Brandon Gorrell

the phone, it's not ringing. i can't type. i turned the fan on while someone was coming upstairs. they could hear me, and i pressed the door closed, it was moving as they entered its line of sight, they stopped. it seemed like they stopped, but that would have been stranger still, the possibility seems unrealistic, it's taking hours for me to type this. they were there and i was in my room, separated by my conscious will, a mutual understanding between us, then the footsteps continued, and a door closed. i processed this. i keep switching the positions of my legs, i keep hearing the people outside. i left them while smoking a cigarette, they were talking and uncomfortable to me. i mean not to me, just for me. i made the promise to myself that i would finish smoking and go, but after i couldn't stop thinking i couldn't keep it. i left quickly. it should have seemed normal for me to go -- it was not unprecedented. i walked upstairs and went to my room. then that situation happened, the mutual understanding that i was right there, standing, listening to the footsteps, in my room, away from them. something obvious.