𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄; 𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘩

𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾

𝗐𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾.

there are times where i can't tell if i'm awake or asleep. i float the line of consciousness, never fully aware of my surroundings. a shadow looms over me, threatening me for all the harm i've done in my life, and my forehead is sticky with sweat. honey coats my mouth, and i can't speak. i can't move. i can't defend myself. the voices slither down my spine, wrapping itself around my throat and cutting off my airway.

do i deserve this, god? is this what i get for playing such a role that's haunted me forever?

when i finally wake up, it's not of my own wishes. i normally pray for whoever's above there to just allow me to rest, to allow my mind to stop continuously chugging like a train, disrupting everything and allowing the creatures of the night access into my darkest thoughts while i'm in such a vulnerable state.

i deserve this, i tell myself. i deserve to be driven to madness.

if only you were here, andie. you were like a sister to me.

when my consciousness fades in and out of view, my mind fogs as well. though i hate it when my trauma gets the best of me, this is the only moment i truly get that feeling of bliss. i don't have to submit to my anxiety in those moments, worry about the past, stress over the future.

like now, for example. i just feel like a bubble of euphoria. i don't have to worry about where to go, because i can depend on the wind to take me where i need to be.

it all changes when i suddenly become aware again, however.

"annie." the voices whisper in my ear when i'm susceptible to their intrusion. "annie rosenberg. it was your fault, and now you're going to suffer for it."

and then all i can see is black.