The Scars of This Reality

Cold. 

It’s seeping in, freezing me to the bone. There’s no light, everything is dark. It’s 4 am, and I’m sitting here, on this cold, marble, bathroom floor, the door locked to the outside world. This is my sanctuary. The place I can be alone, in peace, no questions bothering me, no need for reasons, no explanations, and no nothing. I can be here alone, locked inside this damp room, with no company except my thoughts. My mind is a whirlpool, each thought chasing the next, and it all turns so fast until it’s hard to breathe, and I can’t think straight. I cannot begin to understand one thought from another, and everything has gone, lost into the darkness. There is no reason, no justification, no thought that reaches my brain, and I find no meaning in life. 

I can sit in here for hours, and no one will notice or care, because, who do I have? At some point, I was a little ray of sunshine, and everywhere I walked, the room filled up with rainbows. And I was happy. Until I woke up one morning, to find the sun shining oh so brightly, and I could not bear a second of it. The light blinded me, and it burnt away the pieces of the happy girl I was, until the charred and scarred remains were all I had left. The grass didn't seem so green from these new eyes, the songs weren't beautiful anymore, and the bright sky was hideous. I drew away from every person that could ever love me, with my clawing words and my black heart. I pushed and shoved away anyone who tried to come near, and made sure that they would never love me again. The rains were my haven, and then, I could breathe again. 

Now, the night sky isn't pretty, the stars are pinpricks of despair, and the moon is ghostly. Now, I have no one, and it is all fine. The same day, every day, the hours long, and I am stuck in the same cycle, no variations. Food tastes like paper, water like a river of fire. The voices are all the same, screeching and loud. I cannot tell one face from another, they all have the same eyes, looking at me with loathing and disgust. I sheathed my claws years ago, but the scars never fade. My thinking is all confused, and I have no perspective left. My lungs pump air into the body that craves to leave it all behind, to finish the whole affair, and to be done with it. There are no dreams, no ambitions. There is just the ashes of the person I once was, and they’re all drifting away, slowly, and the barren remains of my heart struggle to live any longer. 

And I know, that I will live this same life, each and every day, and it will go on for days, weeks, months, years, and in another ten years, on a chilly, winters day, I will be sitting inside this same bathroom, on the same cold, damp floor. It will be 4 am. My bones will be freezing, and there will be no light. 

I know, in another ten years, I will be living the same day, over and over, because I choose not to have choices. 

Choices define who we are, and I am nothing.

My whole life is black and white, until it all blurs to a grey.

Reviews

[Jack Wolfe]

The opening is a bit disjointed, on moment you find ‘peace’ while sitting in the bathroom, then the whirlwind of thoughts assaults you, understandable, being as you’re left alone with your thoughts . . . drives most people mad; but then we move onto the next section. I used to be ‘a ray of sunshine’ now, I’m dark and distant, the question why? What happened that morning, a realization or an event?

Hmm . . . okay, hell is repetition, which you have point out, and you write a good narrative of someone lost, angry, saddened by life, by choices, but again why . . . this reads like a journal entry . . . an if I were to stumble on this under a pillow, my question would be why, and how could I possibly help.

This creates an atmosphere of gloom and depression, which I could very well see a story being attached to it, but as a stand alone, it offers too many questions than answers. I hope this is not a non-fictional outlook, with the exception of having the strength to face each day.

[TheSecretAuthor]

Thanks for reading!
Okay, so the whole thing is, the girl, the narrator, was a happy, joyful person, and one morning, she found herself so bitter, that she could not tolerate any goodness in the world. It is a bit like a journal entry, where the speaker knows her own thoughts. The reader is left to question everything, and it hopes to create a feeling of being lost in this busy world. It is of course, fiction, just something I wrote while it was raining.
Once again, thanks for your criticism.