Minutes after my thoughts on the floor, I felt that it was sticking to the tiles, gradually exposing a dark, onyx heart that was etched into the tissue of my muscles. It was not ideal that heart but it was the source of my tribulations. My breathing went in and out and I saw the black shape pump and pump, veins and tendons pulling and stretching. As I glared at it, my wrists barely managing to lift my right hand, a sudden crank and hard tug blew the door open. It was smothered into tiny pieces and in came a boy, jumping on the skin-colored tiles like hopscotch. He leaned on the sink, his hands weighing it down and his head bounced as he chuckled.

He muttered jumbled phrases. Perhaps he was in the position I was in, admiring the silence of the room. He then turned around towards the toilet, his hands ready to unbutton his jeans. I made a whistle through my scarcely functioning lips, and he turned, startled.

We stared at each other until he said, "Goddamn. I gotta pee." His hands were outstretched and he motioned towards his eyes, "Close those eyes. I'll help ya after." But I didn't need the help. I was fine. Totally fine.

My eyes started to feel droopy, maybe they had started to melt and I would look like a disfigured ice cream bar with the gumball eyes. He did his thing, a long stream of his thing and the quickly the faucet was turned on and off.

I felt a sudden yank and immediately I was facing the stranger, who seemed to be the shortest person in the world as I stood on my legs. I anchored myself onto his chest and looked up on his face. It was not an interesting face but I stared until I began to see that what I did was the appropriate thing to do for my character: I stopped thinking, my mind was off most times anyways. Became a one track mind, so as a whole I didn't really have empathy or cared much for anything.

And I kissed him. A quick surprise on his part and then tongues. Bodies meshing onto the tiles that once again took us up to space, near the dying flickering stars and my black-hole heart thrived. It unleashed its ugliest feelings and relished in the idea of messing up yet another life, another soul. It was beyond rewarding.

It was magical.

I was horrific. This is what I did. Unabashedly came into others life and destroyed them. It made me feel better and enhanced my malice.

I attempted a normal life once. But it was too booooooring, my black heart was yearning for the life of a pirate, scurrying from one tile to the other, going into space and then journeying back into a rocky sea of victims and fatalities.

All for this moment. And the next moment. And the next. All for me.

###

Note: On this short, I am experimenting with what the main character might be hinting at, depression and self-destruction that seems to reign. Thank you for reading.