The Walls Are Closing In

(Lights up on Paul’s home. It is a monument to paranoia, meticulously barricaded and full of survivalist gear. Paul writes in a leather journal.)

PAUL

Day 257. It rained last night. Collected another two cups of water. Only six tablespoons of purifying chemical remaining. Still able to boil the water, but eventually firewood will become an issue. Cannot afford to burn all lumber, as it may be needed to reinforce barricades if They become aware of my presence. Concerned that They may hear me if I attempt to exercise, but must try to maintain a level of fitness in case combat becomes unavoidable.

 

Read The Stand again yesterday. Reviewed Morse code. Considered trying to cultivate fungus as a food source – but have decided to disregard – for the moment, at least. 

As usual, no response to radio hails. Thunderstorms are best time to attempt contact. Confident that They will not hear over the thunder and lightning. Requires precise timing, but have had plenty of practice. 257 days of practice.

(Sings.)

You make your home a fortress

To keep the dead outside

You’ve got nowhere to run to

So instead you try to hide

You barricade the windows

You reinforce the doors

You do what you have to

To protect what’s yours

You ration the canned goods

You wait for help to arrive

The room starts to feel smaller and smaller all the time

The only sounds are Their footsteps and Their moans

You feel the isolation, desperation in your bones

You move like a mouse inside your tiny prison

Afraid to draw attention – any noise might give you away

You hear your breath like a tornado

Hear your heartbeat like a hammer

The room feels a little smaller today… 

(Singing faster, building towards a crescendo.)  

Every creaking floorboard echoes

The air feels heavy as sand, and

Every day you’re sinking slowly –

How many days before dehydration? Or starvation?

Death from exposure, disease or suffocation?

Wouldn’t it be easier to – ?

(He stops himself, abruptly, forces himself to regain his composure.)

You tell yourself that help is coming

You call out for help, but there’s only static on the other side

You listen to the silence, and wonder if you’re still alive…

And every day the room is a little smaller

It’s plain to see the walls are closing in…

(Blackout.)