SS Archive

Strength

(Has mentions of drugs, smoking and some brief language. For those who are uncomfortable with those things this story may not be recommended. Thank you.)

[Written thoughts of a young man named, Zayn Loo, who would occasionally go to the gym to gain muscle and strength. - Fiction]

Zayn was told to write his thoughts down whenever he possibly can. Who told him? It was his therapist, Stacy Lum, who was supposed to help with his trauma that he so happened to gain the other week.

Zayn was currently writing down his thoughts right before the appointment he had with his therapist. These sessions with Stacy Lum only slowed down his mentality. He didn't think there was a reason to go see her anymore. Damn therapists, he would think.

(no offense to y'all therapists ;-;)

.....

Stacy was reading the piece of notebook paper that had some messy handwriting within the lines. Zayn was sitting in front of her, fiddling with his fingers. Stacy soon took off her glasses and looked up at him. Her lips parted like she was about to say something but didn't.

The session didn't last as long as usual, Zayn got to leave much sooner since it was mostly quiet. There being awkward silence that was unbearable, probably even for Stacy herself.

The one thing that Zayn didn't understand is the way that she looked at him like he had something wrong with him. Sure, it is trauma but how bad can it affect a person?

The one thing that he had done that seemed to be bad was writing his thoughts.

My thoughts:

1. The one thing that I always wanted to do was to protect the ones that I love by using the strength that worked hard for but it all went to waste.

2. I wonder how heaven was like for the ones who had died , many people had died and some had the choice to die.

3. Fucking hungry...

4. Do I still need to attend these appointments?

5. If I hadn't gone to work out and stayed home then maybe I would've been able to protect them; my family.

6. Is it normal to forget these so easily nowadays?

7. If the house didn't burn down then they would still be here. But even if there was a fire then I would've been able to save them. I should've been there...

8. I'm so exhausted...

9. It should've been me instead of them.

Some of the things he wrote seemed random while the others was a whole other story.

Long story short, Zayn Loo had gone to go work out with his buddies but by the time he came back home the house was in flames. All he could do was stand there and watch the house burn and collapse until there was nothing but burnt wood and furniture. He swore he could hear their screams and cries for help. But that was the other week but how could he forget it? Why would it be forgettable when he saw his own childhood and family collapse and burn to death.

Zayn Loo eventually stopped going to the gym. He thought, if I wasn't able to protect them then I wouldn't be able to protect anyone with my strength, and he just gave up completely. He now deals with these therapy sessions but never seems to get brighter for him at all. Only death calls for him every morning instead of his mother. Death would yell at him instead of his father. Death would mock him instead of his siblings. Death would be there for him instead of them.

Nightmares would fill his lungs every night, gasping for air every time darkness was met.

Zayn was walking around the neighborhood where his childhood turned to ashes. He stopped walking to watch a new house being built where his house, full of dreams and memories, was at.

He no longer lives in that neighborhood, now living with his buddy. But everyone in that neighborhood knew him and what had happened to his family.

.....

Zayn was now taking a bus back to the apartment complex he lives in now. Getting off the bus and walking for a little bit until he was standing outside of the apartment. Typing in a pin and entering the place. His buddy wasn't home but instead he was out working a night shift. Zayn let out a sigh, taking off his shoes and going inside of his room. His hands were in his pockets of his sweatpants, his one hand fiddling with the lighter he had in his pocket. He got into smoking and even doing drugs whenever he could.

He stared off into space, taking out his lighter and flicked the button until a flame had appeared. His sleepy eyes stared into the flame that was dancing, having subtle movements. The flame was calling out to him, or at least that's what he would tell his therapist next session.

Join us, was what the flame would be telling him. Repeating those two words over and over again.

He soon looked up, his eyes staring at his closet in front of him.

Join us, a woman's voice called. The closet door opened slowly, a burnt hand with long fingers peeked out. Join us, it repeated in a soft whisper.

{End Of "Strength"}

[Thanks For Reading!]