My theme of this little monolouge that I did, is in the holocaust of the 1940s. Exactly in a concentration camp of Hitler. The important thing of my story is not the place or the people; it's the feelings of the people inside it. Well, so this is a man who is in a concentration camp and has a sadness monologue of what he thinks, feels and sees. I used some metaphors to describe it and my tone is kind a direct and short but at the same time I tried to be descriptive.
At the final of the story,
When only you can be gray is where I am. When hot is confused with cold, sadness with pain, indifference with resignation: this is gray. When my dehydration doesn’t let me cry, when my face just says sadness, when I seem dead when I am alive: gray status. When I don’t know what I am doing, what fears I have or what terrifies me: feeling gray. Neither I don’t know what I am, actually: an inert human machine, if it exists, a gray machine.
Fluttering, I observe my body is moving, it must be because there is movement, but it’s only a function, a function ofmovements.
A dammed box, an eternal nightmare, a little hell, a painful purgatory... just nice metaphores of myplace-region-space. World?
My reality already is not do but melt.
Where? When? And why? Here, always and because yes.
Can. Will. Shall. These verbs do not exist here.
Cannot do something correlate physical, scientific, moral and psychological elements.
In here, everything can, everything is allowed:
- People torture us to release their stress, to entertain themselves, to wear themselves out
- Murders for beliefs, skin’s colors, diversity of opinion, different sexual attraction…
- People who smoke and eat while drag murder corpses.
- Laugh of people who shut other people in a chamber of death.
- Thefts of golden teeth of corpses.
Nobody finds items, because already no one can or cannot, now everyonehas toordie.
Feet: I pray… I wish… I hope…
Navel: Hello? Please, help! Is there someone here? Where am I? Who am I? What happens?
Heart: If we would know the magic number that makes someone listen to me, help me, pay attention to me, take the end of the thread of my little heart-phone…exists?
Head: Screams of small gray animals when they play to hide for ever, to die, to feel sick…
Everyone asks the existence of the things here, when you enter. Then everything disappears; questions, words, prayers, hopes, feelings and reality.
What doesn’t disappear is the truth: the happiness of evil humans in a mundane hell.
Not heaven, not hell, mundane hell.
Not white, not black, gray world.