Deep Regression

The Epidemic

This is for a MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY. Contains swearing and sexual Connections.

Playlist Chapter: My immortal by Evanescence. Oh Happy Days.
Innovate, 2022

The Epidemic of Depression has greatly out weighed our community, mankind, and the world.
Hit.
We inform those who still live to remain indoors and to close off all windows and doors.
Kick. Hit. Hit
This is not a drill, use safety pro-cautions, and report any body with the symptoms of depression.
Hit. Hit. Kick. Hit. Kick
Here's the list in case you all forgot:
"Your stronger, faster, better, and you are not ill." My whispering voice comforts me as I punch the over used bag.
Crying, Paleness, Red eyes, Purple bags, A weariness about them, Discussions of Suicide.
Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit.
The memory fades away in my mind and a new one forms with a dark cloud of anger and regret.
"What the hell happened?" My voice confused and full of terror.
Whispers of cops and the crowd surround me and then the inspectors face comes into view. It's eerily perfectly staged and I know who the killer is.
Hit. Kick.
"It's not my fault." I whisper through my raspy throaty voice.
"Miss...Miss..."
The loud low voice echoing inside my mind.
The punching bag swings back at me and I collide with it. My arms wrap around it instantly as I try and catch my breath.
They're gone, all of them. My breathing wheezy and ragged beyond the point of dying. My hands clutch my heart and I feel the tears in the back of my throat.
Sweat pools down the side of my face and I can only hear the echoing of my breathing bouncing off the local gym walls.
"They died of severe burns and whiplash."
I slam my fists into the side of the bag and take all the pain out on it. Andrea Sanders, Maria Sanders, Brent Sanders, and Micheal Sanders.
"Andrea Sanders."
Hit.
"Maria Sanders."
Hit.
"Brent Sanders."
Hit.
"Micheal Sanders."
Hit. Kick.
"SELENA SANDERS!" I scream out as I crash my hand furiously into the hard bag.
My knuckles connect to the fabric and an explosion of pain erupts from the seams and tears of my skin.
"FUCK!"
I crumble to the soft mat beneath me and try to pull back the pain that has etched itself into my heart since the...Well, since something happened. I can't, I can not break, no matter how much I want to. Not a tear will I shed, the government's already heightening it's search for the "Infected".
It's been twelve years since Depression has been named an epidemic amongst us. Funny how they just now take it as a threat. Guess people just kept getting worse and worse once their loved ones decided to fling themselves off a building. God that was fucking messed up. But shit happens and the only way you can survive in this world is to just keep moving on, pushing on. I need to keep moving on.
I pick myself off the mat and begin to unravel the white tape around my knuckles. Everyday since something bad happened, I've come here to Lune's Gym and beat the shit out of his punching bags. It feels good honestly when I hurt physically, I need to distract myself from my past.
Shrugging my gym bag onto my shoulders I leave the sweat stained mat and walk out to the new world.
Welcome to Innovate, where our skies warm and comfort you. It's a bullshit line, and the government hasn't given a fuck about any of us out here. They tend to take extremes on beliefs though, and that's how our laws were formed.
Must be injected with medication everyday of your life.
You mustn't lie.
Killing will result in your extermination.
No sexual connection unless bound by law. (Aka, No sex till Marriage.)
That's it, our top four laws. What a piece of work our government is, and they actually have no idea how many people have broken the law with number 4.
I smirk as I enter the sunlight and walk into the stream of people going somewhere. My mouth dry and I can already feel the rumbles inside my stomach. My eyes search through the crowd and see the restaurant I always go to after my good work out. Ben's Pancake house. It's bright yellow sign hard to miss and it lingers over people with its monstrous shadow.
I stop walking and just absorb everything around me. People. People walking, talking, biking, singing, and screaming. It was so easy to see how I fit in with the mix, so easy to see that I'm not so different from them. To see that were the same.
The corners of my lips hang low and I try not to bump into people, afraid they'll be disgusted with my sweaty body.
The door to the restaurant feet away and I can feel my hunger grow worse. My hand touches the cold metal handle and pulls it out towards the crowd.
"SELENA! Welcome! The usual spot and food?" Ben's excitement a little too cheesy.
"Yup, thanks, and make it quick, I'm dying of hunger." I exaggerate as I sit down in my booth near the window.
"Haha, you should be, working out the way you are is insane!"
"I know, but I can't help it." I warmly smile at the short Caucasian man with brown eyes.
"What are you even training for?" His eyes narrow before he leaves for my food.
"Nothing...just feels good, you know?" I can't answer that truthfully, it'll only break me.
"You pour bitch having a fetish for fitness." He jokes.
Ben's always joking with me, and it's only because he knows how tough it was for me in my past. He just wants the best for me that's all.
The steaming plate of flapjacks slides in front of me, and my hunger takes over. Poor bastards.