Not as entertainment but as a means of escape. I am convinced that this game, when scratched into the wall, contains the perfect magic spell. And that spell will make a door. And that door will open into a world that makes more sense than this one. And for once, we will be free.
But when you play, you have to mean it.
You must scratch it out with your fingernails and bleed yourself into it. You must make a set of runes out of the walls themselves. That is the spell you know. The runes you create with your effort and blood.
It is a different spell for everyone.
I stare at the wall and imagine I am a blackbird sitting atop a record player. Round and round I go. But there is no record. No music playing that can lull me into sleep. I try to sing my own song but I am too dizzy from spinning and the words in my head have all mixed together until none of it makes sense anymore. I try to diagram my sentences but I never really learned how in the first place. They look pretty, but what do they mean?
X marks the spot where oh my god is found but I lost my map a long time ago. I’m trying to retrace the geography of myself. Connect the dots is the closest I can come, but even that is just a fragment of the (w)hole. From incubator to pneumonia to—what came after that? I’m trying to remember what home looked like.
And here’s the kicker: you can’t play tic-tac-toe alone.
I'm trying, but it just isn't working.
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