Dying Soul

Staring, staring into space again. My eyes, I can't move them. It's as if I could see the air before me, how fascinating it is. My eyes, they're frozen and I can't control them; can't close them even though they burn with fatigue. I'd forgotten what sleep felt like, my only makeup now being the purple bags that accent my dark eyes. My eyes that are frozen. They begin to strain, I feel them sinking back into their sockets as they grow wider.

I lift my hand slowly as if in a daze and gently stroke my hair, my hair that had become so thick and wiry over time. It hangs loosely in a clip that holds on to the thick, dry strands like fingers grasping at the thin threads of life. Sparse threads that blur Death's visage on the other side. I turn my head mechanically but my eyes remain on that spot of air, the air that only my eyes seem to see. My head turns... turns ever so slowly, but my eyes remain fixated. I move my hand through my hair once more. The dry strands feel so stiff.

Finally, my eyes snap straight, the strain now echoing in my brow. I stare into the darkness. The empty Victorian cherry wood couch seems ominous in the gray light fading into the tea room. The sheer white curtain draping over its edge like an old wedding veil collects dust. The flowers in the vase on the cherry wood stand collect mites in the dim light, their stalks drooping from neglect, their scent no longer sweet but stale as mold claims their petals and weighs them down. All of this seems so beautiful to me as I sit and observe the passing of time.

The rain outside has fallen to a steady drip, yet the clouds are overcast and a storm is imminent on the horizon. The world is draped in gray, the once beautiful blue sky now turned to soot. The atmosphere weighs heavy on my chest and the cold wind chills my bones, these aching bones that long to move from this chair.

A wave of fatigue washes over my being like an invisible weight dragging me down. I gently move my hand to my tea cup and gaze at my reflection in the brown water. A pale and sickly face stares back, a face not of my own. My eyes have grown black and my face gaunt. I can see the shadows in my eyes that haunt me, shadows that follow me day after day and into my nightmares. I become frightened and my chest flutters with powerful fear. I lift the cup to my lips and sip at the peppermint tea.

The tea was like ice.