I don’t know how to feel about dreams. Some say they are your inner feelings, others say it’s your subconscious trying to tell you something. But I don’t have feelings and my subconscious is hardly ever apparent. I sat up at my desk thinking of what the day would look like for me.

It was a Sunday, so no schoolwork. I saw Emilia yesterday and I know Ms. Wadsworth probably won’t stop by until later this afternoon.

I decided that I would spend the morning going through some emails, drinking tea and enjoying the quiet of my apartment. Later this afternoon, I will head downtown to get my watch repaired and on my way back I could see someone that has been trying to get into contact with me.

I stepped out of bed and made the covers lay neatly. I then walked into my kitchen, started up some water and dug through my cupboard for some Citrus tea I wanted to make. The scent wafted through my apartment and I heard my mother awaken from the couch. Since I had a few minutes to wait, I couldn’t stop my mind from thinking about the dream.

I wasn’t unsettled, annoyed or confused. I was simply curious.

I stepped away from my kitchen and walked into my living space far enough to where I could see my mother but not close enough to where she would notice my presence.

“Why did you choose me?” I started in a normal voice. My tone was deep and soothing. “Why did you decide to hold onto me instead of him? Was it because I was the first born? He was only a few minutes behind.” The water behind me, could be heard bubbling. “How did you not prepare yourself for having children? Any other person would’ve worked hard to gain money so they could support both their children but instead, you sat on your ass and decided that only one would fulfill your appetite. That only one could fill your broken home.”

I heard as my voice started to get heavy and I was blinking back a stingy pain in my eyes. I turned away and let out a breath, my head released itself from the tension and my shoulders rolled downward into a slump.

“You should have just killed us both.” I stated, then walked back into the kitchen to pour myself some tea.

I found myself back inside my room taking in the silence. I looked to my closet and suddenly flashed on an old memory.

Around the time I turned fifteen, I received a package. It was small and box shaped so when I tore it open I was met with a small journal with the name Simon Harris/ Cliff.

At the time I didn’t understand who it was, until my father explained that I had a twin brother they gave up for adoption, due to their poor financial status. Interested as to why I was mailed this, I opened it and read the first few pages. They were dull and deemed unimportant to me at the time, so I threw the book away. Or at least I thought I did.

I opened my closet and started pulling out small boxes. Inside were books on Anatomy, Psychology, Mathematics and English. I had the basic stories every child owned and read as a kid. But deep within the box was the leathering covering of a book. My fingers curled around its pages and binding as I pulled it from its dusty home.

Closing my closet, after organizing the mess, I walked to my desk and opened to the first page.

Hello,

My name is Simon Harris.

I am an only child and was adopted into a family the day I was born.

I am twelve now.

I’ll use this to write all my deep thoughts because that’s what my mother said to do.

She’s a doctor of sorts.

She told me that the mind can be a very dangerous thing. It can hurt people and that it is hurting me.

I don’t want to be hurt though…

So starting today I will write what it is that’s on my mind.

-Simon.

My brother’s handwriting was fine and I could see he had a steady hand. Flipping to the next page I was met with an emotional mess.

Today I will write about myself.

About the pain I’m dealing with.

I write this from my Doctor’s point of view.

Looking at yourself inside and out.

...

You’re broken.

I’ve never heard of a soul being so broken.

You were pounded to the point where you look like dust.

They say with every tear a crack appears.

But you're only 13.

How could this have happened in such little time?

You smile everyday, give hugs and support to those who need it.

So why?

Wait.

No one has given you a smile?

No one has hugged you when you're sad?

But…

How could that have happened?

You tell them everyday that your life is hard.

You show them pieces of yourself.

What?

They take advantage of that?

How could they do that?

Aren’t they your friends?

…

Alright.

Let's take a look at your body.

What are these scars!

You're covered in them.

Your back looks to be stabbed a hundred times over.

And your arms,

Even your neck,

They’re scratched.

I… I… don't want to look at you anymore.

Let's go to your heart.

…

No…

It’s faded…

It’s black.

I don't understand.

You are always happy.

So joyful, that it pounded out love to those near you.

You trusted them.

You believed in them.

But..

Why not yourself?

…

It's dark.

So dark…

Please give it back light!

Someone!

Please!

Help!

…

Sometimes the ones who smile and are the happiest, Are hiding painful memories, journeys that they had to push through alone. They ignore God in hatred. Frustration. Asking people around them ‘why?’

yet.

No one answers.

So they continue smiling. Digging that hole deeper.

