My shadows slam the doors of sanity and barricade the lucidity of soaked nightmares.

I shrink and hide myself, brittle and flimsy behind my naked eyes that can no longer see

the obscurity of my masquerades, hiding my true self in assumed identity. I lurk inside a dark soul that bares nothing but broken dreams and foundation of shrouds.

I blanket my sinister past to seek redemption but ambiguity veils my fractured heart

held together by duct tape of animosity. I rip the binding off, discovering paralyzing panic, a vulnerability cloaked in bogus beards, listening to roar of whispers and silent screams.

I burrow under my skin and wash off my camouflage, stop suppressing walls of deceit and

breathless lies and blot out the darkness to reveal the dawning light, drawing it desperately into my bankrupt core. But I weep and rend my hair as I realize I am too late!

My eyes scan the forest that lies right before me. I hesitantly take a step forward. Even though the scenery is beautiful, with its towering pines and oaks, lush green grass with daisies and asters mixed with dandelions, and a cool stream running along its borders, I know the truth. Underneath it all lies the charred remains of the rest of humanity.

In that moment, I never felt so alone. Tears cloud my eyes and a sob chokes me as my knees buckle. Black spots invade my vision until I can see nothing.

"Why did this happen?!" I whisper. "Why am I the only one who survived?!"

An inhuman noise pierces the air, and I curl up tighter and cry harder. It takes me a moment to realize the noise has come from me. 

The answering noise, however, is neither mine nor an echo.

I slowly uncurl, the rocks in the grass digging into my skin. I roll over onto my back and then get to my aching feet. Adrenaline and fear mix in my blood to form volatile strength. 

Something moves on the edge of the forest. 

I am frozen for only a moment, trying to decide which way to run.

What do I have to lose?

So I run.

Towards whatever is in the forest.

I remember the day I woke up deaf. 

     I became deaf when on a Tuesday morning last year. I went groggily downstairs, not even wondering why I didn't hear myself yawn. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine. 

       Mom noticed my presence and greeted me with a smile. I waved, and mom mouthed good morning, sweetie. I furrowed my eyebrows and began to ask why she wasn't talking. 

       But I stopped in the middle when I couldn't hear myself. 

      I kept repeating words over and over, wiggling and popping my ears. Nothing was changing. Everything was silent and still. 

      By then I was freaking out and having a panic attack. Mom had rushed over to me in worry. Tears were sloping down my face, and I felt how my breathing was all shaky. 

      Mom finally tilted my chin up so I was forced to look up. Everything was blurry, but I lip-read: what's wrong, Avalon?

       I said I couldn't hear anything, and all color drained from mom's face, which just caused me to sob harder. I remember mom and I just sitting on the stairs, crying together for hours. 

     It's called Sudden Sensorineural Hearing Loss (SSHL), which is loosing your hearing overnight. Apperantly mine happened because of malformation in my inner ears. Only one out of ten people with SSHL have it in both ears. I guess it was so bad that hearing aids didn't work on me, either. 

        But we moved on. Mom, Dad, all of my school classmates, and other important people in my life learned sign language. I used a whiteboard sometimes, but I preferred sign. My life isn't perfect, but I get along fine. 

        Truth be told I'd known what was happening long before I'd been told, wives usually do. At first it hurt but I soon realised somethings are not worth fighting for. Initially I wanted to stay in the familiarity of this house, with its proximity to my work and friends, and all the memories of my children growing up, but then I received a job offer on the other coast that was everything I'd ever wanted, I couldn't turn the job down. I mean, a new life in a new town, better pay and conditions, opportunities like that don't turn up very ofter at my time of life! So when I received a nasty letter from soon to be Ex and miss fancy pants demanding I move out of  my home I sent  a nice reply saying it was all arranged and I would be leaving in six weeks time. Would have liked to have been a fly on the wall when that letter was received.

         I've cleaned the place from top to bottom, everything is spick and span, my personal stuff is all packed and ready to ship. I'm having a big get together of all my friends and neighbours tonight, we'll clear out the last of the food in the freezer and have a big b-b-q and a big bonfire to clear the garden rubbish before I leave in the morning,  I have just one thing left to do.

