The Alien

I wrote this at like, 2 this morning. So I know it's not the best. but I really liked the way it turned out.

    A face in the mirror that is not your own. White cinder block walls. Empty water bottles and pieces of paper strewn across the floor. A bottle of pain medication sitting on the shelf above the sink.
    The only reminder that you’re still human. Or is it?
    A voice pounds on the door of your sanctuary. “Five minutes! We are a go in less than five, you hear?”
    Headphones slide over skin and hair until they find a place to sit. Music blasts into your ears- louder than last night. Eyes stare into vacant eyes on the other side of the glass. Alien meets alien, here, alone, in the cinderblock room.
    Words flash before your closed eyes. Rifling through the pages littering the floor, the correct one is plucked from the wreckage and read aloud.
    ‘Am I ever going to enough?’
    Your own alien eyes watch you; tempt you. When it becomes too much, your fist connects with the mirror. Shatters the figure inside it.
    Blood drips from your knuckles. Again a voice pulls you back, back to the cinder block room. “It’s time.”
    The door of the cell opens, leading out to the gallows. No one speaks. Not to you, the alien. The alien who has it all.
    Chaos gets louder. Tension slice through the air; your air. It’s like this every night. You let your eyes drift shut and operate by instinct. The breeze against your skin gets warmer as the rush of people comes closer. Hands reach out into the darkness and strap you into your chariot.
    Rigging and hydraulics creak as the box rises upward. Lights flash. Music screams in your ear. The chaos is defining itself. Defining you.
    People are chanting. Chanting the names of the alien who lives in a white, cinder block room. Chanting your name.