Essay on Isolation (Literature)

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He did not realize it at first, continuing as if they were still there. The plotting subconscious fabricated their warmth around; he drew comfort from the illusion that he was not alone. He playfully rolled against the floor (filled with reckless joy, wondering how amused they were by his childish display of happiness) his ears smudged against the cold tiling and picked up the fractured noises of the midnight revelry in the apartment below. He denied it at first, the sounds were coming from his house, but its muffled nature struck him with the truth. Nothing but a thick layer of concrete could distort those chorus voices to such an extent, voices of glasses clanging together in celebration, of soul touching conversation, of passionate moaning and of selfish happiness. Only then did the nature of the situation weigh on him, the room was ruthlessly soaked in darkness, a lonely ray stood it’s own against the dusk, it emerged from the crooked edges of the door they had left half open as they departed, a pitiful sign of sympathy. He marched to the door and shoved it close, determined to face the shadows on his own. He crushed his palms against his chests, feeling his heart struggle each beat. Satisfied by his biological well being he began crawling, scraping limbs against the walls and floor, displacing forward, keeping occupied with menial manual labour so he may delay the inevitable revelation, that man cannot survive in freezing temperatures. He tried to radiate warmth from inside but his determination wasn’t strong enough, he took the easy way out, allowing pity to thaw through the barriers of his self respect and engulf the room in cold. He edged back to the door, meticulously manoeuvring it open so that it may freeze on the exact spot they had left it. He waited to feast on the lonely ray, prepared to pounce on it as it emerged, to leech off its warmth and then beg for more, promising to stop once his infinite gluttony is satisfied. But no light can survive in...