For the last two days, my phone has been my only companion. It would be dead by now if it weren’t for the extra power bank I stashed in my pocket back at the cabin. I’ve already drained it and now my battery is in the red. No Wi-fi, no cell signal.
Just a few basic apps and my Notepad. Thank God. The last shadow thistles faded hours ago, each bulb now only a tiny luminescent flicker against the cold stone walls. I ration battery life like life-saving water—all so I can type words, reminisce over pictures, and create abstract visions that fill my mind.
Uninterrupted time for my art.
Thrown back at me in droves of irony.
Boredom. Insanity. Suffocation. A cocktail of suffering.
Was that the plan all along?
Varujan let me believe I could come and go as I please. His temptation. Steeped in deception and half-truths.