Till the day they break…

Finishing the page I was curious as to what this meant. Why was he examining himself in such a detailed mannerism?

“What a freak.” I said heartlessly. I flipped the page and saw that it was the one from my dream. I guess I could agree with him that life was a terrifying adventure. But why let that consume you. Just take control of it.

“Pathetic”

I flipped to the next page.

What is something you always think about?

The one thing that pops into your beautiful mind.

Sometimes.

I think about everything at once.

The past and the future surrounding me and swallowing me whole.

The way my past tears me to shreds and cuts me down into pieces of sharp glass.

No one can touch me,

pick me up and put me together unless they do it with care.

I think about the future and how it overwhelms and sets my body on fire.

Burning me as if I was in the desert without water.

Sometimes.

I think about nothing.

A sheet of black covering the world.

Even the things sitting right in front of me.

Every person that I’ve loved,

cared about,

trusted.

Vanishing.

Disappearing from my sight and life.

I think about my accomplishments.

Were they worth the time and effort?

Worth the tears, sweat and pain?

I think about the things I can’t control.

The people who force themselves into my life.

The things that leave me when I beg for them to not.

So many things to take in.

I start to wonder.

Is it just me?

Am I alone like I think sometimes?

Am I really suffering or is this normal?

Do I think too much or not enough?

What is it I really should be thinking about?

Whatever it is, i’m sure I’ll think about it someday.

I just want to get out.

Out of my head.

Out of my thoughts.

Out of this suffocating feeling of thinking.

I flipped to the next page not having anything to say about the last one. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. My shoulders popped when I stretched and I took in the time. Ten fifteen.

“I still have some time…” I looked down to the page in front of me. My brows furrowed together as I started reading. “How interesting. He started going insane.”

Today I turned fourteen.

I see people.

But they aren’t actually there

I turned to the next page and was suddenly entranced by his entries. They were confusing but insightful to what was really going on in his mind.

So what is wrong with you?

I’m psychotic.

I talk to a fake version of me and together we talk about the younger me sitting on the ground cutting himself.

screaming for the pain to stop.

I sit on my windowsill and pretend I can fly

then lay on the ground and beg for the earth to swallow me whole.

I sit in my closet to lock out reality.

I listen to music and create a world where I am a simple no body.

I yell at an outline of someone I’ve never even met.

I cover my mirror because I’m afraid of the monsters that will climb out of my reflection.

I cry in a corner for no reason.

I envision myself shaking hands with devils and pretending to become one of them.

This is my reality.

This is who I am.

I’m a mess.

A monster.

A freak.

So go ahead doctor.

Tell me it’s all a lie.

Tell me I’ll be fine.

Tell me this is nothing more than a dream.

A mirage.

But how can you?

When you yourself are just one of the creatures I made up?

The journal entry was saturated in something I was unable to name. My hollowness seemed to mourn with it and I sat quietly examining the words over and over. There was no way for me to emotionally understand what he was going through. Everything I read seemed similar to my father but still, it was as if his words meant something different.

“Mr. Cliff?” came a woman’s voice. Without hesitation, I got up from my chair and immediately headed for my door. “Mr. Cliff, it’s Chloe from down the hall.” The womans voice was soft and weary. I could tell she was nervous but still pushed herself to speak with me.

Curious, I forced a smile and opened my door to the young modest woman. “Hello dear, is something the matter?” I asked in a friendly way.

“Oh no, nothing is wrong. I just wanted to apologize for my son. I was told he went into your apartment. He does that, I’m so sorry I should have told you about his habit and,”

I cut her off by raising my hand and laughing a little bit. “No need to worry. It was fun having such a young guest drop by. As long as you knew where he was I had no problem.”

A wave of relief rushed through Mrs. Walker’s face and she looked down at her feet in shame. “Thank you so much. I still should explain a few things though.”

I looked around in the hall and back into my apartment before stepping out to join her. “I would invite you in but I have a few things in the way.”

“Oh please don’t feel bad. I stopped by without any warning. Besides this won’t take long.” Her fingers twiddled together and I became infatuated with her smell. It was something new. “My son, as you might have noticed, has severe autism. He can’t really talk because the sounds are just too hard for him to produce.” She explained.

“I gathered that from his dog tags. That’s quite a smart thing for him to have.” I said crossing my arms and keeping the conversation moving.

