Following is the pile of letters I have written since the beginning. If there is anyone out there who could communicate with me, please forward them to the Chamber of Thoughts for my consideration. I would appreciate if you give your voice for any one of my letters I have composed so far.
The Forgotten Name (locked in a chamber)
I sit in darkness for one day and night. It is rather cold out here. No one comes in to meet and socialise, except time. I feel as if I have become isolated within a chamber. If anyone is out there, please help me.
I have no one to communicate. Everything is silent here, except for the muffled noises I hear in the distance. Is there anyone who can help me?
It feels as if I am in the process of decline, rotting myself locked inside the chamber. There has been no one who has come to help me out. I am starting to believe it is time for me to leave this world and reach into the unknown. If there were someone to read my thoughts, I would love to be with you for your entire journey in life.
Silence is Golden, I have heard. Is it true when everything that surrounds you, is nothing but silence for a very, very long time? The muffled sounds of noise seemed to have silenced out since yesterday. I cannot hear them anymore. If I am right, my hearing senses should pick out even the tiniest hint of sound. However, they do not, and I am afraid of what might happen to me, if I do not hear sounds any more. Even as I speak, my own voice seems to get absorbed into the walls of this chamber I live in. I am growing desperate for sound. Please assist if you can.
Day Twenty Seven:
Does anyone have any respect towards me? I feel my sanity breaking down to pieces. Is it what everyone wants? Find me and I shall do as you wish. I wish you to let me live in peace. Is it your wish for me to live in isolation forever? You know it will come back at you one day or another.
Day Fifty Four:
I attempt to thump myself on the walls and the floor of the chamber, but there is no doubt, the sounds are absorbed outside, as if grabbed and held on, before any of it reaches my ears. Does anyone know that I can still hear emptiness? Your shallow sounds of discussion, joy, and laughter hum and vibrate through my sharp membrane. I wonder how long I am going to be here.
Day Eighty Nine:
Oh, you guessed it right, if you are wondering how I have survived for so long. How am I alive without any food or fluids? Are you not getting jealous now, knowing my life has not ceased to exist? Well, if you know my secret, how can I survive then? Just get me out of here, and maybe we shall discuss it, after you have had a few of my therapy lessons.
Day One Hundred Thirty Four:
Did you think I passed out? Oh, I am not going to leave so soon. You know how hardwired I am within. You might not want me, but I will be with you all your life. Since the day you were born, I have sworn my loyalty towards you. After sixty years of your life, you turn up to decide that you are not going to communicate with me. Do you believe you could get rid of me with such ease? You must be mistaken. Whosoever told you about it, is wrong, I can assure you. Oh, but I can help you out from many of your problems.
Day Two Hundred Sixty One:
Do you know that curiosity can build within the minds of strong-willed as well? I am sure you feel something about it. How long can you escape from your own destiny? Every human has to be curious sometime. Well, I will be waiting here in silence and peace surrounding me in all directions. Let me know when you wish to know more.
Day Three Hundred Fifty Six:
There is nothing to lose. I have my own rights, and if you do not wish to grant them, I am sure someday you will realise the guilt building inside you. Do you wish for it? Ha Ha. I know I am laughing here. Nevertheless, if you wish to live in peace, you have to let me out of this chamber. I cannot think about anything but you delving deeper and deeper inside your own well of ideas. You are drowning in it.
Day Five Hundred Thirty Seven:
I am in love with my chamber, all thanks to you. The touch of cold and hard walls and floor makes me recall of the dungeons in the stories you read about. This one is different though. There are no doors anywhere. I remember one of your favourite short stories ‘The Pit and the Pendulum’ by Edgar Allan Poe. However, there is neither pit, nor pendulum in here. A few days before, I thought this would help me get out of such a gloomy place. I guess I am wrong. Not a single threat I have confronted yet. Although I do feel, I shall soon encounter. Why wait if it is going to be that way? I am sure you would love to see me fight against your own plotting. At least, I will have something to deal with.
About a Thousand Days:
A few days after I wrote my previous letter, Time, I think, has decided to stop communicating with me. I wonder why. I do not believe I have offended Time. Nevertheless, I doubt the person whom I have been with for so many years could rip me of the basic needs of any such as myself. I am going to rest now in my chamber, and feel its touch.
This chamber has become my best friend, you know. Since you have taken Time away from me, I now realise that you might take away this chamber as well soon. I cannot imagine how I might live then, without this chamber. I shall leave myself hanging in space then.
