as if writing angst will solve all my problems.
yes, it will.
One, two, three, four.
Four drops of jet black liquid swirled dangerously in the small petri dish, impatiently waiting for their turn. L slowly desinfected the needle, absolving the clear liquid into the syringe. Black solution followed shortly after, blurring into the transparent mixture. L hummed contentedly, observing combined concoction, now turning into a velvety plum color. With a sigh, L positioned the needle next to her vein, mentally preparing for the next few minutes. The needle made contact with the skin, purple liquid entering the vein slowly, enjoying each minute of sweet torture.
The effect was immediate. Furrowing her brows, L felt the jolts of pain in the very first seconds. Perspiration followed soon after, accompanied by uncontrollable shiver. Cursing silently, L gritted her teeth, allowing sensations to torment her already suffering soul.
Suddenly, it was cold no more. A wave of heat washed L's body, signaling the second phase. L closed her eyes, gripping the table tightly. The visions started to form, pulling her into endless nightmares. Sprinting constantly without an opportunity to stop, L was running out of breath. Hallucinations of faceless creatures, grabbing and torturing her was too much to bear. With her body paralyzed, L was unable to shut out the visions, forcing herself to live each moment of terror to the very detail.
It didn't help, nothing helped. So over and over again, L poisoned herself with the potions only she knew, each time increasing the dose of pain. She was by no means a masochist, yet feeling something, anything made her alive. Running from her problems, drowning in unknown liquids was her type of escape. Nobody knew, they didn't have to know. Torture was her haven, only for her eyes. Sometimes side effects took up for days, leaving her bed-ridden. The other times, the pain was gone in merely a few minutes. Yet every time it shattered something deep inside her soul, reminding her of being human again.
Nightmares were gradually subsiding, implying the third and last phase of agony. Tears were forming in the beautiful eyes of L, threatening to spill out. Biting her lower lip, L let her emotions take control. Drowning in herself, that's what she liked. Feeling until numb. Crying until no tear was left. Does feeling something makes one weaker? It is like a Russian roulette, one never knows where the bullet is. Yet when it hits, the pain is deadly. There is no escape, when one's soul is already bleeding, now mixed with the bullet. The shot either saves one or delivers the lethal blow.
The shot either saves one or delivers the lethal blow. Ironic, how a shot might save.
Yet it does. L though to herself. She knew the smell of her savior so well that she could sense it from miles apart. However, sometimes she couldn't help but wonder, what if that shot was a lethal blow instead. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, would it backfire in the end? The voices in her head were not giving L a rest, suffocating the poor creature.
The effects of the potion nearly disappeared now, leaving L gasping for air. Coughing, L went to the window, replaying the images of nightmares as cold winter weather entered the room.