“Thank you, it was his father's idea.” She scowled a little saying that, but her face brightened as she continued. “He may not be able to talk but he can definitely listen. He’s tricky about that.” She laughed. The sound from her mouth sparked another infatuation. I’ve heard that laugh before…

“Yes, I remember reading that kids, like him, can pick up on social cues and even read the atmosphere differently than others.” I added.

Chloe nodded smiling. “Yes, So once again I just wanted to apologize and explain a little bit. If he ever drops by again just send him back to my apartment.”

“Will do Mrs. Walker.” I nodded. She gave a very big smile then turned and headed back to her apartment. I took in a silent but lengthy breath through my nostrils. The smell of her was delicious and I became slightly delusional.

I opened my door but not before giving one last look in her direction. I met eye contact with Clance before he waved and ran back into his apartment with his mother trailing behind.

I walked back inside my own apartment and finished my tea. My brother’s writings were fascinating in a way but time consuming. I wasn’t curious enough to get into them more for right now.

I finished my tea and got ready for the day. By the time I finished replying to emails and my second cup of tea, Ms. Wadsworth was knocking on my door.

“Good afternoon.” I said letting her in.

“Afternoon sir.” She replied. I exited the room and left her to the chores. I was now on my way downtown.

Twelve forty-five was the time I last saw from my kitchen stove. My watch sat gently inside my right pocket and I called for a cab, knowing that walking would be a pain for I was still losing my sight. Not to mention my body was growing weaker with age.

After a few minutes of me twiddling my thumbs in the back seat of the yellow vehicle, we pulled up to a small outdoor market. I paid the man for his time and stepped inside the one building labeled, ‘Tom and Jerry’s Watch Repair’ .

The air was dusty and had an oily smell to it. Cabinets of glass held beautiful gold and silver watches. The floorboards beneath me creaked but I was too focused on the small hunched man behind the counter to fully notice their glamour.

“Appointment or walk in?” He asked. His small, white, prickly beard poked out from his chin and his light brown eyes watched me carefully as I replied.

“Walk in.”

I looked down at his clothes. His pants were tattered and stained but his shirt was neatly tucked and buttoned.

“Whatcha need?” He asked flopping his arms onto the glass counter and lifting his chin up so he could see me through his glasses. I raised my hand lifting my watch from my pocket.

“It stopped ticking a few days ago. Was wondering if you could fix her up for me real quick.” I said, giving a flashy smile.

“Of course! No problem at all.” He said, taking it from me. He started examining its detail and leather straps as if walking through its lifetime. Slowly, he went into the back and I heard a few things clutter about, but I paid no mind to it.

My eyes wandered throughout the room. Everything seemed to be in a place it was destined, but because of its placement the whole room seemed cluttered.

My eyes caught a glimpse of a shiny piece of metal, and I walked to it peering inside. My blurry vision was placed on a small round container. Sitting atop a purple velvety surface wrapped in thin laces of gold was a small pocket watch. The top of it sat a crown that spins to whined it up and the design on its face was incredibly intricate. Beside it, laid two similar pieces but one in a silver and the other a rose gold. Each with crowns at the top and their faces being blessed with a scenery of detail.

“You like them?” Came a voice from behind. I turned slowly to be met with soft brown eyes and a white beard. But his shirt wasn’t tucked in nor his pants stained.

“Yes, they definitely catch my eye.” I answered honestly.

The man nodded stepping beside me to look at the work of art himself. “When we got these in, I wasn’t sure what the price would be. So I told my brother if someone comes in with a price we’d be willing to sell.”

I hummed, not very interested in his small explanation. “They are wonderful but I’m not here to buy.”

“No? Then is there anything I can help you with?” He asked, raising his voice slightly.

“I believe,” I started turning to the counter just as an identical man walked out, “Your brother was assisting me.”

“Tom! What are you doing keeping this man waiting?” Screamed the man beside me.

“Relax Jerry, I was just going through the motions. I don’t want him to come back with a complaint.” Called the other. Their tones were serious and slightly jarring. As their bickering continued I enjoyed banter. Though, I was waiting for an opportunity to end it.

The two men were very similar to each other but their voices are what made the difference.

Tom's voice was heavy and strained whereas Jerry’s was light and had a kick of enthusiasm in it. By easily piecing facts together it seemed that these two gentlemen were twins and started a business together. One doing the work behind the scenes and the other on the floor selling what he could.

“Excuse me?” I nearly shouted. They both stopped and looked at me. “My watch?” I asked, coming up to the counter.

“All set. Here you go.” He smiled, placing it into my hand. The leather band had been cleaned and the metal was shined. But the best part was it had begun ticking again.

