Chapter 1: Depression

This website is stupidly limited (and broken - keeps changing the format), and so the original format and effects have been removed here. Some things may not make sense because of this. However, I've added subtle alternatives to replace these. W.I.P DRAFT - WILL HAVE ERRORS. READ OUR READER'S GUIDE IF YOU'RE STUCK HOW TO READ WITH THE WRITING STYLE AND SPECIAL GRAMMAR. I AM LOOKING FOR CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, GOOD AND BAD. 
C.W: Eating disorders, self-harm, depression, rude language


Are you happy?
Yes                                                                  No





Chapter 1: Depression

Our fragmented complex of memories crumbles in time’s final collapse—the nerves of our brain caving in. Everything, past and present, falls before my dying eyes. Still, I sprint through twisting paths like the final nerve cell, desperate to feel one last touch, trapped in Libet’s delay. But- but- but there’s not even a second chance.. All I can do in this moment. All I could ever do...was wait…

TICK

TOCK

TICK

TOCK

TICK

TICK

TICK-

The world ended while I was sleeping again...

The clock won’t stop fucking ticking over the birds outside, already halfway through their song.

I ruined it. Woke up late again.

My heavy head throbs with static and regret. I lie in the mess of my bed, blinking at the ceiling, letting the weight of nothing but bandages and burnt flesh press harder into my chest.

The perfect kid I used to be, Bliss’s old painted clock on these new walls tick-tick-tockin’ on loop as it always does ‘n did—once freshly painted with bright and decorative colours, now rusty with dull and empty black and whites.

My new (first, probly last) cramped coffin of an apartment’s all grey ‘n gloomy; all the lights’re off.

I’m just..staring at the dull ceiling of nothing. That’s what I’m doing today!

How productive!

First day livin’ on my own.

And I slept through all of it...

I’m a 16-year-old big boy now!! —girl?—man ?—stuck between, I don’t even know anymore. But oh golly! What a time to have to move out!

The age I always looked forward to as a kid; I imagined finally going out to parties with real friends, adventuring the world, and doing all types of things I’d see in those TV shows.

But I don’t have any of that.

And no mum, no dad…

I mean —last time I saw them was the day everything went wrong.

God, this is nothing like Home. Nothing is. Ever since that day, nothin’s ever been the same...

I wish I could go back...I would do—anything...

I wanna cry.

In a pile of junk, I gaze at that cross mum used to always make me pray to if I felt low.

…

I go on my phone with a blinding, digital light. The open, numbing parts of the bandages I peeled to feel expose almost skinless hands that tremble and struggle to tap. They still have some black ash from the fire leftover…

Two hours pass? Three?

Scrolling on loop like a machine, eyes blurred not even focused.

Feels like I’ve only been awake for a moment and somehow still longer than I should.

The hallucinations return like they always do —shifting shadows. Burning in black flames, their eyes flicker—the only realistic part of them, vivid colours of familiarity. They grow familiar with the randomness of the fire. Don’t speak words; they just mutter (most the time). Loom with hate—mentally nudging, tugging, prodding me like my regrets.

But I’m tired.God, I’m tired of everything...

I turn my head, eyes drifting round the somehow already a junkyard that’s my bed-cell. What a mess... All these unpacked boxes, empty rooms. Barely even have the essentials.

Don’t think there’s a difference ‘tween me and a building anymore.

If I was in a book, I’d rewrite the start.

There’d also be an audience…that’d be nice…

Some old relatives helped with unpacking last night – most importantly, things saved from the fire (though still pretty burnt); Old, dusty CDs from Iris ‘n Dad; Bliss and old friends’ Polaroid and memory book; and I see what’s left of his childhood toys. They don’t move. But they sure remember, they always do. Though ripped apart, headless, and traumatised, at least I still have his favourite childhood bunny—Illusia. But do I even deserve to have them...? They sleep tight, forced in my arms whether I like it or not. Maybe if I have what I had as a kid, I can be happy again…!

…

Suddenly, they slip out my hands ‘n into piles of junk —I groan and roll out of bed. Not cause I want to, but because I have to.

I consider showering—two weeks without one, and I feel my leftover blistered skin agonisingly rebelling.

You don’t deserve warm or cold water; you deserve a cold coffin, you filthy, rotting piece of shit.

I don’t. I can’t. I’m not used to it anymore. Even yesterday, when they brought me to my very own place—I told myself I’d try. That I’d fix my life with this fresh start.

I’ll do it tomorrow—

—No. No, you fucking won’t.

I consider going outside into the sun.

The exit is right there. Do it, then.

...

When I shuffle into the back of the dimly-lit living room, it’s too silent, too…lonely... Nothing but the low hum of the fridge..

..The Shadow People begin to flicker so it feels less alone. They seem bothered, chatting and eating something.

Talking about what?

I don’t know. It’s hard to think.

That’s what you always say. Your mood isn’t an excuse.

My stomach’s empty. The shadows aren’t looking, and I guess everyone real has left. It’s—not like we’d do anything, anyway...

With lazy but exaggerated child-like movements, I yank the rusty fridge open with my dirty foot.

