Four Years Ago...
The shadows of the night loomed over Briggan, casting a grim filter of light in his room. The atmosphere produced created the exact frequency of emotional wavelengths that came from Briggan's own heart, cold and alone. He laid on his bedroom floor and began to brood over the events of the distant past, once again letting his dejection overtake him.
Memories flooded his mind, and a totalitarian paralysis seized his body like a disease running rampant within. He had no control over his faculties. It was as if a parasite had invaded his brain and gained control over all the systems and was moving him around like a video game avatar. Briggan's body began twitching and seizing like mad. All he could do now was wait. He let out a helpless little whimper, like a puppy trapped in his kennel while totally alone.
Briggan was totally powerless.
Once the seizing and, eventually, the paralysis subsided, Briggan used his thumb to trace the lines that stretched across the width of his wrists and forearms. Most of them were faded, but many of them were still days old at most. He thought about adding more to the collection but decided against it out of sheer lack of desire to get up for anything.
The room was about as torn up as it could be. Things and clothes were just strewn everywhere, torn, broken, or lost in the chaos. Briggan was sure there were several unfinished meals lying around somewhere. The one thing that remained untouched, unmoved and its location known at all times was a small photo in a plain black frame. It was of a young woman a few years older than he, and the two of them looked startlingly similar. Briggan couldn't see the photo from where he lay, but he didn't need to.
It's been four years since that night, and still, nothing has changed.
Several hours Briggan laid on the floor of his room, letting his bitter contemplation take him wherever they wanted. Much of that time was spent in uncontrollable sobbing, if not in those horrid flashbacks he could never get rid of.
He never felt so alone...
YOU ARE READING
Never Too Late
General FictionBriggan wasn't somebody that wanted friends. He'd been alone for as long as he could remember, and he wouldn't mind it if he stayed that way for the rest of his days. Or, at least, he would've... had someone not began meddling in his life. Now, ever...
