Tapping Draft

Tap… Tap… Tap…


Maybe one day the tapping will stop.
I cannot remember what silence sounds like. I do not mind, it distracts me from my thoughts.


Sometimes I count the taps. I always fall asleep before I can reach 15 million.


The tapping is constant. It never misses a beat, never fails to cease, never makes a mistake. I wish I was the tapping.


I’ve forgotten how long a second is, I don’t know how much time passes between each tap, so I can't tell you. I wish I could tell you, I think you’d love the tapping.


Today was a cupcake day, I think that means it’s my birthday. I have no idea how old I am anymore. How many cupcakes have I eaten? I can’t remember.


Maybe it’s a Sunday. I always loved Sundays. Mother would take us on a walk after church and I would chase the pigeons. Why were they afraid of me? I miss the pigeons.


Sometimes if I press my ear to the wall I can hear noises. I try and make noises back but my voice does not come, They took my voice. Perhaps if I tap on the wall They can hear me. Maybe I can share the tapping this way.


I tapped on the wall. They came. I do not know who They are, I did not see Them because They turned off the lights, but that means that They are in the room. Last time They came, They took away my hands. I didn’t need them anyway. It’s okay. They took my hair this time. I think it was a warning, because I tried to share the tapping.


I do not like sleeping. I cannot hear the tapping in my dreams. In my dreams, it is dark. I do not like the dark.


Today They came. But They did not turn off the lights. I saw Them. They are humans. They wear white clothes and big black things on Their ears. I tried to help Them take the black things off, so They could hear the tapping, but They ran away from me. Are They afraid of the tapping? They gave me a small creature with fur, food for the creature, and a box of sand for the creature. They told me it was a cat. Is this what cats look like? I can’t remember. They told me I had been a good girl, and this was my present. They sang a song to me. Happy birthday to you….. They gave me a cupcake, I ate it. Then They left.


I tried to play with the cat. The cat scratched me. I do not like the cat anymore.


There's a pile of things in the corner of my room. Paper. Toys. Things I don't need. I've been training my feet to hold a pencil. I draw pictures for Them on the wall. Today I drew myself, without hands or hair, and colored my eyes in white like they are when I see my reflection in a spoon. I drew Them, sitting around me, also drawing pictures on the walls. I drew the tapping, using the red and the black to draw its eyes. I drew the cat in the corner on top of the pile of things I do not use. I want Them to draw a picture for me.


I stopped feeding the cat because I do not want the cat. It distracts me from the tapping. I want to listen to the tapping.


They did not draw a picture for me. They erased my picture and drew letters. I do not know how to read the letters. I drew myself looking confused. I drew Them drawing pictures again. I drew the tapping, and I drew the cat and then crossed it out.


The cat is dead. I used my arms to strangle it because it made noises. I do not care.


I fell asleep. The cat is gone. Now I do not have arms. It is punishment, for killing the cat. It’s okay. I don’t need arms. It is difficult to eat.


They drew me pictures. They draw very well. One is of me, my eyes are green, my hair is braided, my hands are folded on the table. Wrong. I drew myself to show Them how to draw my eyes and tail, They must learn. Another is of my mother. I am in that picture too, there is something red in my hands but it is too small to see. My dress is red, so is mother's. Mother is on the floor, just as I last saw her. Mother is wrong in this picture. She has human legs and human arms, like me. I drew a picture of mother on the floor to show Them how to draw mother. Then I drew the tapping. I did not draw the cat. I am happy.


Sometimes I hear voices. The voices sing to me. They sing to the beat of the taps. There are no words. I love the voices.


They drew me another picture. It is a picture of Them, hugging me in my red dress with my green eyes. I drew myself hugging them, with white eyes and a tail. I drew another me looking at their picture, angry. I drew the tapping again.


In my dreams I see my mother, just as I last saw her. Dead. Skull crushed, ribs torn apart. Her heart, still beating, in my hands.


They drew me again. They crossed out my drawing and circled this new drawing. It is of me, with green eyes and no tail. They made me look human. I crossed out Their drawings. I drew the tapping and circled it.


I closed my eyes to listen to the tapping today. I heard the voices again. This time they sung quicker, more urgent. I bit through my lip and painted the floor red with my feet. The voices calmed. It was enough.


The floor was white again when I woke up. They came while I was asleep. I am angry. They are ignorant, They do not appreciate the tapping. I should teach Them to love the tapping like I love the tapping.


I drew the tapping. I drew Them, in red, lying around the tapping. Dead. They erased my drawing and took away my pencils.


I can tap on the wall with my feet.


They came again. They took away my feet because I tapped. It hurts to stand, I cannot walk yet. It hurts too much.


I cried today. I do not know why. All I hear now is the voices.


The voices are unhappy. They want me to take flight. Their song makes me cry. It is a sad song. I do not want them to be sad.


She’s waiting for me. Calling me. I hear her crying. Mother, why are you sad? You should be happy, you are free. I set you free.


The tapping has changed. It is not perfect anymore, it is two fast beats, then one slow beat. It hurts. The tapping is lonely. I have nothing to give it. I bit through my lip again and let it drip on the floor.


I tapped with my legs, They took them away. I cannot move now. They tied me to the floor. I recognize a word they say to me. Sick. Sick is bad.


I sleep too much. My body is weary. They come often, sometimes They do not turn the lights off. They gather around me and stare. They use many things around me, screens, boxes, carts. It has been many days. They say I am dying. Dying is killing. They are killing me.


There is another noise, with the tapping. Blips. The tapping does not like them. The voices are angry. The blips are not consistent. Sometimes they’re fast, when I am angry and struggle. Sometimes they’re slow, when I am tired. But the blips are always there.


Heartbeat. That is the blipping. It is my heart. I would take it out if I had hands, to stop the blipping.


I cry. I am in pain. I am sick. The blipping is persistent. They come and go regularly. I want to hear the tapping but there is too much sound. Too many heartbeats.


I will tap again. I have little time left. I must show them the tapping. I have no strength, but the voices are desperate. I must use my head to tap, for I cannot move my body. They will take my head, then it will be over.


They came. I know this time it is the end. I will not tap anymore. I will become the tapping.