Previous Volumes
Volume 3 No. 2
The Crack in the Ceiling
by Sam Sawnick
He was ready to give in if that's what the universe wanted. But it seemed less and less likely that it was.
Alone. Alive. A dreadful combination.
​
He kept on with it, living. And he drank. And he dodged every real feeling that tried to creep its way in. He’d go days without moving. Months without stepping foot outside the house. He’d drink just enough to fall asleep. He’d wake and pace the hallway, feeling no sense of urgency whatsoever, no obligation to live, no purpose in his pulse.
​
It went on that way for a long time, until one day when he noticed the cracks in the ceiling. The cracks were tiny. But they bothered him. He hadn’t felt anything in so long. To be bothered? The feeling hummed along his veins.
​
He decided to try to patch the cracks on his own. He covered them with what he had on hand – duct tape. And then he drank just enough to fall asleep.
​
When he woke, the tape was gone and the cracks were wider. He eyed the ceiling suspiciously, not sure he’d ever patched it up at all. A familiar feeling, a scratchy nuisance led his fingers forward. He tore out a long stretch of duct tape and covered up the cracks, perhaps for the first time. He stumbled towards the hallway and began to pace back and forth until the sun went down. He went to bed without a bite of food in him and drank just enough to fall asleep.
​
He woke up and ran out to check the ceiling. The cracks were longer and deeper, gashes along an otherwise perfect looking ceiling, not a bit of tape upon them. He wondered why he hadn’t dealt with that yesterday, but the memory in his hands told him that he had. Several tears of duct tape later, the cracks were thoroughly covered now. He’d shoved the tape into the crevices and made X marks on the cracks. He would remember that, that he’d made Xs. And he stumbled off down the hallway, to pace and drink just enough to fall asleep.
​
He opened his eyes and sat up. He walked confidently towards the room to admire his Xs. But they weren’t there waiting for him. The cracks were letting light and dust in now. He stared up at them, admiring the new contours they’d taken on. And he stumbled off down the hallway to pace and to drink and to dream of what new scars he’d find in the morning.