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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2043642-The-Monster-A-Story-About-Depression
Rated: E · Fiction · Dark · #2043642
This story attempts to convey the emotional and mental journey through depression.
In the beginning, there was brilliance. There was joy. There was essence. But then it happened… The incomprehensible. The cessation. The isolation. The end.

The barren, hardened earth scours the soles of my feet as I struggle to drag them one in front of the other. There is nothing anymore. Where there once was life and virility, there is now nothing but a hollow depth. The color has gone; there is no luster. It is bleak and desolate. Before, there was the serrated spur of pain. My feet would leave trails of Venetian red as I walked. I could feel my lips split from the thirst. Feel the suffocation of the light on my skin, roasting it a crisp crimson. But now, there is nothing. I can no longer feel the sharp sting, I am anesthetized, immobilized, paralyzed.

This is not the path that I had laid out before me. I don’t know how I got here. What am I doing here? I tried to go back, but I couldn’t find the path. I tried to pretend, but that didn’t work either. I tried to go over it, around it, hide from it. But in the end, I never could escape it. I have to face it.

A tunnel of dusk looms in front of me. The rough bark rises towards the heavens while a canopy blocks the light of the moon. It is pitch black inside, like I am enveloped in the wings of a bat. Sinister whispers slice through the trees. My darkest thoughts come undone from their cage. The soggy earth presses between my toes as I turn and run. Screeches emanate in my ears. I run and run until I realize that they are being released from my own scratchy throat. I finally slow and begin to take in my surroundings. The dirt is infected with things that crawl and slither in the night. The bark of the trees mocks me in their angry patterns and crying eyes. The strong scent of mold and vegetation fill my nostrils as I huff, trying to catch my breath. My eyes burn from the frosty air. But most of all, I see darkness. The darkness slithers down the trees, filling every crack and crevice. It covers the cold, damp earth beneath me. It obscures everything until I can no longer see even my hand in front of me. I am being suffocated with a starless blanket; it fills my ears, stopples my ears, slithers down my throat, and satiates itself on my soul. I am suffocating. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can’t hear. How do I get out of here?

I can’t. I can’t leave. I am trapped, the walls of darkness compress against me. I sink to the ground in desperation. I deserve to be here. At least it is better than the numbness. I close my eyes and crumple into the shadows.

I don’t know how long I have been here. The hours have flowed into days, the days drift into weeks, the weeks ebb into months, the months run into years. I have resigned myself to its heinousness. I no longer recognize myself. I am lost. I am alone. I am forever imprisoned in these unforgiving walls.

Sometimes I see viscous, reflective scales slither through the enveloping shade. The vicious snarls of the monster have become my lullaby. I sit, waiting for it to take me. I wait, and I wait, hoping for the day it will come. For what is life without color and vibrancy? What is the point without life and fertility? Without light? And so I lure the monster closer every day. I wait for it to find me.

The monster is drawing nearer.

It's sickeningly sweet breath caresses my neck in the night.

Its howls of torment sing me to sleep.

Its sharp claws grasp at my consciousness until I finally awake.

It is here. It has come for me.

I look at it…and all I see are my soulless eyes reflected at myself. I see anger and pain. I see isolation and loneliness. I see guilt and fear. I do not want this. I do not want the monster to take me. I want to see the light again. So I run. I do not hide. I run until my muscles ache in exhaustion, and my chest constricts in pain with each breath. I run until my eyes burn from the gusting wind and my skin stings from the branches that batter my face. I run until I reach the light…

It is beautiful, brilliant, and bright here. And I am no longer scared of the monster.
© Copyright 2015 S.W. (shaykae at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2043642-The-Monster-A-Story-About-Depression