Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors!
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This week I share the second of sixteen stories from my next release Love Scenes From the Black Market, a dark anthology.
This week’s snippet is the opening 8 sentences from Note, a reflection on depression and the horrible effects it can have on relationships, as told through the lens of a psychological horror story.
(For the record, I consider the actual note, in quotations, as one long line. So no getting me in trouble, Mods. ;D)
The note read:
“i am unhappy
i feel this wasn’t always true
that once some version of me existed that didn’t feel this way
off on the horizon, never drawing close enough for anyone to see
because he can’t even see himself
this is my existence
a string of inconsequential moments held together by the forlorn hope that, one day, everything will be ok
this is what i am
i want to reach out to that old self, and bring him back
but i don’t know how to reach him.”
I keep the note by my bedside, tucked inside my journal next to my wedding ring box. I hate reading it, because every morning, almost at the same time, I know he’ll rise, and I’ll have to deal with the pain he felt when he wrote those words all over again.
I lay still in the early hours, sunlight bleeding through the curtains, wisps of dust in the air, the smell of flowers outside. It seems it’s always Summer, but I know that’s only in my mind. No one knows, not for certain, but I guess they’re starting to suspect. I keep coming up with excuses for why we can’t go over to his parents for dinner, keep putting off his deadline for the new article with lies about how he’s out researching. I’ve been at it for weeks now, and I’m starting to wear thin.
Thanks for stopping by, and have a great weekend!