Trapped within this room are vague memories long held inside. The weight of it all still saddles on my body. The queerness of what has happened lies at the uppermost tier of it all. I yearn and not yearn for all of it to be relived, have a glimpse even for once after all these times. The scenes I have envisioned inside my head have long been repressed… but somehow want to be free. I don’t understand what I’m thinking. It’s pitch black and I’m seeing nothing.
And then it’s there.
I see a boy. And I see a fawn, a weak and feeble fawn.
He is just there, waiting for an invisible flicker only he knows. Yet the fawn doesn’t know. “He’s too good,” the fawn says. The boy waits, and waits, and waits. Unspoken words were stuck inside the fawn. She sings of woes while he dances indifference. The constant nonchalant expressions killed them both.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Time’s up. It’s over. He doesn’t rescue the fawn, for the fawn doesn’t want to be rescued.
The thought comes rushing to the boy. He is unduly relieved and hurt at the same time. The ambiguity of what he feels pains him for an unknown reason. He wants the fawn for himself and his anxiousness destroyed him. It’s over and the fawn ain’t feeble no more. The lessons have been learned. The fawn changed after the whole universe placed its unduly wrath over the feelings she contrived for how many years.
The scene abruptly changes. The fawn has gone missing. Where is the boy? The complexities of what I just witnessed bears down on me. Suddenly, I feel the chilling emptiness this dusty room can offer. No one is left. I shout. I try to let out the words. I want to understand what my eyes just saw. From a distance, I’ve heard a sound, a creak. I saw a light. No, it’s not what I thought it is.
Ahhh. The fawn is there. Words are rising up my throat. I have queries and my curiosity is consuming me. I want to ask her what happened to the boy. I want to ask her what happened. But then I see it. And that’s when the realization has finally taken over me.
In solitude, I’m in a room full of mirrors.
I saw the fawn in my dreams. I want to forget her but the queries still linger and I hate it. She made me see it and I hate her. She made me see all the woes that have been obscured by fake pleasures of reality. She looked at me intently, with eyes wanting to devour and not devour me. I hate her for staring at me like that. It was just too bad for my ego. Or maybe it’s just the bad girl in me that makes me think I’m better than the fawn. But I’m not, because we’re the same, same in all aspects but fears.
She fears what is to become. I fear her.
I don’t want to go back. Yet the fawn pulled me back to that empty room. Her hands clasped onto my arms, digging in my skin. She was pulling me so hard that my limbs nearly got ripped off my body. I wanted to scream but no words came out. It’s just unspeakable. Soon, she gave up. I also did. I sat down. She did. I celebrated my loneliness with a stranger I know perfectly well.
I then wake up. It was just a dream, I say. Yet the fingernail marks hurt my arm.
I open my eyes to the light that blinded me. It was dusk, almost morning. A few minutes I’ve spent, listening to the sound of silence. There was nothing. I felt nothing. I sighed and got up. It was there again. And it just keeps coming back. Ridiculous.
I feel the excruciating pain on my arms. For reasons I try knowing but failed to, I see the invisible fingernail marks. The sad part maybe of having those repeated dreams is having to repeatedly tell yourself that it’s not true. But maybe, even after forcing yourself to believe in such, you’ll never wake up unscathed. You think you can, but you realize that you’re broken in so many ways but one. You think you can, but you realize that no matter how hard you hide in the darkest nook of the world, you still can’t run away.
Why is she there? Why is she not leaving? She’s not yielding to any of my constant pleadings to leave. She’s annoying, stupid, and stubborn. I don’t want her in my life. Yet she pulls me back to that dreaded room where all the woes of the world have been kept. Or maybe not all. But still.
I sit down. I cry.
And as I realize this, the hollowness of it all finally takes its toll. A hollowness which immediately gets filled with new-found hope, closing in the gap that was once there.
Au revoir, Agnes, the feasible fawn.