Pills. I feel the pills in my hand. Indeed more. Need. Never wanting, needing. Necessary. Necessary for my existence. To live. To keep me alive. I don't want to live. I can't. I can't do this 'life' thing anymore. I cannot. I grab the bottle. I observe it. I break into it, placing more and more pills into my small, fragile hands. My hands shake. I shake. My world is shaking. My world is a corrupted one, full of earthquakes and bombs. Disaster. Fear. I can't break anymore. I let myself go, instead. I place the pills on my tongue. A bottle of water is grasped in my shaky hands. So fragile. I pull the bottle to my lips. I let the water flow into my mouth. I swallow the pills, feeling nothing. The lump in my throat dissolves. Myself. Disappearing. I disappear. I change into clothes. Too big for me. My fragile self. My old self. I lay down into my bed. My sheets of sorrow and shame cover me. I look so broken. Fragile. Small. And all at once, I become numb again. I close my eyes. Weak.
YOU ARE READING
Finally Broken
Short StoryThe noises used to make me feel happy. Happiness is nostalgic to me, and now the noises sound like screams, bombs being set off right next to me. Cries of pain, sobbing. Then, silence. The silence hurts the most, and then I feel numb. I feel no pain...
