The Mist

Solitude is loud. Voices are everywhere and nowhere. My battle pushes me into a tidal wave of fear. He is here. His cruelty and judgement is unmatched by anyone. He wields the sword that severs my hope. Clean cuts of a surgeon. The mist surrounds me. I can sense him nearby. Panic makes itself comfortable. Hyperventilation begins almost like clockwork. The ground begins to seem as if I am not worthy of its support. It opens up and I fall into an endless abyss of darkness. I can’t feel anything. Numb to the only thing that makes me feel alive. Pain has even left me. A good friend. I lose hope of ever returning to the surface. I look down. He’s waiting for me. I wait for death to be my next guest. Anything that will take me away from him. I feel the tears gathering in my pathetic eyes. Streaming down my hideous face. Where is he? He should be here by now. I look up. There’s a sparkle. A slight glimmer of peace. A foreigner to my usual visitors. I grow curious. More falling. He’s growing impatient. He hands me a blade. He glares at me intently. Do it. Just do it. Get it over with. End it. I feel a hand on my shoulder. My face freezes. The tears soak my face. The blade falls into the pit. I blink. He’s in front of me. Staring at me. Waiting. “Babe, what’s wrong? Why are you crying in front of the mirror? Is that a blade?! Oh my god, what have you done?!”.