           There is a tradition round here that when a child is born, the placenta is buried in a  place that will be special to that child. A tree is planted so the childs' soul knows where home is.  When the twins were born twenty five years ago we buried the after birth in the paddock and planted a scarlet flowering gum tree on top

            So please excuse me as I fire up the chainsaw, the gum tree will be on tonights bonfire, this house is no longer a home.

As if I wasn't lost enough in my sollipsism, suddenly, the challenge strips me of use of others' personal pronouns. Here I was thinking that with writing I would connect to the world and no longer stand tall as me and myself. Here I was thinking that I could give up the selfish I to eye myself to eye and not let me be, only, for me. Seems not, seems that I is I in this room too and any stirring in the mental melting pot I've pushed towards is just neurons firing right back at me.

But, at least, I have me, for myself, when my two arms hug me. And I have me, for myself, to smirk with when I look in the mirror. And I have me, for myself, in silence to understand my I mine unconditionally.

And that's enough to break away my doubt, because I think therefore I'm ready, to move forward and share all that is me. And if that little me feels cornered in the midst of my surroundings, then I'm to say that there's me-s all over to be me with.

And there are.

Remember when I played? I did, and took out the treasure map from under my bed, confidently placed the chess pieces down as stand-in figures of the adventurers. I hid behind a tree, ran as if I was part of an old-fashioned buggy video game, I looted the sights of the South Downs at dawn, as I huddled for warmth, enveloped all around.

Remember when I learnt? I did, and adapted my actions so that I'm not offensive and backwards, so that I'm always a new person and a child at the same time. A sponge, not of the freeloading type, but a soaker to take in with wild eyed fascination of all the liquids and viscosities, of all the shapes and patterns, of all the abstract and concrete that I could fit in my little nooks and crannies.

Remember when I loved? I did, and gave up myself to the dance of two, sometimes more. I gave and took, I built a house to live in and left much later when I needed my feet to move, wheels to carry me, a boat to feel the breeze in. I laughed as my hand was held; kissed when passion overtook me; cried when hurt was around me in such proximity.

I could never do that just me. And I could never have done that without me. So, here I am, me, I as I, alone but never lonely.

A dimly lit bistro, with smoky lights, and thick, smoke-filled air. Patrons, regulars, and first-timers, all mix together in an indistinguishable blur as I sit in the corner: alone at a table for two, but I'm not being served. I'm not one to be in a relationship, but why am I waiting? Why aren't I ordering a drink, or two, or eight, to drown myself in a liquor-tainted haze?

I stare silently outside the foggy glass, at the street outside, the crowd passing by the window-side booth without a second glance at the lonely figure slumped over a long-forgotten menu, eyes not registering any of the words printed on the worn paper.

The buzzing of moths head-butting the flickering light bulb overhead rhymes with the clink of glasses and tinkle of utensils on plates around me. I can hear a mother and a daughter conversing in whispered tones, verging on an argument. For a second, I wish to be there instead of the middle-aged woman trying to control the anger bubbling up inside, directed at the defiant teenager. At least I would have someone to talk to, even if the words would be hostile.

Loneliness and bachelorhood go hand in hand, I suppose.  

Wedding rings are a thing of the past - that sepia-tinted photograph of naivety. No one would want an old man of thirty. I am nothing special to those enchanting vixens of twenty-five. 

And that's when I see a pair of soulful eyes, a scalp of hastily brushed brown hair, and an awkward tug at a perfectly acceptable knee-length skirt. A shy smile that draws my attention to velvet lips.

Beauty in motion, but unbeknownst to the cloudy-headed people in the room. 

I step forward, hoping for the figure to be real and not a mind-addled spectre. 

I might give love another chance after all.

I wake up. I sit on my bed. I reach for my book and I look up the page I left my bookmark on. I read. I get up and make coffee. I drink. I wash my cup. I play a game of solitaire, beating my previous record. I yawn. I reread yesterdays news and realise that I am supposed to go water my plants, so I do. I am hungry. I make lunch. I eat from my favorite plate. I sneeze loudly,  "Bless me". I watch my afternoon show. I laugh. I walk around the house collecting my dirty laundry. I start the machine. I shover. I feel cold. I drink tea and eat my evening snack. I brush my teeth with my old, pink toothbrush. I pee. I crawl into my bed. I close my eyes. I breathe. I listen to my breath. 

I'm not alone...