Parasite
He sank into a black faux leather chair, swiveling back & forth unconsciously, his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. Immersed in whatever was glowing on the surface—a series, a game, a .pdf—he noticed little else. The temperature in the room & the rest of the house was, according to the thermostat, 72°F, but it must’ve been a bit cooler in the room since the ceiling fan was running & there were solar shades pulled down over both windows, blocking out as much of the sunlight, as much of life, as possible. Comfortable, withdrawn from the world, he sat there for hours on end, only getting up from the chair to use the restroom, which was a few feet away, or to get something to eat from the partially stocked kitchen. If he did leave the house, stepping reluctantly into that harshly illuminated world which had become unreal, it was to get coffee or buy a few groceries from the nearest store. Most of the time, he avoided leaving, preferring the quiet sanctuary, the immense loneliness, of his family’s house, which he believed he should be confined to. He lived this way for around 4½ years. Although he experienced the occasional interruption—the rare visitor whose face twisted in an expression of incomprehension, forced efforts to obtain a job he didn’t hold for longer than 2 months—he remained in a state of almost complete self-exile, thoroughly miserable but also, in a way, at peace. For a long time, he turned back & forth in the chair, looked at the screen, avoided contact. Then, somewhere along the way, in that dim, silent space, he started to entertain the foolish idea that somehow, in some way, despite the seemingly parasitic nature of this existence, despite the fact he faced continuous disapproval, he had achieved something in the refusal to act. Yes, he actually started to glow with a strange sense of superiority, even as he relied on, and took from, those closest to him. Taking pride in his condition, he sank further into the chair—sank further into sadness while smiling faintly, suppressing any thought of what might come next, letting go of any claim to the disordered world beyond those walls . . .