day 9

"how are you doing, though?"

"i'm okay," he said.

fearing invasive questions would soon be asked, a curt reply was the best choice.

you see, in his mind, the story was set. narrative laid out neatly; clean lines, no dust.

simple objects lying there, stark in the crisp white light of the sun.

questions could be deflected, but continuous prodding could mean an opening up, a discussion of feeling and emotion.

this couldn't happen.

his mind would eventually catch up with him.

it would be jarring.

he would question the motivations behind his actions, eventually settling at the feeling that all was for nothing; all this until he could reimagine another clean white narrative.

simple objects still lying there, aware there was always a fuzzy grey line connecting them to their shadows.