Diary of a Dead Man

5

°•° Richard °•°

Dear diary.....

It has been almost a month now........ and I fucking hate my life. Especially my job.

It's more than just monotonous; It's a suffocating trap that closes in on me over time. Every day feels like a chain around my ankle, binding me to a dull routine and the whims of rude customers. The feeling of being stuck in a life I didn't want was a constant, gnawing presence in the back of my mind. The shop had become my prison—the city had become like a jail, and the daily grind was slowly eroding away any hope I once had for something more fulfilling in life.

I always felt a hollow emptiness inside of me, a void that I couldn't quite explain. There was a sense of something missing in my life, a feeling of being unfulfilled and discontent that plagued me day in and day out. While other people seemed to have found their calling, I felt like I was treading water – stuck in a mundane routine without any real sense of direction or purpose.

I haven't sent letters to my father ever since I came here and henceforth, I didn't receive any from him. Could he be mad at me?!

And now as I trudge wearily down the street, my shoulders slouched under the weight of my discontent. My eyes, half-lidded and weary, stared blankly ahead as I navigated the familiar path to the tailorshop—where i reside.

The street was quiet at this hour, the only sound the soft scraping of my shoes on the pavement. The streetlamps cast pools of yellow light along the road, creating jagged shadows that danced and flickered with the slightest breeze.

And As I walked, my mind began to wander. The monotony of my daily routine, coupled with the growing emptiness I felt inside, left me lost in a sea of negative thoughts.

The world around me seemed to blur as my mind churned with the same dull litany it did every day – the job I hated, the feeling of being trapped, and the growing sense of purposelessness.

Being lost in my own thoughts as I walked through the city. I wandered down unfamiliar streets, letting my legs carry me. Then, I began to feel a sense of unease. The streets seemed darker, the alleys more shadowy. 

I tried to shake off the feeling, telling myself that I was just being paranoid. But the feeling persisted, growing stronger with each step. 

Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. They were slow and steady, almost mocking in their leisurely pace.

I turned to see who was behind me, but the street was empty. The footsteps sounded close, but there was no one in sight. 

Again!—it's happening again. The same phenomena that has been occurring to me the past few weeks, is repeating itself now. In the same way. Same time. No matter which path I take. It always finds me. A spirit? A lost soul? It somehow wants me.

A sense of unease washed over me as I continued walking down the street. The footsteps persisted, keeping pace behind me, as if following me. 

I picked up my pace. My heart racing with fear and confusion. I kept glancing back, but still saw no one.

My mind raced as I continued down the street, the footsteps following me closely behind. I tried to calm myself down, telling myself it is just my imagination, but the footsteps sounded far too real to ignore. 

I broke into a run, my chest tightening with fear. I darted down alleys and through streets, but the footsteps never wavered, always matching my pace.

I ran down the streets, my heart pounding in my chest. The footsteps behind me were as steady as ever, never faltering or changing pace.