“What do I owe you?” I asked, reaching into my pocket searching for cash.

“Nothing! All first time customers get a free fix on the house. Next time you come in, I do a little more like getting those scratches out and polishing the base.”

Jerry stepped beside me like he had done before still annoyed with his colleague.

“Say what’s your name?” He asked, “We’ll write you down in our book and give you a call once in a while to check in. We do all kinds of clocks. Not just watches.” I smirked realizing their game but complied due to their politeness. It seemed only fair.

“The name is Gregory Cliff. I’m from uptown. And thank you for the fix. I will definitely remember this place next time I need a fix or polish.”

“Alright.” Tom clapped his hands then looked to his brother. “Till next time. Have a good day Mr. Cliff.” Jerry called from the counter. I walked out and left them with a simple ringing of their hanging door bell.

The sun was still high above and I started walking the street as I put my watch onto my wrist. Five minutes passed two. Since I was out I could meet up with someone I’ve been meaning to see. Just on the outskirts of town I knocked on the door of a man that works for me. I was standing at the top of a few stairs surrounded by a black veined fence. The door I knocked upon was red. It quickly swung open and I was greeted to a man who smelled of peanut butter.

“Mr. Cliff? Wasn’t expecting to see you around these parts.” The man was around the same height as I and had large biceps. He stepped from inside while quickly grabbing a blue coat. He then closed the door to his home and we stepped out into the street.

“Why don’t we go somewhere private?” He asked, leading the way to a park. The walk was silent and I searched the area for anyone that may recognize who we were. Luckily, no one was paying too much attention to us.

“Mr. Cliff, It’s dangerous for you to be here let alone show up at my own home.” The man began.

“Mr. Stone,” I said bluntly, “I was in the area and recalled that we have an overdue meeting that needs to take place.” I watched as his eyes traced the area behind me and I did the same behind him.

“This has been going on for far too long. You promise that this will be your last kill? This is the fifth year that I will be working for you. Covering up all those murders and accidents is more difficult than it may seem.” He said crossing his arms and becoming defensive.

“Don’t worry, your job is over. I’m not planning on killing the kid.” I replied.

“What? You’re not?” Mr. Stone asked, bewildered.

“No, I have other plans for him. Nothing you need to worry about. But I do need security on a few things. Did you get those images deleted and those hard drives swiped?” I asked.

“Yes sir, My buddy down at the station did it for us. So nothing to worry about.”

“What if someone double checks? I know how hell bent you cops are.” I growled.

“Relax.” Stone said, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Everyone at the station trusts my man down in the evidence locker. He almost got caught erasing your things but the police trust him a ton so they won’t fight his written word. If he says you weren’t anywhere on that video camera then it becomes a fact. You weren’t there. Plus you got your nurse as an alibi along with your job, you got those case files with facts always “Mysteriously” changing.” He said pridefully. “You’re safe as a bunny in winter.”

“Good.” I said looking past him again. The hands on my shoulders were removed and Mr. Stone scratched his head.

“But man oh man were those two cases hard to get by.” He said, still scratching.

“Which ones?” I asked, bringing us to a seat.

“You know… Oli and Courtney.” He said, trying to refuse the shiver that desperately wanted to fly down his spine. “Those were some twisted details.”

I smiled at the thought of those days.

Back when I first started killing I did everything with my two hands before I realized that having them kill themselves would be easier.

But how do you convince a child to do that? How could you do it with an infant?

Only just born a few months ago, at that time, the child wouldn’t stop crying. His wails of torment jabbed themselves through walls and into my old home. It was late. Very late. The world was still and nothing moved or made a sound. No cricket was heard and no bird sang. Nothing but the sound of a child. My hate towards this thing grew into something inhuman. I wanted nothing more than for it to stop.

My boots were frigid as I slid them on and my coat had an uncomfortable feeling to it.

I was cursing the child under my breath as I made my way across the freshly fallen snow. The crunching it made under my feet was incomparable to the screeching of that damned child. I opened their door with ease.

What a shame they don’t lock up.

I walked down their hall and up their stairs right into the child's room. On and on were his screams. He was crying for comfort, food, attention but I didn’t care. I had to shut him up.

Once again the night was as it should have been.

Silent.

“The fingerprints they found I was able to swipe just before they were scanned. I feel like you weren’t even trying to be sneaky.” Mr. Stone started.

“I was tired.” I defended with a monotone voice.

