Today is a sorrowful day, Besides the bone chilling cold outside I feel somber and hollow. Today is a day of mourning I guess, not for a family member or friend, just a loss of who I used to be. I am a shell of a human at this point, and unfortunately I feel I am getting no better. I hate what I have become; a lonely, apathetic, empty human being, but that is the only feeling I seem to have left, all the others died and blew away in the wind. The longer I live the more my memory begins to dwindle away, the good washes away but the bad remains, and I can no longer recall the last time I was happy.
In my dreams there is always a sense of impending doom, I just seem to drown in an endless nightmare. The only constant presence is that of Death, and death is always there; stalking and creeping upon an innocent life and time and time again just snuffing it out. witnessing death seems rather serious in real life, but I am unsure if it is as serious when asleep. I am plagued by a hauntingly vile dream of just uncensored anguish.
But there is a new level of pain to be experienced in actually witnessing the slow, agonizingly painful suffering of a young life. On a nightly basis I watch the life drain from her face as her wounds have festered and usually I pick maggots out of the wounds. She sweetly cries and her voice is weak and fading away with every jumbled sentence. She speaks nonsense and grabs my hand; she has clammy hands and they are colder than ice, she always gathers enough strength to sit up and lean on me, sometimes she drools on my shoulder, or she asks me to “die with her” before she convulses from shock. Sometimes she will vomit on me, and it is always full of blood as it is red with a white milky coating of acid; it burns me to the point I wake up in blistering pain, despite her being so close to dying she keeps a vice on my hand digging her nails in, she tells me not to leave her alone, I never thought of myself as brave but I seem to become courageous with her and I pick her up and just carry her, I don’t know where I am going but I just go. Anywhere is better than that dark, dank hole in the ground. I always remember the trip, her wounds ooze and drip pus onto my arms and legs. The smell is horrendous, even out in the open the suffocating smell of rotting flesh and waste matter permeates her clothes and mine,It makes me want to stitch my nostrils shut. She loves to be out in the sunlight, the air seems to revive her; that and bandages. In the light, her eyes twinkle and she finally smiles at me and gingerly feels the grass and exhales a ball of light that just blinds me; In that she heals herself and extends her hands and touches my nose.
The dream plays in a sequence, when I bring her out of the hole, the next dream she explores a dystopian landscape, or she is lost in a surreal realm of fantasy, or she actually dies and roams the underworld searching to find her soul again. she has decided that she doesn’t want to die alone and searches for a companion to “die with her.”
Her misery seeps into my own, and has developed a life of its own.