Whenever a human is born, they are automatically assigned a guardian angel. And Lucifer, not to be outdone, assigned the child a "guardian demon" as well. Twenty-four years ago, a baby girl was born and was assigned her guardians. Bright, energetic...
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Nothing had been going right for you in so long.
The skies were gray, food turned to ash in your mouth...OK, maybe you were being a bit dramatic, but it certainly felt that way.
Your life had always been fairly steady and uneventful. You were the youngest child of an average, middle-class family. You made decent enough grades to pass high school and were now studying nursing, a major your father said was more stable than music. You had great friends, a decent apartment, and enough money to satisfy your basic needs.
So why were you suddenly feeling like this?
Realistically, you were aware depression can hit anyone at any time, for any reason. Sometimes even for no reason.
But...this felt...different.
You could even pinpoint the day it started. Six months ago, on a Thursday, at 6:30 am.
You'd gone to bed in your usual cocoon, wrapped in the comforting scents, as a light melody was hummed. When you woke, it was gone.
You see, while it was true that your life was fairly boring and average, there was one thing that was...not so average. One thing that you never told another living soul about, because you knew they would think you were crazy.
For as long as you could remember, you'd never felt like you were alone. Sometimes you'd feel like someone was holding your hand, or softly running a hand through your hair. When you played your precious piano in secret, it felt like someone would guide your hands. A phantom hand would brush up and down your arm, as a melody was hummed to put you to sleep. You'd always gone to bed feeling cocooned in safety and warmth, one side of your bed smelling of citrus and vanilla, the other of spices and coffee.
You'd grown up believing it was ghosts or something. When you reached adulthood, you'd convinced yourself that it must just be some comfort thing left over from childhood. However, not once in your twenty-four years of living could you remember waking up without feeling "Their" presence. Without feeling something play with your hair or tickle you until you woke up. And it wasn't just the bed that felt empty.
It was you too.
You stare out of your window for the fifth time today. It was a bright, sunny day, and the park that you could see from your apartment was filled with people. Normally, on a day like this, you'd suddenly be filled with the urge to run to the park and dance around, acting silly, and soaking in the rays while you write a new song. After that, you'd go to the cafe on the corner and have not one, not two, but four Americanos in a row. You probably go buy some snacks and go see the new romance film that you'd been waiting for a year for afterward. Instead, you did none of that. You closed the curtains, the only light in the living room from a tiny Ikea lamp, and slumped on the couch, hoping for the sweet oblivion of dreamless sleep.
These days, even getting out of bed was a chore since you couldn't even remember the last time you'd had a good nights sleep. When you weren't waking up crying from some horrific nightmare, you would just lay there, staring at the ceiling. You'd try to pretend that you could hear the raspy humming of a melody, the sound that had been your nightly lullaby for so long. Instead, all you heard was silence. All you felt was emptiness. All your hope was gone.
