Qui Vevra Verra

Who will live, shall see.

     In the peak of her tenebrous life she found that the only solace she can find is in the shade of the remains of her broken life where all her demons are confined. It started when sadness seeped into her pores, when darkness enveloped her, and the ache in her chest came into being of her monsters. The callousness she showed made a lonely echoing call that wring all demons to feast into her sadness with no remorse.

*

In the first blush of the daylight, she started seeing words written in air. Along with the lugubrious murmurs of the wind that seemed like tiny sounds forced not to roar behind her ear. A sound of cry, regret, and lament of a dear voice she knew so well. It's all in your head! She says to herself. Trying to find consolation in these bizarre things that is peculiar to anyone but her. Yet, these monsters screams deliberately loud that it must be true.

      A terrifying creature then appeared to took pleasure in taking the liberty of removing her pulse of joy. It was pulling her closer, deeper --- the driving insanity and madness crept on her skin down to her fear-ridden veins. Should she refuse the agony of pain made more wicked than itself again and again gave her lesion in her skin as a mark of the unruly situation not even her can feign.

How long does it take for me to become you? She asked her own melancholy appearing before her. It had small bones set deep in flesh that was falling off. Its skin showed the apparent veins that appeared black in colour. She remained motionless and paralyzed with shock and terror when its small trembling hand suddenly reached out to her face. Her eyes widen when she felt the fresh cold beating against her cheeks that is the hand of her melancholy. A reeking stench she can't describe what of but rotten smell. She tried to scream but the noise that came out was only for her mind to hear.

       She woke up drown in her own cold sweat. Her frantic breathing echoed all over the four corners of her room. She placed her right hand onto her chest for support, clutching it with force as if trying to stop her heart from contracting painfully.

What she saw next was far more morbid than she can ever imagine. She let out a hysterical scream. Above her head is a translucent black shadow hovering around her. It reached for her life as it slowly transforms into her skin, eyes and smile. Her whole body trembled when what she saw is her very own melancholy she dreamed looking exactly like her.

   In her own hands, she wrestle to break free only to notice the invisible strings attached became more tight. Why do you still fight? Without meaning and purpose in the pleasure of ambiguity. Only you should know that escape is futile.

Her hands choked her own neck.The shadow of her figure now inside her, beneath her skin, growing. Come out! Get away from me! She coughed blood, struggling to fight herself. If people are born to die then shall she consider herself as one when she was born dead inside?

You have no purpose. Thus, die.

She stopped for a moment, agreeing to what it said. Herself is someone forgotten more than remembered so there is not much to lose.

Purpose is what she had lost and without it she was born.

She weep not because of the pain nor because she knew that she is dying. Her lament is for this life of hers that was beautiful, tragic but short lived that ends here.