INK.

The viscous, dark liquid surrounded me. It smothered my senses and drowned my thoughts. I was no longer me, just an extension of the ink. The ink that was once slow to come from my pen, now emerged quickly, filling my room and my being.

It replaced my blood, turning it a murky black. Each breath I took was like trying to breathe under water, except worse.

I feared opening my eyes, in case of the ink climbing inside them. I was afraid of seeing my vision tinged in darkness, like I had extremely dark sunglasses in a dark room. These fears would’ve felt silly any other time, yet right now they felt entirely real.

I thought of the pages I had written over the past months. The grueling work it took to blot those pages with ink in a shape that resembled words. The sheer time it took to fill even one page.

Yet now. They were filled with them entirely. Covered in ink, maybe even smothered in it. Just like me. Was it better this way or worse? I couldn’t really tell.

I reached around trying to feel anything, but the only sensation I received in response was more liquid in my grasp. I could barely reach any distance due to the viscosity that stopped my movement.

My power could not exceed that of the frictional force I was contesting against. Knowing I probably could never exceed this resistant force to move again, gave rise to gooseflesh along my arms. Possibly the last sensation I could feel, which wasn’t entirely replaced with ink.

I breathed again. The air that entered my lungs felt rigid, like it wasn’t even air. No it wasn’t air. Yet even still breath reached me keeping me on cusp of consciousness. I hadn’t even known where I was anymore.

I had thought I was still in my room, but I had no way of knowing. Could I have been in an ocean or maybe an ink factory. Not even the faintest clue presented itself to me. All sounds were taken from me, the only audible noises I could perceive was the slight shifting of the liquid in my ear drums.

Raw fatigue took over my being. The realization of the futility of trying to think of anything else had brought a heavy wave of exhaustion to me. There wasn’t a point of trying anymore.

I couldn’t even open my eyes to check anything. Fighting through the fear to open my eyes felt unrealistic, however I was out of options. It felt like I was exerting more force to keep them closed than to open them.

With no energy left in me whatsoever, I eventually gave up trying to keep them closed. They responded to the gesture with ease. That slight movement of opening my eyes felt as though it was the most uninhibited so far. Like there was never any ink.

It took me a moment to process what I had been seeing. It was my room. My normal room, with nothing more, nothing out of place. It was as I had left it last night before I drifted asleep. As I had left it every night.

It was dirty, filled with garbage everywhere which I hadn’t wanted to deal with. The pages I had written were also still strewn about my desk. Right where I left them. There was one thing different, I noted with slight hesitation.

The luminescence the sun brought had finally lit my room, allowing me to see the surroundings which I had just described for the first time in a long time.