March 8, 1988
From the diary of Mr. Senkath Kodimala (Necropolis formed CEO)
I don't dream.
Maybe it is God's grace, or perhaps it's the stacks of red and blue and orange pills I take before I sleep—either way, I've come to revel the sparse moments where my mind goes blank, when everything is infinitely silent, just me and the void, vast and endearing, no cackles or subtle sneers or wishy-washy compliments. They say that loneliness is painful. To me, it is a delight.
If the delusions of the daytime didn't stop, I daresay that my will to live would have ceased long ago. Others live to see the next morning; I wait patiently for the serene dead of night. Consider me nocturnal or rather a corpse if it helps you visualize, but when the sullen voices fade and I'm left with the abyss of my fluttering thoughts, the painful strings of dawn become threatening rather than endearing. I greet the symphony of voices within—'temporary inhabitants', as I would describe them dejectedly, demons that prowl relentlessly, vying for my attention, clouding my vision.
They bear a sharp resemblance to their creator: the mop of unruly coffee-brown hair, almond-shaped hazel eyes, the slick hooked curve of a jagged nose, the ivory Indian complexion. I knew, didn't I? All along, they were pale imitations, impure shards of glass that tried to mimic the worst demon of all, the one who stares back at you in the mirror, the heathen that murdered his best friend.
But at night, when everything goes blissfully dark, I don't remember. I don't remember the feeling of his palms clasping around my neck, the flush of betrayal, my toes on the edge of the cliff, curly lockets of hair battering my eyes, the sting of saltwater against my face.
At times I wish I could dream. Maybe then, I could break out of this hellish nightmare. Oh, Heather—where have you gone? Are you still watching over me? When the moon comes out and the piercing clarity of reality is reduced into twinkles in my mind, all dreams fade and I couldn't wish for more. But if it was you, I wouldn't mind. Dreaming, that is. To hold you once more before the bark of my alarm and the resurrection of the demons—
If I could dream of you, I wouldn't fear anymore. I wouldn't choose to wake up.
YOU ARE READING
Because I Love You ~
Romance21-year-old schizophrenic Senkath Kodimala has his life turned around when he meets the charming woman of his dreams. Amidst the chaos of xenophobia, crime, and drama lurking within the gray clouds of the city, he must figure out whether the woman t...
