Games of Sardonia
By J. G. Vergara
Tell me that there’s a way, a way out of my insanity. Tell me that there are options besides the one that I keep contemplating in order to terminate the turmoil boiling over in my head. It’s no more than a monstrous ordeal to have to sit and wait….wait…wait. It’s a painful existence to lie in a cold bed, waiting for your warmth to shroud me. It’s nothing more than a deplorable facsimile, a lie that I wait for. I’ve delusioned myself to think of any arrival. I’ve conjured this world up and I’ll live in it till the day I die. It’s a simple little thing that I do. No complexity. Sheer and mere idiocy to want what doesn’t want me. I’ll just keep writing until I grow sardonic and die.

It won’t be long now, as I morn the last of my innocence as it is flushed down the labyrinth to die with the rest of my spirit. My soul, huh, what an affable title for something more affable than a caged beast, a beast that is waiting for the demise of its captors in order to turn the tides of the war in its favor.

I wait for word. I wait for a sign. I wait for a cliché caught up in the middle of this whole damned night, ready to forget the pains I periodically feel for the life I never had, yet always wanted. If I keep typing, my fingers will falter and I will be years progressed…BUT, I will not have to endure myself out in the cruel world. At least, that’s a comfort. A life with no life to lead is nothing worth living without an end. And then, it would be as if I was never born.