Terrible Short Story Things!

Another sad short story thingie

"I'm afraid if you don't see me you'll forget me"

Those were the 10 words that broke my heart. But it wasn't just the words, it was how he said it and the way he looked. He looked so broken, so done.  I had no idea what to say. He honestly thought I would forget about him. I could never forget about him. I sunk to my knees. I knew he expected me to speak. But I couldn't I just couldn't.

  And as he walked out, I stood up. Why was I breaking down? I was supposed to be strong. I can't be weak now. I looked out the window. I couldn't. I just couldn't. He was the one who gave me life. I know that sounds extreme. But he's helped me so much. I sunk down onto the couch.

  I looked around. So much of the stuff in the house reminded me of him. The way the couch smelled of smoke, just like he did. The remote was still warm, as was the couch cushion where he sat. The TV was still on his favorite show. I picked up the remote and turned off the TV with tears in my eyes. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. But at this point it was inevitable. I couldn't stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks. That night I cried myself to sleep.

  The next morning when I woke up I didn't feel any better. The first thing I saw was his pack of cigarettes. I made a rash decision and took one out of the pack and put it in my mouth. You could say that it was just break up depression. But it was so much more than that.

  And so I smoked my first cigarette, because it was the closest thing to death I could find. The more I smoke the more likely it'll be that I'll die or get cancer. After the first puff I could feel death kiss my lungs. I could feel my life grow shorter. And it felt good. I think I'm sadder than a lot of people realize because I never talk about it to anyone. I do my best to hide it. I honestly do. But I think people are starting to notice the way I stay my home for days not contacting anyone. 

  I don't think I'm depressed. But yet, it's just a whole thing of not feeling like there's a point to doing anything because they're so shitty or the worlds so shitty and I can't stop telling yourself that even though I know it's not true. It's like this thing where I keep slipping into another reality but I don't notice until it's to late. 

The second puff I took, it's tongue curled mine, and butterflies grew inside my decaying stomach. I kissed it back, but I wanted to make love to it. I wanted to know how it's hands would feel against my body, and if it's bitter coldness would consume my warm body. Because I want to be cold. 

  I felt so mellowed out and calm, and yet I listed out all my problems out loud, as though there was a person there. Maybe my mind thought there was someone there. As though I actually had someone listening. But the problem was, I heard a response. It may have been my imagination. But I could hear someone laying into me about how shitty I am and how I mine as well just not date again because I'm just going to be wasting everyone's time. 

  I just nodded along. But as I looked up no one was there. I guess my imagination is strong. I smoked my cigarette until I felt content. I put out my cigarette and laid there, once again another few weeks of staying in and doing nothing because I chased everyone away, again.