I'm drifting.
Drifting?
Spinning.
Round and round and round.
It's a spiral.
Descending my mind down.
Making me sink into this black quicksand that is dubbed depression.
I can't get out.
I'm descending much quicker now. The punches keep coming and the headache won't leave. The voices within my head are nagging at me. Bossing me around. Telling me where to go, what to do, when to breathe.
When to stop.
My vision doesn't work anymore. Everything is black. I see specs, tiny specks of light. Like stars. This depression is like a void of space. Sinking down and down. The more I descend, the more stars of light vanish.
And there's nothing I can do about it.
YOU ARE READING
A suspiciously odd amount of Short Stories.
RandomHere's some stories that are small, may not have a beginning. May not have an ending. But they are what they are. Deal with it I guess. "//" - Super short writing bits. ">><<" - Short Stories.
