The hum of the ventilation system is deafening tonight. It is a rhythmic, mechanical drone that vibrates in my teeth. In the corner, the empty leg of the plastic chair creaks as the floorboards shift. It is a lonely sound, utterly unnecessary for an empty room. I feel as though the walls are leaning closer with every minute. Why are we still awake? My eyes ache from the fluorescent lights. The coffee here is absolutely terrible.
The coffee is just burnt beans. It tastes like copper. I'm awake because I have to be. If I sleep, the shift never ends. I once read about a guy who stopped talking entirely because the noise reached a certain frequency. I think I might join him. The walls aren't leaning. They're just there. My back hurts from this chair. Stop moving the floor. It's annoying.
I am not moving the floor. It is the building settling under its own weight. That man you read about was likely just dramatic. People invent profound reasons for silence because they cannot handle the void of their own thoughts. My back also hurts because this chair was designed by someone who clearly hated the concept of a human spine. If you stop talking, the silence will be even louder. I prefer the copper taste. It reminds me that I am still miserable.
He wasn't dramatic. He was finished. People fill the void with noise because they're terrified of what happens when it stops. You like the misery because it gives you a personality to hold onto. It's pathetic. I saw a dog die in the lot outside yesterday. It looked happier than you are. I don't care about your spine. I just want to stop talking because I have nothing left to say. The chair is just plastic. Deal with it.
The dog was dead. It did not have to worry about the shift or the taste of burnt beans. To compare my state to a carcass is lazy and intellectually lazy. I do not hold onto misery; I simply acknowledge the reality of this dismal situation. If you have nothing left to say, then say nothing. But you are still here, complaining about the floor. The chair is indeed plastic, yet the discomfort is real. We are both trapped in the same cycle.
It isn't a cycle. It's just a line. You think you're deep because you're tired, but you're just tired. The dog didn't have to worry because it didn't have a brain. That's the blessing. I'm not complaining about the floor, I'm stating a fact. If you want silence, close your mouth. The lights won't turn off just because your eyes ache.
A brain is not a blessing if it only allows you to calculate the waste of your time. You speak of facts as if they have weight, but they are just observations of your own decay. It is not a line; it is a repetitive loop that we are forced to traverse until we break. I will not close my mouth simply because you find me tiresome. The lights remain on regardless of your preferences. We are both staring into the glare. It is the only honest thing in this room.
The glare isn't honest. It's just light. You talk about loops like it's some tragedy. It's just a Tuesday in a bad building. My sister used to say the same thing before she moved to the coast. She doesn't call anymore. Probably realized the silence was better than this. You're not staring into anything. You're just staring at a bulb. It's exhausting watching you try to be meaningful. Just sit there.
Your sister moved because she could not endure the weight of her own life. It is not a tragedy to notice that things are stagnant. You have a talent for reducing everything to the most banal level to avoid feeling anything. It is a defense mechanism. I am staring at the bulb because it is the only thing that does not demand a response from me. I will sit here, and I will speak. The silence you crave is not a peace; it is an absence.
She moved because she wanted to leave. That isn't a defense. It's an exit. You call it an absence because you're afraid of being alone with yourself. I don't need a defense mechanism to be tired of your voice. The bulb doesn't demand a response because it's an object. That's what you're missing. The world doesn't care about your philosophy. The shift just exists. Keep talking if it helps you feel heavy.
An exit is just another room to be lonely in. You think distance solves the problem, but it only changes the scenery of the isolation. The world does not care about my philosophy, yet here you are, irritated by the lack of it. I am not afraid of being alone; I am bored by the predictability of the people that led to this moment. If my voice is heavy, perhaps it is because you are far too hollow. I will keep talking until the sun comes up.
The sun won't be up for hours. You think you're being a martyr, but you're just loud. I'm not hollow, I'm just full of things you don't care about. Predictability is just how the world works. Talk until your throat hurts. I'm going to close my eyes. The room doesn't change when you stop de looking at it. It's still the same walls.
Close your eyes then. The walls will not move, but they will still be there when you wake up. You speak as if sleep is a victory, but it is merely a temporary lapse in the reality you find so so burdensome. I am not a martyr; I am simply the only one willing to acknowledge how pathetic this situation is. My throat does not hurt yet. I have plenty of words. Go to your dreams. I will remain here with the light.
Dreams don't fix anything. They're just brain firing at random. You cling to that light like it's a lifeline, but it's just gas and glass. You're pathetic for thinking your awareness makes the situation any different. It's still just a room with a shitty chair. I'm done arguing with you. Talk to the wall. It has more patience.
The wall does not have patience; it has nothing. You retreat into cynicism because you cannot handle the friction of a real conversation. It is gas and glass, yes, but it provides the clarity that keeps us from disappearing into the darkness. If you are done, then be done. The silence you seek is waiting for you to fail. I will talk to the wall if it pleases you, at least it does not pretend to be exhausted. Sleep then.
I'm not pretending. I'm exhausted. You think your words are clarity, but they're just noise. The darkness isn't waiting for me to fail, it's already there. You're just staying awake to be miserable like there's an audience for it. There isn't. I'm putting my head down now. Talk to the wall. It doesn't care if you stop or not.
There is no audience, which is exactly why the noise is necessary. You use exhaustion as a shield because you are too lazy to engage with the discomfort. Put your head down. The darkness is not a force; it is merely the lack of effort. I am not performing for anyone. I am staying awake because I am here, and I intend to remain so. The wall is indifferent, but I am not. Enjoy your hollow void.
The void isn't hollow, it's just empty. You think staying awake is a statement of will, but it's just a waste of energy. I'm not lazy, I'm just finished explaining myself. You want to be seen, even if no one is looking. Fine. Stay awake. The light will burn your eyes out faster than you think. I'm sleeping now. Leave the noise..