Clipped

"Wanna grab a beer, Silas?" A Pale bearded office worker said.

"Nah, I gotta get home, wifey's been getting mad recently," Silas said with a slight chuckle.

He got off the elevator and split ways with his old buddy. The tile floor clicked with each step.

"Next time, then," His old buddy said, not facing him. "Yeah" Silas replied, not even believing himself.

Box offices past Silas with each hurried step, faster and faster. Other workers in their fitted suits, both men and women, moved out the way as he stormed past.

The clicking came to a stop, the glass door opened, and a heavy inhale followed.

"Yeah, Mabey next time."

.

.

.

On the way back to his apartment he did his daily routine. Buy milk & cold chicken sandwiches at the convenience store, fill the bowls around the area with milk for the stray cats, and finally go to the railway where the homeless people lingered.

"You don't understand what you're doing for us, Silas," A shabby, ungroomed man said. Despite his constant moving, he had a sparkle in his eye.

The smallest, faintest crease on Silas' face grew.

"Anytime," He said, handing a few more sandwiches to the circle around him.

He got home and did the usual husband-y things. Kiss his Wife, Son, Jordans, then food. He got odd stares from his family that he disregarded.

"Tradition is tradition" Silas proclaimed, hand on hips.

His wife, had long brownish-blonde hair that she moved to her side. His son had reddish-brown hair, with an occasional strand of blonde. He got the red from Silas.

"Did you learn anything? Just kidding, what happened during recess?" Silas asked.

"You won't believe this, so johnny scored a half court with only a minute left and-" He rambled on. Silas didn't understand half of what he was talking about, but he listened contently.

His wife did the same, now and then lifting a fork with food to the chatterbox's mouth.

After dinner, because of Silas' weak blater and old body, he had to use the bathroom.

After doing his business he took one giant step from the toilet to the sink.

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5..." Up to twenty then turned off the faucet. His drowsiness had gotten the better of him so tiny puddles created by the backsplash of his hands stained the white floor.

The door was right by the sink so just another step would get him there. And then, as if to confirm his drowsiness, his foot landed at an obtuse angle. With not enough grip on the ground and an off-balance center, he crashed into the ground.

BANG

He saw nothing for a while. Not even colors, even though when you closed your eyelids you'd see black.

BANG

He laid still, but somehow, he felt he was reliving the trauma.

BANG

"DAMMIT! Stop it, brain. I'm still on the floor!" He cursed. A hand slipped over the sink, followed by a body.

He still couldn't see so he felt around in the direction he thought was the door.

He stepped on another water puddle. His head once again went crashing to the floor, except this time the cabinet that housed the faucet and the toilet laid ahead. He'd smash right in the middle.

By this time, his eyes were wide open. He braced for impact.... and it never came.

Wind rushed past his face, curling around his entire body. His messy hair danced widely in every direction. Slowly, he lifted his eyelids.

Fear. Sadness. Longing. Emptiness.

These were all things he felt in such a short, short, second. And by the fifth second, he wished to feel it all over. Because what he saw was more horrifying than anything he'd ever experienced.

Not even seeing his parents get slowly tortured by a madman when he was a child could top this.

A long, black expanse stretched from nowhere to the very edge of non-existence. And Silas, the unfortunate man, was the victim of falling into it.

Claustrophobia set in despite the fact he knew there was not a single barrier millions of kilometers away.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?" He screamed from his lungs. But no sound came out. Nothing but the wind rushing past him at breakneck speeds could be heard.

And so, for the next hour, he freaked out, crying, laughing, and staring below him, waiting for something, anything to happen.

And yet it never came.

Soon 4 hours came and he was already hallucinating. By the eighth hour, he had already had the symptoms of someone who'd spent their entire life in the white torture room.

4 hours morphed into 8, then 12, then a day, 7 days, a month, 8 months, 3 years.

Silas had completely lost his mind. He had forgotten his own family, what his name was and why he was trapped in this empty expanse falling. But more than that he wondered:

'Why am I alive?' 'Why can't I kill myself 'I haven't had food or water, so why isn't my body shriveled?' 'Please, someone, kill me

In the three years that passed, he had switched religions 15 times. He even made up some own gods that he prayed would take him out of this hell hole. He tried to claw at his own throat, scratch his eyes out, stop breathing and bite his limbs off.

All of it proved to be futile. Over the months they would grow back. The blood only splattered his clothing.

In the beginning, he wondered why this had happened to him? Hadn't he already been through enough? Plus he constantly went out of his way to help others around him. Despite his high-paying job he made his family live poor so he could everyday help those in need.

But this is what he got in return?

But the worst thing about falling at breakneck speeds in the black abyss was the fear. He knew nothing around him. In his phases of having hallucinations, he would imagine monsters slowly creeping around him- circling him. Never attacking, just watching. And that drove him insane.

But finally, with the hallucinations and fear, loneliness, sense of betrayal, and so many more factors in his already insane state, Silas went psychopathic. He no longer cared. His fear morphed into anger. His kind soul turned vile.

He'd kill a child if he wanted.

'Hitler wasn't right. But he wasn't wrong either. I don't care about race, age, disability, or anything else. I no longer care for anything. Everyone should die, and everyone shouldn't. I don't care.'

His very way of thinking contradicted himself, and yet, he still didn't care.

In the end, he wanted death.