“But Courtney was almost worse. You had blood all over you and the neighbors even witnessed someone matching your description. That and the fingerprints and all the DNA and video footage caught. I still can’t believe we didn’t forget anything. There was so much evidence to put you on Death Row.”

“Courtney.” I repeated her name slowly. “What an odd girl she was. No older than eight I believe. She too, screamed loudly. All the more reason to make it quick, I guess.” I shrugged feeling no guilt in their deaths.

“You are a sick bastard. You’re lucky you pay me so generously. Me and my wife are going to Paris once this year is over. For her it’s vacation. For me? It’s a break from all this psychoticness.”

“She was so light too.” I continued not registering his words. “All I did was walk in and throw her into the freezer.” I felt needles travel up my arms as if reminding me of her fingers scratching my neck and arms. “Her poor little fingers were bitten off by the seal of the giant cooler. It was a wonderful sight."

I decided to continue the imagery in my head. It's description getting dark and psychotic.

I flashed over the scene, laying out every single detail. The tiled floor, the yellow walls.

It was honestly so easy.

Her pounding from inside the container was extravagant. Listening to the endless screams and clawing.

I wanted to watch.

I wanted to see her facial reactions as she desperately tried to survive. The cold eating away at the innocent flesh. Her eyes spread with horror.

All the blood. I loved the blood.

It was a strawberry red, and smelled vile. Leaking and staining everywhere. Soaking into the cracks of the floor and running down the contrast of the freezer.

I remember laughing maniacally as I picked a finger from the floor. Its frailness looking delicious...

Stone shifted slightly and finally let the shiver climb down his back.

“All that blood. What a sight for adrenaline.” I finished having the corners of my mouth curl upward. “Anyways, thank you for chatting. I must be off. Ms. Wadsworth must be getting anxious.” I started walking away when Stone called from behind.

“The end of this year we are done. No more favors.” His voice sounded exhausted as if trying to explain that he regrets his permanent decision.

I smiled and exited the park. “Trust me. I won’t be around long enough for you to beg me for favors.”

Arriving home Ms. Wadsworth was adjusting my mother on the couch. I didn’t agnolish her and she didn’t mind. Crossing the living room to my room I locked the door behind me. The motion was odd for I almost never locked my door. There was simply no reason to. But nevertheless I did.

I looked at my watch and took in the time of four thirty-seven. I wasn’t tired but I had nothing to do. No one I wanted to speak to. Nothing I wanted to remember. I paced my room filling in time when my eye caught onto my brother’s journal.

I slowly stepped to it and sat at my desk finding the page I had left it open to. The words, once again, made me smile. What a twisted thought process.

I’m fifteen now. Don’t know how much more I can take.

My mother says she doesn’t want me in her life anymore.

That I’m a burden.

Her words hurt me.

I’m starting to lose my grip on reality.

Imagine all sound being completely drowned out by your world.

The people you meet,

The things you see,

Monsters that attack you.

Even though it’s not real I still experience it as a first hand event

It’s what I see.

I see a world that’s only there for about 10-20 minutes tops.

I talk to strangers I feel like I’ve known my entire life.

I lay on a hill of tall grass when I actuality I’m standing in my room.

I can feel wind sweep past me.

I can hear different tones in faraway sirens.

The temperature rising and dropping.

You may not understand, but this curse of mine is what keeps me going through the hard days.

It’s my escape

It’s my reality

This insanity…

It’s what I need

To feel like I'm sane.

I couldn’t grasp at what my brother meant in this but the thought entertained me for once. I continued through the journal and started the next entry.

I feel so alone.

Numb?

Finally something I could understand. The feeling of numbness. But why does he say it in such a devastating way? Being numb isn’t bad, In fact it’s my reason for being powerful. It makes you superior to others

The next page was blank but tucked inside the folds was a paper neatly wrapped up. I opened the paper letting the sound of crinkling fill my room.

A blank screen

A blinking cursor

The determination to fill the page

With something

Anything

But what is it worth?

I sit in my room for hours on end pretending to be in a world I can never fit in with.

I pretend to be something I’m not

A hero

A faultless human being

A strong person

A sane person

Someone

Who isn’t me

Why do I do this?

Type and cry?

Why do I continue to fill this page with empty thoughts?

Empty…

I feel like that lately.

Just empty

It’s almost worse than being numb

With numbness I didn’t have to feel anything

This is me just doing nothing and feeling everything pretending as if its nothing

There’s no emotion

Just pain

Just questions

Things I can’t fight

Things I can’t see

How am I supposed to win when I’m fighting myself?

