Dark Stories

why

With bated breath you sigh--

Another day, another dawn. "I too, wish to see the day when the sun would rise again." You mumur quietly, glancing down from the setting sun to the bleak concrete beneath your feet. You keep walking. To many others, gray was a dull and sad colour. Yet to you, it was part and parcel of the monochrome filter that covered your life, making everything in sight seem darker, even if just by a few tints. People often tell anecdotes of how life was in utter grayscale when they were depressed, but you know better. Those drama queens have no idea what they're talking about. Its a tint, one that hinders your sight and becomes stronger and stronger, signalling the end.

Medication, they say, would help you wonders. That statement in and off of itself can start off many controversial debates. Yet, despite you having loved debates all your life, you decline to ponder further on the topic. You keep walking. You notice you're not walking in a straight line anymore, but you dont care. Concrete pavement turns to grass. Grass turns to road. You know if you keep walking further, it's the open road. You hear horns blaring. You weren't walking this direction of your own accord, you just automatically walked onto it. You close your eyes in acceptance.

You don't look up.

As the sun finished bleeding into the sky, so did your corpse into the now bloodied road beneath you. The driver shaking and crying and trying to rouse you. The commotion loud enough to ironically- Raise the dead. It is quiet to you, however. Your cold unmoving carcass lays there, eyes wide and unseeing. There were tears in them, but they didnt fall. You didnt have to cry now after all, you were dead. But thats okay.

Because on the inside, you had already died long ago.