Madness ➮ Harry Styles AU

C2

Christopher

December 21, 2010

The old entry read, adorned in jet black ink.

Something's wrong with me. I don't know what it is, but I keep seeing things. I really don't know how to explain it.

One minute, everything's fine. Yet, I blink the next, and my surroundings are melting into the ground; the walls closing in on themselves and ultimately, me. And all I can do is suffocate within this enclosing confinement of madness.

But It's not just that though.

The most terrifying thing about it, is that it's creative; it's imaginative.

Every godamned hallucination I get is different.

One moment the room is supposedly melting upon me, the next, it's albaze in searing fire and horrid screams.

But they're not attacking me, believe it or not.

Because everytime I wake up from these vicious, living nightmares, she's huddled up in a corner, hiding from me. Shielding herself from me.

She's injured, or even worse, slumped unconscious on our desolate kitchen floor.

They're not attacking me, because they'd much rather attack her. I don't know why, all I know is that when wake up, she's always afraid of me.

And the next day, she'll tell me what happened and it's devastating.

I don't remember any of it.

All I seem to remember is melting rooms andb2hxuhnw3jsucjwll+xssv

The rest of the page is illegible.

The chaotic mixture of letters and symbols seem as if they too were melting, as they slowly, gradually transcend into thousands of maddening scribbles.

Memories of writing this particular entry is hazy, as if the contents of my mind had been somehow washed away. However, the aftermath of it all, was vivid as day.

How could it not be?

For when I awoke, Ashley was gone.

Of course, she came back the next day and forgave me, because she believed in me, because she believed that none of this was my intentional doing; or at least that's what she claimed.

Yet, even so, there was this perpetual fear laced within her eyes; mixed within the very sympathetic, but also very synthetic emotion that lied within them.

After lightly licking my thumb and index fingers, I turned the worn page of my journal.

And the next, drastically unlike the previous page in almost every sense, considering that it was blank in its entirety.

Blank, except for two simple, and two terrifying words written in the exact center.

Help me.

Two simple words that couldn't possibly be interpreted in any way by two thousand.

I sat there, sitting utop our bed, staring at the parachment. However, moments later the cursive letters began lifting themselves off the page; soaring into the atmosphere. They floated up to my face, where in which they untangled themselves of their letters, like pulling both ends of the words as if they were strings, undoing their detailing, and straightening them into black laces of ink.

The charcoal lines danced somewhat eloquently, leaving me to wonder how this was even physically possible.

Yet, they were multiplying at this radical speed, because what started off to be two, quickly became eight, then sixteen.