The droning light flickers.

I grab a cold can of stolen vodka into Bliss’s jumper sleeves.

There’s literally no food but mac ‘n cheese. But I don’t even know how to make mac ‘n cheese..

Ah. Microwavable.

Better than nothing.

God wait —I don’t even have a microwave!

I groan.

Barely even stirring it in the pan with a steak knife, and my mind wanders. But the smell attracts my nose. And I begin to feel —proud. I’m actually doing something independent, being..normal!

Just when I think it’s ready, boiling hot, I overload it on a small plate!

Slowly, I compact a chunk with my almost (not irreversable) yellow teeth!

I swallow.

The plate goes into the bin.

Guilt swells in my throat like bile. It tastes like rock...

...
WHAT DID YOU DO?—

The shadows move- They glide toward me, silent and grotesque, as if preparing to gut me for my sins- To split open my stomach and spill out the rot inside- To scream at me until my ears bleed-

I bolt to the bathroom.

Hands trembling, I scramble to lock the door behind me. The handle rattles once—then nothing.

White noise…

I could’ve had a good morning.

I could’ve gone out to find my uncle and cousins.

Maybe today could’ve meant something.

Maybe- maybe- maybe- I could’ve fixed things-

Why do you fucking do this?

“Why do I fucking do this?”

The words crack out of me in pieces.

“Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy—” I mutter locked on pointless repeat, sliding down the door ‘til my raspy, trembling voice breaks. Until I do.

With a shuddering breath, I hurl myself towards the toilet, fumbling out the vodka, breathlessly gulping it all down desperately as I gag and choke—hoping to both suffocate and vomit my insides out. I feel little bile clog my throat, overfilling my mouth—then, I expel the tiny filthy food into the toilet before I can think—some into the alcohol. I still drink, I don’t care anymore.

My vision fades.

Dark.

Don’t you ever wish you could go back?

Light…

I don’t know how long I’ve been lyin’ here on the cold, hard, dead tiled bathroom floor. I decay in a mess of blood, sweat, snot, tears, piss, and probly any other disgusting fluids a human can expel. And yet, my head still feels numb. I sit, frozen in black, blank, staring at nothing.

Minutes? Hours?

I feel dead.

I might as well be.

Dark...

I wanna escape my past, but I find comfort in it. I’m trapped.

Light.

My new mirror glares in horror at the first impression of the new me. I stare back—guilty of what I’ve become. And uncontrollably, my eyes begin to twitch and tremble—of course they do—but I’m too tired to, too drained to cry. My mouth blubbers the closest thing to one, sounding more like an animal’s moans, learning to make noise; struggling for breath and only able to breathe in, like my lungs have been stabbed, rapid through trembling chokes and sobs. With trembling hands, I attempt to do my mascara, forcing myself to smile —but I’m shaking so much the black smears in my eyes and bandages. With gritted teeth ‘n a fake smile so forced, I scream, slowly turning my face from desperation to be beautiful, rambling “I’m pretty I’m pretty I’m pretty I’m pretty…” into infuriation, uglily giving up into wheezing “sobs” against the mirror, “I’m ugly, I’m ugly, I’m ugly, I’m ugly…”

In my reflection, my grotesque dark-grey-purple eyes with spotted black mistakes—once lavender full of life and colour...now full of death and dark.

“I’m sorry…Bliss…” I murmur to the innocent kid I once was.

Bliss is dead. Now I feel too ashamed to even call myself by that name.

I’m...no body......

I’m ashamed of the broken mess I see me now.

Still wearing Bliss's specially knitted jumper from his mum, now worn-out and too tight for what I’ve become. It’s bright and yellow colours—now only dull and dark. Black from the dirt and darkness of a miserable present I smother myself in.

How disgusting.

Suddenly, uncontrollably, I beat my head with my fists.

Still wearing his old unfit pyjamas, only for hope to be like him again—once dyed in light vermillion reminiscent of dad's favourite flower—now ruined with faded darkness, too.

What a fraud.

I smash my head harder.

Scribbled skin. Imperfect Doodles. Scars.Ugly mistakes. A skinny stick. A fatass.

Can’t—do—anything.

I pound my fists against my skull. Over and over and over.

If only it never happened—if only others changed right—if only they didn’t do this to me—if only-

Something brushes against my fingers.

I pause.

A large, crumpled forget-me-not, tangled and paling in my overgrown hair.

This isn’t a normal flower, though. It’s like if the sun bloomed —a supernova of life. A blossom of selves.

Exactly, I can’t tell how much, but it looks large enough to have at least have held nearly a hundred petals.

But now…only one petal remains.

One petal remains..

Hypnotizing……………… —

—It doesn’t belong.

Not in this world, at least.

From it’s middle, it burns an ever-lasting flame of a bright white light, lingering like the faint pain from the housefire.

Where did this come from...?

...I don’t remember...

Dark.

Are you happy?

Light.

It's impossible to believe I once lived with joy, freedom, meaning. And now... if whatever cold reality let Bliss see this—let him see this empty, boring, pointless life—

He’d be disappointed.

What would he say?

What would the once perfect human being I lived as think of me now?

