You have been staring blankly at the clock for hours, and you have no idea why. You didn’t bother to figure it out. You just kept on waiting, waiting for something to happen, someone, to come to you, and do something that would make you feel alive again. You have been working all day, and it’s surprising to you that you don’t feel tired at all. You tried to remember what you did for the last two days, and where you went, but you can’t, and then, you cringed a bit, and clenched your fist. You slapped yourself again, and again. And then you screamed, so loud. You have to make yourself feel. You have to make yourself hear your own screams. But, nothing came out of it. Occasionally, you would think that there are movements behind you, maybe even sounds. Tiny footsteps, and careful, hushed, chatters. Sometimes you would think that you’ve heard a glass breaking. But, you’re not certain of it. You hoped that they were real. You hoped that, at least, you are still capable of feeling, even at lowest height of it. You’re frustrated, but you can’t make your body feel the frustration that you really wanted. So you pulled some white strands out of your hair, hoping that you would feel the sensation of a little itch. You didn’t. You pulled some more. And then you plucked perhaps, a handful of white strands, at a time. You plucked a myriad of times. And you are so sure that you’ve plucked so hard, with all the might that you hope you still have. But, still, nothing. Nothing. You screamed some more. Nothing. Nothing. You still can’t hear yourself, but you’re sure that you shouted. So you stopped. And then your eyes fixed themselves straight on the clock again. You waited.