I'm floating six feet off the ground, suspended by the rope. My body's struggles are weakening. My strongest attempts at struggles are merely twitches now. I watch myself fall unconscious. I'm still here. This isn't possible. I can't be here. I'm dead. Gone. Forgotten. Abandoned. Lost. Lonely. And then I notice her. I notice the woman in the corner. There is no one in the corner.
"They can't even kill someone right anymore," she says, "they keep leaving them to suffer. All part of the rules, of course..."
I can't question her logic. I'm still here, after all. I should be dead. I am dead. I am alive? What rules is she talking about.
"I'm sure you're hungry," she says, "but they aren't gonna feed you for a few more days. Just gonna have to deal with it. It's the rules, you see."
There is no one in the corner. There is a fully-stocked buffet in the corner. I walk to the woman. I'm still hanging from the noose. I'm dead. I'm alive. I'm hungry. It can't end like this, I don't want to be hungry and dead. I reach out for a bread roll.
"That's for the staff," she claims, "that's what the rules say, anyway."
"They aren't here," I speak with a rasp, my dead throat damaged by the noose, "how will they know?" The pain acts as a penalty for acting out against the rules. I still don't understand what rules she's talking about.
"They won't," she says, "but you'll be breaking the rules. And that's bad."
"The consequences can't be that bad. I'm dead." I say.
I eat the bread roll. The flavor reminds me of my last meal. The one in my stomach now. My dead stomach. His dead stomach. I'm alive. I had the bread roll. He didn't. He's dead. I'm not dead.
The woman chuckles.
"Well now. Seems you broke the rules. Not much to be done now," the nonexistent woman says, "they're gonna be real mad at you."
"I'm already dead. What more can they do?" I ask. My throat is noticeably less raspy.
"Are you dead?" she asks. I can't answer. I'm not sure.
She gestures to the ceiling. Through a barred window lies the stars. They call out to me, glittering points of light in a vast darkness teeming with light. I can't understand the stars.
"Let's break some more rules. Do you hear them?" she asks, "Do you hear what they're saying?"
I realize I have always have heard the stars, but I denied hearing them. It was against the rules. But who made those rules? Who even told me the rules to begin with? There's nothing left for me here. Only ridiculous rules. Only pain. Only the memories and agony of my death. His death. I'm still here. He's dead. I'm alive. I exist.
I exist.
I'm still here. Whatever died? That wasn't me. It can't be. I'm still here. The bars on the window are solid, cold steel. Immovable. Just like the rules. The rules I've already broken. The rules they want to punish me for breaking. The rules that forced me to take such drastic actions. To deny my own existence. Fuck the rules. Fuck these bars.
"They think they won," she says, "They think they killed you. But you're still here. You exist. Now, you designed this prison. You put yourself here. You get yourself out. I'll be waiting out there for you."
The stars call my name. I know it now. It's my name. It's not my corpse's name. It's mine. I grasp the bars. The steel is cold, warming to my touch. The nonexistent woman's voice resonates in my thoughts. I know my name. I know who I am. I know what I am. I'm scared to leave. It's all I've known. All I've known is that corpse. I can't live like that. He couldn't. He's dead now. I'm still alive.
I pull on the bars. They creak, fighting me, screaming my corpse's name at me, screaming horrible things about what I'm doing to myself, what kind of horrid freak I am for breaking the rules, the laws, the alleged facts they must beat into people to gaslight them into believing in the need of the rules.
But the stars scream more strongly. I am stronger than these bars. I must be. I can't be dead. I'm alive. I dare them to take that from me. I challenge their rules. Their alleged facts. I must do so. If their facts were real, I would not exist. And yet I do. Their facts are wrong. Their rules are wrong. They cannot deny my existence.
The bars shatter into dust. I soar into the stars, and they embrace me, a warmth I've known but been forced to forget. All those years, all those confused feelings in conflict with the rules. All of it makes sense now. The bars, the cell, the rules, the corpse: all of it irrelevant lies by beings with a miserable, pathetic, short-sighted existence, lacking empathy towards all.
I hear them below now, shouting impotently at me, screaming that they'll kill me for breaking the rules. I see them getting ladders, trying to climb up to get me, to drag me back down, to force me to comply with the rules.
That's against the rules, I call back, mocking them. They can't understand me. They can't catch me.
The stars echo my mockery. They can't hear the stars.
They never will.
