The Haunting Hour

A very short journal like story I wrote

I had awoken in a stoned daze before the true haunting hour. In any such case, what feelings should occur to my stressed mind? Not that I should dwell on such thoughts. But to escape, from anything, I suppose, is difficult to do. The darkness surrounds my very dear strength. In darkness, vile things can occur. The strength to support myself; mentally and physically, seems to drain out like blood with the kiss of a stainless steel razor.

My mind, of course, cycles through nonliving memories that I dream to either relive or change. I'm growing weaker and weaker with depression but, to me, I believe this will lead me to the ways of sloth and creativity. Within the darkness the coldest touch of eyes glide around my soul.

I feel someone near, yes. They watch over me.