He’d cry.

He’d scream. He’d beg me to stop.

He’d say this isn’t home.

This isn’t Home

Home was warmth.

Home was laughter and joy spilling everywhere I’d go—golden and safe. Home was my mum’s delicate voice, soft and reassuring, my dad’s light-hearted company, always there for me. Home was Michael, my best friend, my brother in all but blood.

But Home is gone.

I don’t want to change.

I don’t want to grow.

Dark?

Am I happy?

Light?

...I’m not the same...

...They did this to me...

Suddenly, an existential darkness ruptures my mind. It shocks through every wire of my brain 5478 times. And it all bleeds out as the thought.

The thought that changed everything.

Dark…

I wanna go Home...

Light...

Crushed up salvia on the bedside table.

Hand in hand, drugged eyes dead at the shifting skies. Cold skin, I cradle.

I'm lying in my old, comfy bed of warmth. The house distorts, beaming patterns and shards out of the disordered chaos of fake neon. I'm Home. But still, this doesn’t feel like Home.

I know this isn’t real. It’s just nice to pretend...

The house is gloomy and dark. The lights are off, and the air is unusually cold with a strong night wind.

The barely hanging clock on the wall ticks backwards—freshly painted but still depressing and dull. Despite everything being in reverse, painfully slow, the world outside keeps moving forward. Cars drive down rain-flooded streets. People live their lives, unaware that I am stuck, trapped in a place where I don’t belong.

My legs ache, floppy and tireless, as if they’re moving forward like a broken machine forced to march by puppet strings.

Warm tears drain from my restless eyes like memories, until I’m empty from anguish. Nostalgic images from the past flicker into my burning brain. Then my foggy head pounds heavier, my blubbing shattering in stuttered breaths as the reminder crashes into me...

Nothing will ever be the same.

Everything was(vas herez?) perfect...

Here they come again.

The unexplainable shadows hover over me in the dark. I know they aren’t real. It’s just—comforting to at least pretend to have someone. The hallucinations carry cut birthday cakes and presents as if mocking my dead past, whispering about subjects I just don't want to understand anymore. One shadow figure shifts—they burn in a familiar, daunting white light. The scary light hurts my eyes and hits me with a heavy spark of deja vu. I flinch, half covering my eyes, half peeking, curious. I make out their strangely familiar? hand, when they gently place down a lavender candle on the table beside me.

They light it.

A warm dim flame brings unwanted safety to the darkness. The strong, dreamy scents of lavender, grass, and nothing fills the room.

The light blinds me—probably. I flinch away like a vampire freak, cuddling up into the only sense of childhood I have left—Illusia. Looking at the coloured wall that’s only a memory, I reminisce at all the perfect scribbled drawings I’d make of me and Illusia’s world in my dreams. They sleep tight, forced in my arms whether I like it or not. Maybe if I have what I had as a kid, I can be happy again!

The lavender connects with my eyes and drowns my thoughts, calming my soul. I try to breathe, gasping for air, slowly... soothing...

...In...

...Out...

I’m... tired...

My weary head throbs. My vision blurs.

If I fall asleep, I’ll dream of home. Yeah! Maybe I’ll wake up in my old bed, back in 2019, where everything is right. Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe...I just need to wake up...

I sink beneath my blanket.

I drown in the familiar, in the warmth of the one thing that never changes.

Darkness.

Pure. Still. Endless.

The only place where time doesn't exist.

The only place I can still be him.

Away from this wretched house I’m forced to call home.

Away from reality, I must inevitably grow up—

to seethe.

Alone.

(-and in the end-)

Dark.

Ticks and heartbeats, unwinding with time,

Reality stray, misplaced into mine.

As sunlight fades from a lavender haze,

Shadows stretch far, far from the maze.

The air is thick with whispers of gold,

Illusions hide pain, pain growing old

A creak of the floor, a scent in the air,

Hints of a world no longer there.

Hints of a world no longer theirs.

Hints of a life no longer mine.

And then the pull, so gentle, so slight,

Like a music box sings, like a puppet on strings,

A thread unwinds into soft twilight.

Brain neon colours, heart warm candles,

My eyes are glued shut just wait please I didn’t think!-

Time passes like weeks, like the nature of stars,

My mind tears reality my body disparts,

A mirror of life illusions no sun,

Remember, forget, choose what I know now,

I can’t keep going, if only I knew then.

I can’t keep going, if only I knew then.?

The world dissolves, a brain appears,

Dark, grey, light, framed by forgotten years.

Glitched lavender mist, growing teal fog, blinding reality smog, dark, grey, light, (of past),

His blissful mind stray, misplaced into mine,

Through it, I fall, my gone breath held gone,

If only I went gentle into that bad light,

A cascade of stars spills into that good night.

A cascade of my bodies fragments that good night.

Familiar faces in hazy hues,

If only I’d known, if only I knew!-

And as I drift, the lines grow gone,

Between what was and what has been.

A fleeting miss from the winds of time,

The dream and life in imperfect chimes.

For here we wander, both lost and free,

A dreamer adrift on a starry—

—A young boy adrift in a salty-