Obsession
November 7 — Obsession
There’s a black spot on the wall.
At first, I thought it was an ant. Crawling up the plaster, seeking sap or sugar.
I watched it for hours. Lying in my own sweat and dirt, stinking of human musk. But the ant never moved. Not an inch. It couldn’t be alive then, could it? Must have been a stain, a smudge, a hole even.
But then, I haven’t moved either, and I’m still living.
Aren’t I?
Golden hour came and went, filling the room in a hazy yellow light. Tinges of red were smeared across the sky out my window.
Then darkness.
I didn’t turn on the overhead light. Didn’t bother to reach toward the bedside lamp. If I moved, I might lose sight of it. My eyes were fixated on the little black mark, somehow blacker in the night.
And growing.
It ate up the wall, spread onto the ceiling. The room was engulfed in its glory. I sat there, waiting for it to claim me. Watching with reverence.
Сайхан Бичээрэй!
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