Bathroom Monologue: Apocalypses Like Me

Please do not waste this man’s life by killing him. He’s like me. Let me deal with him.

For the first time in his life he’s worse than deaf. He can hear everything that everyone in the city around him says – he can hear your war room talking about the best way to put him down, and my dissent right now, but he can’t understand any of us. Every word he hears is a sliver of glass tearing through his mind. This man is in agony, like me.

He doesn’t understand how to stop calling the waves. He’s not making it hurricane or earthquake because he’s angry. Like I was when I first woke up, he’s too confused to be angry at anyone, and he desperately needs someone who won’t turn to stone when he looks at them. Once he calms down enough to understand anything, when the world stops being noise, he’ll be desperate for someone who can resist him.

I can’t imagine how much it would have meant to me to have one person around when I woke up who I didn’t turn to ash by accident. Someone who understood what it means to remember the entire world all at once.

Let me talk to him. He’s like me. All the storms in the world won’t stop him from hearing me.