Trust Issues

I like to go places I shouldn’t. I think I read somewhere that a person is only aware of around 2% of their actual surroundings. You can live in the same place all your life and only ever see 2% of it, because you can’t see past the front face of houses and buildings; because there are laws protecting private properties and because we are herded everywhere we go by walkways, roads and sidewalks.

I only tell you this so you don’t judge me when I tell you of how I jumped the gate to an abandoned mansion that once belonged to some rich guy at some point in time.

For the first half hour, I assumed I was alone, but by the time I found my way out to the back gardens, I began to feel more and more uncomfortable. I could hear noises, muffled at first, and then sounding more like a chorus of different voices, their pitches all over the place. They were emanating from a large, round building at the far edge of the property.

It was designed to mimic the Coliseum and from inside, someone was shouting and wailing, as if lamenting about something.

I considered running, I did; but… curiosity, you know? So instead, I began to climb the outer walls as stealthily and quietly as I could manage. It wasn’t too difficult, given the number of footholds the collapsing walls provided. I peered around the corner of the first arched opening to find nothing but an empty circular corridor littered with old leaves, dust and rat droppings.

I wouldn’t have been able to take a step without being heard, so I continued to climb to the next level as the sounds from below grew louder. The second floor provided the same challenge, so I continued right to the top, shuffling across a beam towards the centre, praying it would hold.

Finally, I could see them. The amphitheatre had a raised dais in the centre and on it stood a man, bellowing out what seemed to be his personal struggles, as if this were some sort of self-centred support group.

But when he completed his story, those in the crowd began to laugh, some driven to so much hysteria they cried. After being applauded off-stage, a woman took his place and began her own story, eliciting a series of gasps and taunts from the crowd. The tales were heartbreaking and I couldn’t see the humour or the desire to share them in such a horrific way.

Again, someone else took the stage, and I craned my neck so far out that I completely dislodged my weight. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, the raucous laughter filling the air managed to block out the sound of my movements as I heard my shrink retell my personal traumas to his peers.

Well, this one in particular would be a record breaker.