The Wallflower's Voice

Hope Was My Monster

She sat in her room, her thoughts spinning along with her ceiling fan. They were the only things that seemed in sync, rapid and constant. It felt like the world was weighing itself onto her shoulders, bitter and cold, ruthlessly ripping away at every bit of hope that remained in her heart. Hope was just another monster. Hope was fire, leaping and warm. Attractive but so deadly. It's many tongues finding the open air and coating it in sparks and smoke. It allured, it hid, it burned. But the burning made her feel alive. No, hope was just another monster. Why else would it have been in Pandora's box? Hope lead her along, like some beautiful temptress... clothed in silk and gold, her hair long and auburn reminiscent of the fire she so emulates. Depression was her nemesis. Cold and unfeeling. Depression did not care that she wasn't believed. Depression was determined and headstrong. Depression quashed all argument of productivity. The twin monsters, only alike in the way they both destroyed her like she was nothing more than a tissue and they were cascading waterfalls that lead straight to jagged rocks and broken railings. Who was she to stand against them? So she didn't. She lay in bed, her mind twisting in the fashion of a tornado, dark and heavy and terrifyingly close. Her ceiling fan spun on, unaware that it was the only anchor she had at that moment. And the world kept pressing. Deep and heavy. Oblivious to the fact that it was crushing the very person who tried so hard to save it. Heroes are only heroes when they're wanted.