I've come to accept that I can't escape him. Faceless and all consuming, he remains in the back of my mind, dark and immovable. Overshadowing. No matter how far I run he keeps pace with me, waiting for a crack in my otherwise impenetrable facade, to pounce.
He follows me. Although I push him away, distance myself with drinks and pills that blur my conscience and slow my heart, he remains. Following. As my body returns to reality, the room ceases to spin, my eyes focus once again on the glowing ashes of the cigarette hanging limply from grey tinged fingertips. Eventually I rouse myself from the near comatose date I have become steadily accustomed to and release my grip as glowing embers burn a black hole in the ragged carpet. Blinking slowly, cold air rushes into my lungs and my vision sharpens as he greets me as an old friend.
YOU ARE READING
The shadow in the foreground
Short StoryShort story I wrote on the inescapable nature of depression. Tell me what you think :)
