Dead Inside

Slove grasped for the light. The flickering bulb shone its feeble glow on the young man’s dead eyes, its dying incandescence barely illuminating the rest of the single-room apartment. Throughout this hollow space, the terrible living conditions would have bothered a normal person. Aside from the lack of any window, there were myriad hair strands that littered the floorboards, most of them coated with dandruff; a pungent stink rose from the untucked bed, its yellowed bedding stained with brown patches; while freezing air had enveloped the room for twelve years since the blizzard had begun. But Slove could care little about these distractions at the moment. As he twiddled his digits around the glow, his stagnant eyes remained fixated on the white orb that provided warm light in the midst of this dark winter. His arms would grow tired every once in a while, and he would let it fall with a loud ‘thud’. It should have hurt, but he would raise his hand back towards the light a few seconds later without a whimper, his aloof expression unchanged.

Over in one corner of the room, the iMac his mother bought for him sat on a deteriorating study desk. Aside from the dusts that were showered over every piece of furniture in the apartment, the veneer of the table itself was filled with tears and holes, with one of the tearing so great that one could insert his whole index finger beneath the veneer. Moreover, ants could easily be spotted crawling all over the surface, the infestation caused by Slove’s constant dining of junk food and other meals by the desk. As for the computer itself, it contained a Windows platform filled with viruses, and a ‘Downloads’ folder full of pornography – gang rape pornography, filled with young women being dominated by groups of men in a twisted power-fantasy. Despite the stereotypical image he had set himself with – only things missing would be a basement and his dead parents still living with him – Slove could not be bothered to improve his life.

He had dug a deep hole in his life, and he was ready to fall further into despair. He would almost masturbate twice per day nowadays, numbing himself from the pains of reality. The comfort zone felt great; and with no one left in the world to pressurize him nor was there any conflict pushing him, he was a protagonist who will never escape from this Hell.

Slove had committed spiritual suicide, and he had reached the point of no return.


I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door I must have it painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black