Hollow

I wasn’t feeling too hot so I went to the docs. He checked me over and said feeling like rubber was not much of a reason to visit an expert in sickness. He told me to go get some rest and not waste his time any further, for he is a busy man. I wobbled on home, like the rubber that I am. I guessed life had been stressful lately, so I took his advice and slept for three days straight.

But when I woke from my triple day slumber I struggled to get back out of bed. My back was bendy and my head was soft. It was clear that the sleep had only worsened my rubber state, and it took me a grand total of five hours to slump out from the covers onto the floor, and slide myself to the door.

I didn’t make it further.

I woke up in the hospital, with a crowd of doctors looking at me with deep interest, yet little concern. It seems that my sister found me collapsed on the floor, my arm stretched as it hung onto the door handle of my room. She thought I’d had a stroke, or a heart attack, or had hit my head. She gave me CPR, but my body just inflated so she stopped. That was when she called for help.

The head doctor called me hollow, empty. I didn’t quite understand, so asked for him to elaborate. He pulled out an x ray scan which showed my body structure, but nothing else within. No bones to keep me upright, and he told me that when they cut me open they found nothing else inside. I have no heart, I have no brain. All I am is rubbery, stretchy skin. I was a walking miracle, or a walking disaster.

I spent a month in hospital till they decided they really needed the bed, so as an attempt to fix me up, they filled me with concrete so I could stand upright. It was an improvement at least. And I was no longer hollow because of this.

But I still lacked a heart, I still lacked a brain, and so I spent most of my days sitting in my room staring at the ceiling. Despite being filled with concrete, I still felt so hollow.

I eventually made my way back to the doctors and explained my situation. He didn’t seem too interested and just prescribed me some pills to fill up the non-physical emptiness that I felt. Because I was physically concrete, there was no need to do anything else. I explained that I probably had a hatch job operation, but he said that I’m sitting before him, so how could it be a hatch job?

The pills removed my concern, and took away some of the doubts that swept through my body. But I still spent most of the time staring at the ceiling, only this time I didn’t complain. I guess this is what it is to feel fine. Staring at the ceiling was just something to do, for I was too heavy for sports, and too lacking in vital bodily components for anything too engaging. It fit me well.

Sometimes I would think about the day before I became a rubber man. I was sitting on a bench waiting for a train, and there was no one else about. The only thing to keep my mind focussed was to stare at the text I’d received. It was a message from the girl that I loved. And she told me how I was just full of air. A shallow creation.

Not exactly in those words, but that’s how I read them. And so I became hollow so it all fit, for else it just wouldn’t make sense.

Just like my tale.

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