Number 1

The fading memories

The days blur together like watercolours on a rainy window. It's like something inside me is fading away, and I can't make it stay.

Every morning begins like a déjà vu, a recurring nightmare that taunts me with the monologue of existence. I wake up to the sound of an alarm that feels more like a tolling bell, signalling another day of the same old struggle. The world outside my window is painted with muted colours, as if even nature itself has lost its vibrancy. It seems like a piece of who I am is slowly withering, and I am helpless to do anything to keep it alive.

I drag myself out of bed, my limbs heavy with the weight of a life that no longer holds meaning. The mirror reflects a face I barely recognise, eyes hollow and in need of the spark that once set my soul alight. the habits unfold, understand. Breakfast tastes like cardboard, and the coffee fails to warm the numbness that has set within.

I step outside, and the air is suffocating my embrace, pressing down on me like the burden of thousands of unspoken sorrows. Each step feels like a journey through quicksand; my progress is slow and backbreaking. The city around me is a blur of faces and buildings, a discordance of lives I no longer feel connected to. It's like I'm moving through a world that exists without me, as if I've become a mere god in the grand theatre of life.

At school, the minutes crawl by like wounded soldiers trying to reach the safety of oblivion. The tasks before me are mere distractions, feeble attempts to occupy a mind that is unravelling at the seams. classmates chatter and laughter echoes, but the sounds are distant, like the fading echoes of a melody I once cherished. It's a struggle to engage, to pretend that I belong in this land of the living.

The evenings offer no respite. The sun sets with a melancholic glow, casting long shadows that mirror emptiness within. Friends invite me out, but the gatherings are a charade of connection. I smile when expected and laugh when prompted, but it's all a performance, a mask I wear to conceal the emptiness that gnaws at my soul. Conversations are like distant echoes, and laughter is a hollow echo of happiness that feels alien to me.

As the night stretches endlessly, I find solace in the shadows, embracing the darkness as my final hideaway. Sleep becomes a perpetual pit, dreams replaced by a numb nothingness. It feels like a part of me is already gone, and I am a mere appearance, lingering in a realm that holds no purpose or meaning.

The world outside my window continues its ceaseless dance, but I am no longer a participant in the harmony of existence. The tolling bell that marked the beginning of each day has now become a distant echo, fading into an empty space. It feels like a part of me is not slowly dying; it is already dead, and I am left to wander in the emptiness of a life that has lost its last facade of meaning.

As the days blur into an indistinguishable haze, that whisper fades, drowned by the overwhelming darkness. The ember of hope sputters and dies, leaving me in a desolate space. The world continues its indifferent march, oblivious to the silent surrender within. There is no promise of rebirth, no shadows. I am lost, a ghost in the realm of the living, a soul consumed by the relentless grip of a never-ending night.