A Choke and Chair

A choke sat in my chest and throat. It had been there for hours. Since waking. The power had been shut off. I didn't have the money for it. I sat in my chair, one of the few things I had left around the house. It was ugly. I couldn't sell it. It was green and torn and I loved it and I was glad to have it. I sat in it and stared out the window. The sun had set and the world was a deepening blue and gray and rain fell everywhere and I was silent.

The choke sat in me. A pressure had built up behind my face and behind my eyes but I was done with all of that. I had promised myself. I was done with all of that. I sipped at the cheap beer I had bought with my last six dollars and as much as I told myself to let it go I held tighter. The pressure built. The choke tightened. The house was dark and everything was dark.

I had no money. No work. Nothing to keep me distracted. I had a half filled notebook filled with terrible things and a skeletal library. I had a useless fucking television and a guitar with three broken strings.

The windows were open and the cool air and fresh breeze came in and it said 'remember me? I go on. We go on.' It was a lie and I ignored it.

The choke began to rise up my throat. It was a rock. A mountain. Rising like a cork from the bottom and behind it all of the terrible things I had sworn off. All of the thoughts and words and the mess with it.

The choke rose and rose and it was in the back of my mouth and the pressure behind my face grew stronger and harder and I tried to swallow it all back down, staring out the window, and I couldn't. I sipped my beer and swallowed and when I breathed again, the choke escaped. The pressure dropped. I remembered. I sank. The world blurred and my eyes stung and I remembered. I had no choice.

I swore I was done with this.

Night came and by then I was dried up. I finished the beer. I sat in my chair crumpled and bent and stared now at the black and listened to the world die down until the morning. People would wake. Shower. Dress. Kiss their loves goodbye. Go to work. Stress. Laugh. Come home. Kiss their loves hello. Live. I would stay in this chair and wish all misery upon them and know that nothing was changing back. And that was fine.


None of this matters, I thought.