I don’t think he exists. God I mean. But if there’s any chance he does, he should be ashamed. How can he let things be this way?
I’m a house burning down, completely engulfed in bright orange-red hellish flames. There used to be someone who called me their home. I thought they really meant it. But you don’t just leave home like it was just a temporary shelter, do you? You don’t just leave your home knowing it might crumble anytime, do you? I’m burning down, crumbling into pieces and soon turning to ashes. I don’t know how to explain this. Even in writing, there’s no word I can say. Because I’m done. And I just want to be gone.
This, I confess, has to be the worst thing I’ve ever gone through. This, I wonder, if this is how it was always meant to end. This, I doubtly believe, is what was meant by infinity. This, is me trying to reach out because I’m falling into the dark and deep void. Help.
I’m not even asking for much. Just a little less pain and suffering. I’m dying here! My voice cracks now from yelling for help to rid me of this pain.
Hi. I’m Kira Gray, and I’m depressed as they come. I wasn’t always like this though. I had no sour taste of sadness in my mouth nor did I have deep bleeding wounds that never heal. I had butterflies in my stomach when it was pizza night at home because I always knew they’d let me have the last piece. They always did. I was happy, cheerful and content. That was until my father died of cancer and my mother couldn’t handle his death. At first, she cried all the time until there was just nothing left to cry for. And as time passed, she let her demons take over.
I say this with all honesty, things weren’t always like this.
Everything was once beautiful… until it wasn’t.
Even in writing, there’s no word I can say.
Because I’m done.
And I just want to be gone.
I’m having a bad day.
My skin has been itching and turned red from all scratching.
I subconsciously scratch as though there are buried secrets of how to be truly happy under my skin.
There are beads of sweat on my forehead.
I look out the streets, there are earthlings going on about their daily activities.
A man digs at the dustin at the corner of Bunnell Street, he has a brown hat and a coat despite the burning heat.
There’s nothing much to him so I shift my attention to children playing with rocks and a woman gulping down milk as if she’s been thirsty for months.
I stand and observe.
Then I notice there is no difference between me and Bunnell Street, emptiness fills us.
I am oppressed and assaulted by the knowledge that I exist without really existing.
I believe or almost believe that somewhere, in a remote life, I will ask for a little bit of sunshine and an open field – a typewriter and a bouquet of sunflowers only then my life will be fulfilled.
My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its
restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same.
I seek, I seek a better reason to live.
I took some effort today looking at how my life has been.
Am I happy? Maybe.
Am I sad? Maybe.
I’ve been instantly surrounded by other circumstances of the same order, as if the inscrutable web of creation were irrevocably at odds with me.
I seek a better reason to live.
Aren’t we all seeking a bit of pure happiness?
Often times, I am handed pain like a sealed package that is tied with a red ribbon and I accept it as it is.
A gift is a gift, I suppose.
Even when you don’t want it.
I was gifted with life but I still don’t know what to do with it. The urge to disappear dwells on my bones.
The gestures of my despair comes in all ways and I think to myself,
What am I doing here?
I woke up for no reason that night. It’s not like I had to go to the bathroom or go get a glass of water like some nights.
My room was completely quiet.
There was no coming to. I was immediately wide awake. This was unusual for me. It usually takes me a few seconds, sometimes minutes, to come to. This time, I woke up like I’d been kicked.
I was lying on my back, which was also unusual. I normally sleep on my side or on my stomach. My blanket was up around me, tight, like I’d just been tucked in.
I was sweating. Profusely. My pillow was moist. My bedroom door was closed, and the night light which I usually leave on was off. The room was dark.
The overheard fan was on high. It was spinning really fast, I remember that part well. Really spinning. It seemed like it might fly off the ceiling.
It was the only sound I could hear – the fan’s metronomic motor and blades cutting through the thin air. It was strange that I couldn’t hear anything else at that moment. I lay there listening, alert, and addled.
And that’s when I saw him.
It wasn’t a dream. I never saw his face but he just stood there staring at me like a statue. I had to cover myself with sheets to his sight that was boring a hole in me. Six years later, even though I never saw his face, his presence is always with me.
He’s always watching me.
“Why are you so cold hearted?” Her lips quivered as she spoke. There was frustration in her voice. Anger too.
“My heart’s not cold, it’s broken.”
Today’s the day he spills out his feelings to her. He can’t even say a word, wishing he could draw his feelings instead. Why is she smiling so much? Why is he awkward as fuck?
“Do you believe a person can love another unconditionally?” He knew no pick up lines.
“I used to think I did.” She still wore her dazzling smile when she added, “Until my own mother payed off her gambling debt with my virginity.”
The last thing I remember was getting under my blankets with an unfathomable amount of fear. I was trembling uncontrollably.
The officer had finally called me back. The call was coming from inside my house.
Sometimes I’d see a picture of myself sleeping, on my phone.
Or hear weird knocking sounds on the mirror in my bathroom.
Or wake up with a beautiful red dress when I’d gone to bed in my pajamas.
Has this ever happened to you?
I hope not.
Today I woke up tightly strapped to a wooden chair in a cold room with only one small neon light bulb. And this looked and felt far too real to be a nightmare.
She sat on the shelf with the most glistening porcelain eyes I’d never seen. She also wore a pink polka dotted knee-high dress and dramatically high heels. She was still, motionless, just staring at me – which was extremely creepy.
“Did you miss me?” She asked in a squeaky but frightening voice. She tilted her head and grinned still staring at me. Her face was dirty and her teeth had stains of a red coloured substance.
My eyes widened at the sight of that and I swallowed hard looking out of the window. The stars had gone away, there would soon be a storm and I had no idea where I was.
I finally amassed the courage to speak,
“Who are you? Please let me go, please.” I pleaded with tears in my eyes trying to free myself from the ropes tied on my hands.
She burst out laughing evilly and jumped from the shelf. She fell hard with a loud thud and everything went silent. Completely and utterly silent.
For a moment I thought she was dead so I looked around. The clock on the wall read 3:20.
Everything happened in less than a second – lightning struck somewhere and she was on my face in an instant. I flinched and she laughed again trailing her long sharp knife on my cheek.
I whimpered as she made the shallow cut with a wide grin plastered on her dirty and blood stained face.
“Please stop! What do you want from me!?” I yelled crying but she didn’t stop, “You’re hurting me, please let me go. I won’t tell anyone if you let me go, please.”
She paused for a moment a looked at me. She looked at me and did the evil laugh thing again, “Oh sweetheart, how do you think I finally got you? They gave you to me.”
“Who?” I asked.
Instead of giving me an answer, she turned around and sashayed away from me making weird cat sounds.
Her ponytail swishing as she bounced on the hallway with her knife.
I had to think of an escape. Fast. I had to use that chance to escape before I end up like the rotten bodies surrounding me.
I looked at the clock again and it was 3:16. I felt my insides shudder. The neon light flickered and room went dark.