the sanctuary

He enters. The silence is deafening. He wonders if this truly is a refuge from the screaming chaos that is outside, chaos that is bent upon breaking in. At least, he tells himself, he has learned some methods to deaden his wits against the relentless attacks of the uncertainty and the confusion that is outside. This hush, however, is pitiless. He looks around. In the bright light a few faces are visible like apparitions from a long-forgotten past, hardly recognizable, distant, uncommunicative. Its nothing like the bustle that used to be in this place not too long ago. All for the best, he mutters under his breath. How would they who are not even worth acknowledging understand the demons and how they plague him? Hell, has he even shut them out properly or have they followed him in? He stares blankly into the light hoping for a miracle to take form from within it. The hope makes him wait, foolishly, quietly, stubbornly. Faces pop in and out, more familiar faces, faces that he wants to touch so as to make his presence felt. But they are in a hurry like always. Cursory engagement and they are out. He is amazed at how they do not seem to need asylum from the outside like he does. Are they stronger than him? Or is it just his perception of things that is jaded? But now it is obvious that the vaccuum around him is widening; just more empty spaces for the demons to inhabit. The wait continues. Every passing moment is heavier than the last. The noise from the outside begins to breach the walls of his sanctuary. He realises that his time is up. Reluctantly, he gets up to leave. As darkness abruptly consumes the light he knows it will not be long before he is back. It is just the wait that he has given up, not the hope.