it's here. it's sneaking its way through the door I close on its face every morning; that the gunshots of my worst fears destroy. it sits at the corner of my bed. keeps staring at me as I try to look away. it smiles at me.
a chill swims down my spine, as it crawls towards my head. I lay still. ignoring the eerie noises of the bed creaking under my shivering body. it stops. all of a sudden. right beside my head. the noises fade. the room darkens. I feel too much. I feel nothing.
I try to resist the pain. its sharp fingernails, each made of the 10 letters - D.E.P.R.E.S.S.I.O.N. ;
have all dug deep holes in my brain. as if injecting in me, all the poison. of blankness. of melancholy. of desolation.
it feeds on my tears. one drips down the corner of my eye. another follows. and another. and another. not knowing the end. I hear giggles. followed by moans of pleasure. it breaths heavy. it rapes my confidence. and murders my resilience.
there's a bright light I can't see. that I believe might help me. turn it to dust like a vampire. it doesn't. I feel a kiss on my lips. it bids me farewell. it tastes like vomit. the kind that keeps coming back to you in burps. disgusting. inexorable.
I turn up the music. que sera sera… whatever will be, will be… I turn the volume higher. trying to cover the beeping sound that's been following me around all day. teaching me how to exist without gratitude. how we're living only to wait for death. the sound of the shadow. it's shadow.
it's here. it's sneaking its way through the door I close on its face every morning; that the gunshots of my worst fears destroy.
- Vidisha Gupta