A brief flash fiction story…
Image Credit
It happens at night – every night – when I am alone. I roll into bed, close my mind. Then cold prickles my back, and murderous thoughts ignite my brain.
Invisible weights crush my skull. Lightning flares in my mind – a rolling thunderstorm of pain. I contort on my bed. Every inch of me shudders. Every nerve end goes numb. Breaths catch in my throat, like butterflies caught in nets. Panting – desperate panting. Like a wild dog, driven half-mad with rabies.
Hands wrap my throat, strong hands, not my own.
I must die. The words brand my brain, my declaration to God. My final prayer. I wasn’t much religious before – and I’m not sure how much I am now – but still I call out into the ether for some deific response. Some reason to the insanity.
No answer.
There never is.
A lump chokes my throat. As if someone has shoved a dead mouse down my gullet. My head burns like an overcharged battery.
Huff…Huff…Huff…My breathing slows. I clutch the bedsheets to remind myself they are still there.
I am alive. Some part of me is glad – the instinctive, dumb animal. But the human part of me is smarter. It would be better if I was dead. The blackness that pollutes my mind, the lightning bolts that crackle and burn, all would fade to null. If I was dead.
That is exactly why I believe this procedure is necessary. It is a cleanser, washing away the bad to leave nothing behind. And now, it is legal. It is my choice, and no one can take it away from me.
A whiteboard covers the wall, scrawled with columns of crossed-out names like a war memorial. I see my name, the only one not crossed out. I see my number, my patient classification. That is my new name now.
The doctor raises their needle. Dead eyes peer out from under their goggles. They nod at me. I nod once in reply and maintain absolute stillness and silence. That was hospital policy. Speech and movement reinforced that you were still alive – but the patients at these clinics were thought of as the dead still breathing, just waiting the final, true solution. All other options had failed. Pills numbed the mind to little more than a crude replicant of its whole self. That was no way to live. As for therapy, it was just white noise, distraction from the true hurt. Throwing words at a wall and hoping for a ladder.
Only the final scythe could bring peace.
The needle slides into my arm. A few seconds is all it takes. My eyes shut finally, years too late. Black clouds part to an overcast sky of eternal grey.
No sun. No moon.
No day. No night.
Only grey.
And, to myself, I think, I would trade all this overcast just for one sunny day. For one smile. From her.
MORE STORIES
LATEST POSTS
- Screams Fade To Silence
A brief flash fiction story… It happens at night – every night – when I am alone. I roll into bed, close my mind. Then cold prickles my back, and murderous thoughts ignite my brain. Invisible weights crush my skull. Lightning flares in my mind – a rolling thunderstorm of… Read more: Screams Fade To Silence - My Story To Five Novels
What led me to writing five novels? What sparked my journey – and what obstacles have stood in my way since I began…? So, to preface this, I am a nineteen-year-old who has written five full-length novels and a feature-length screenplay. I have also written a plethora of short stories,… Read more: My Story To Five Novels - Reavers #16: Powers Of The Ov’l Pt IV
THE “FEAR AND HATE” ARC CONTINUES… George pulled on his orange gown, tying the string firmly around his waist. ‘This time, I will do it.’ Fi nodded and smiled warmly. ‘I hope so, George.’ Dressed in a silver dress, adorned with bushels of dark flowers, she looked as beautiful as… Read more: Reavers #16: Powers Of The Ov’l Pt IV - Reavers #15: Powers Of The Ov’l Pt IIITHE “FEAR AND HATE” ARC CONTINUES… ‘The Artefact Taskforce has come back,’ said Reuben as he sat next to Hugh on the steps leading up to the prison block. He rested his hands on his knees and sighed. His blue eyes glittered brightly, but they were tired. The drama with… Read more: Reavers #15: Powers Of The Ov’l Pt III
- Reavers #14: Powers Of The Ov’l Pt IITHE “FEAR AND HATE” ARC CONTINUES… The tentacled horde hurtled towards them in perfect silence, red eyes glittering with the fiery hatred of the Devil. The light of consciousness illumined them, sending lines of silver rippling over their bodies. George’s chest turned to ice; the air froze itself in his… Read more: Reavers #14: Powers Of The Ov’l Pt II
Typing Galaxies 
Leave a comment