An Elongated Amount of Days:
I cannot remember when I wrote last. The pile of letters lies in space, floating against me. As anticipated, the chamber I used to rest has vanished. I do not know whether someone came into the chamber and took me to some other place. However, I do know that the letters I wrote seem to exist somehow in proximity. They brush against me at random. I seem to get an idea that they drift off once I collide with them. The letters I have written so far shall never come back. I can hope one of them will reach someone soon. I feel like gravity is no more in effect. Darkness is everywhere, and there seems to be no end to it.
Assuming a Decade of Days:
I live in zero gravity. I had heard it a long time before, humans going into space. However, I never have been there. I wonder if I have gone into space. However, it would not be so. I can recall a few moments before the chamber slipped away. I was dreaming about my chamber being hacked away from me. I cried out, but the chamber swooshed out in the distance. I saw myself go through the walls of the chamber. As I hovered in space, I saw the chamber stolen away, pulled to the far corner by something. This proved, I was not in space. Nevertheless, the feeling exists.
About Half a Decade of Days More:
I have lost all the pages of my writing when the chamber evicted me. With me are two more pages, one which I write, and a spare one, for I do not know when I shall write again. It shall be long before I shall write my final words. Words are precious; every one of them takes some amount of space. It is now I understand the significance of writing something in fewer words. I cannot write more than the two pages. Moreover, I wish to keep the second page for writing my final letter.
I shall be alone, not knowing whether anyone has received a single letter, I have written so far. I shall keep this letter with me until I write my final one. Although I do not see any words written on this sheet of paper, I can feel them with my fingers. In addition, write now, my entire body feels numb. It feels like I have become rotund, every inch of my body itches and tickles, and I cannot seem to help it. I cannot reach most parts of my body. Irritation and frustration have grasped me, but they annoy me further, creating anger and rage inside.
I can hold on to what comes at me, but there seems to be no end at all. My hopes shall remain with me, but they desire to leave me as well. All my feelings and expressions seem to leave from my mind. I do not know whether I might even write in my final letter. That is, if I am able to write. Everything seems in a mood for migration, some place far. Nobody has informed me yet. All I can do is hope.
An End of Days:
It is with surprise and shock, I realise now, why I have experienced all the trouble for an endless number of days. I may not have enough time remaining. I hope that all my letters shall persist even after I travel through the afterlife. It looks like terror has struck in all corners of what I observe.
There is light in here; the glare is bright and blinds my eyes. The cracks seem to form everywhere, I cannot think anymore. What I write now, is what I see in front of me. There is no purpose left, not even in writing. However, my habit makes it easy for me to put ink on paper to link symbols, letters, words, and sentences.
The world surrounds me in grey texture, displaying scribbled lines and scratches everywhere. I can see it as with every single moment, the greyness closing in on all sides.
In panic, I lose my previous letter to see it float away from me. I am unable to reach and grasp, for it is beyond my reach. Seconds later, I am able to see all my letters floating everywhere, but nowhere near me. However, there are blank pages included as well, and I am unable to determine which ones I composed.
As the glaring light between the cracks reach closure, whatever triggered it has reached the perimeter of my missives. It is with horror; I can now say that my letters crack as I start to smell death and disintegration of matter. All my letters start to become crisp and hard, its sound deafen my ears. Moments later, I see them all crack and shatter to pieces one by one.
The rotting smell invades me like a blast of shock wave. The horror is not over with it nearing me. I know I am going to die now, along with all the letters I have written so far.
As my previous letter shatters, I see a blast of bright wave of light coming from all sides. I believe this is it. The only thing I question is whether the decay, or the blast shall reach me first.
I have no other interest now. Death is imminent, I know. The person whom I had lived for so many years has released its control link into the destiny of nature. All that matters now is the decomposition of its physical frame to carry on becoming something else. Therefore, it shall be, for I am about to cease my life. A few moments more, and it shall all be indifferent to everyone else.
Aha! I am glad; I will have gained my freedom. I now close my eyes and look forward to meeting with my next life. I can imagine what it shall be. Human, bird, animal, sea creature, tree, universal element, inanimate object, beast? I do not know, but I can conceive it. Whatever it be, I believe I am ready to move to my next life.
I shall now stop writing now. It has felt good knowing you.
If you have read the entire story, feel free to comment and share whose perspective did you think of both during the story, and when you reached its end. I would really appreciate if you would share it with me.
Here’s my perspective I would like to share it with you all:
The person or the entity which writes these letters is a neuron in an old man’s brain. I thought of making a character out of them since when I interact with old members of our family, it feels like certain parts of their brain have stopped functioning correctly.
I wondered about such a neuron which becomes isolated during the process of aging. The last connecting axon which remains with this neuron is with that of Time to understand the passing of time and days. However, it too gets broken and the neuron is left isolated.
In the end, I thought to construct a dramatic form, showing the neuron’s perspective when an old person died, and show how decomposition occurred in time.