I can’t exactly lose…

It’s so quiet.

Tears hurt my eyes

The constant rubbing of my hand on the tender skin.

The itching sensation as the tear travels down my cheek to my chin.

I don’t understand it…

I don’t know how I got here

Why do I have these nights where I cry for seemingly no reason

And when I look for a reason I'm filled with more pain.

I think back to what I want.

Approval

From who though?

Everyone says they’re proud.

Is it something else?

Recently I realized I lost the capability to love.

I feel nothing for a friend.

I feel nothing for an enemy

And nothing for the girl who confessed to me.

I feel nothing for my parents and I feel nothing for myself.

Instead I feel as though the world around me is spinning.

Going faster and faster as I look for answers

Everything makes my stomach churn

It’s as if the walls are caving in.

Where was I?

Oh… love,

What is it like to fall in love?

To fully trust someone with everything about yourself

To not be judged

Or is this the idealistic and twisted view I was forced to see growing up.

It makes me wonder if my parents are in love

If my friend is truly in love

And If I will ever be loved.

No,

I know I can be loved

There are people out there who have said so

They sacrificed everything for me

But what have I done?

Do I deserve their love?

Do I even want it?

I don’t want something I don’t need.

Is love a necessity?

If so then what happens to those who never find it?

What happens to those who can’t give love

Only the falseness of it

What happens to people like me?

I need to stop

To stop digging this hole and refilling it with more questions than answers

Lets just make a conclusion

…

You are loved.

But you don’t deserve it.

You feel bad for the people that care

But are fateful for them anyways.

And hey…

You filled the page.

I continued to the next page. Love, what a pathetic and useless emotion. It doesn’t even exist. Human beings are animals, we lust and feed off of others in need of attention and sexual interactions. It’s easy to see that you don’t need it. After all, why would you need something that doesn’t exist.

I can’t sleep.

But how could I ever tell them?

I feel like I’m being watched.

The walls have ears

The mirrors have eyes

The vents speak and I am losing my sanity

Why is this happening?

Why to me?

I was awoken again. This time though, I got about two hours compared to my normal one.

My subconscious is going through something that my conscious refuses to.

I don’t understand myself.

I’ll stop everything for someone else but when it comes to myself I pretend like it doesn’t exist.

That dark hole growing inside my chest.

That echo rolling around inside my head

The waves of emotion that wash through me leaving behind trails of misery and grief

I simply cover that image with a sheet

Making it seem as though it is a blank canvas

No color

It doesn’t exist

Day’s pass

How many days has it been?

I replace the silence with music, motion, screaming, talking or static.

I hate the silence

It forces me to think

It forces me to look back

To look ahead

To be silent

Has it always been this way?

Has it always been this hard?

When did the world become so terrifying?

How do we ignore it?

I can ignore my emotions as if it is a dead fish in a round glass bowl.

It just sits there on my counter

Floating

Waiting

Rotting

I don’t notice it.

I avoid the responsibility

I avoid the death of it.

I pretend like it’s still alive and swimming around

I act like it’s breathing.

But it’s starting to smell

That canvas is starting to blacken,

That sheet beginning to tear

Those emotions start to overflow

My music,

My voice,

My screams,

My static,

It’s all going away and I’m being left behind

In the silence.

How?

When?

Why?

How did this happen?

When did this happen?

Why…

I can’t handle it

The pressure is too much

My face is starting to show my pain

My voice is showing my fear

My subconscious is going over that line and bleeding into my consciousness

Bleeding?

Am I bleeding?

Am I able to bleed?

Should I even be allowed to bleed?

Maybe I should try?

The pain is a different pain

It’s swallowing me.

It’s rippling up my arms

It drips down down onto my legs

Its warm but cold at the same time

The sound of it is distracting me from the silence.

I like it.

But I hate it.

Maybe…

I should just go back to sleep.

I hope no one notices

I hope they ignore me

Like I did

Pretend I’m still okay

Avoid the responsibility of asking the hard questions

Avoid the topic of depression

That’s right just go back,

To sleep.

Turning to the next page there was nothing. No more writings, no more hidden pages.

I closed the diary and decided to put it back in the box. No need to re-read something I don’t understand.

My brother’s words were something I believe a mere child should not have gone through and think about. The torment it must’ve caused him. The excessive pain he must’ve gone through. I could hardly wrap my head around the idea of feeling that much.

“Dear Brother, May you rest in the feeling of peace. Someday I shall join you but I doubt you would care.”