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A Thousand Drops

by Scott D. Williams 2 years ago in psychological
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Alone with my thoughts

How long have I been in this dark place? Cut off from the day, separated from my future, with nothing but my painful past to while away the present. Every passing moment brings another drop. It is my torture. Drop, drop.

They – whomever they were – made it so I couldn’t move. I am not in touch with my senses, I am blinded in every way except that excruciating sense of feel. So I wait, dreading what may happen. Waiting for judgment. Drop, drop.

How did I get here? What did I do to deserve this isolation? When will I be freed from this exquisite test? I am alone with my ruthless thoughts, trying to untangle the events to find the reason, but it eludes me. Drop, drop.

I go back to the beginning.

Was it because I am the bastard of a bastard’s son and deserve nothing less? Cast into the world as an orphan, unwanted, was this always to be my fate? Motherless, fatherless, I blundered through life committing sin after sin. My little victories were overshadowed by crude transgressions as if I just couldn’t help dragging myself down to the pit where nameless souls are cast in despair. Happiness was fleeting, a mockery. Drop, drop.

Every memory is punctured and punctuated by those damned drops quietly pounding my brain like hammers from Hell.

All those relationships in my little black book gone sour. All the friendships betrayed over the twenty grand I won at the casino. All my achievements now meaningless in this, the last of my failures. Drop, drop.

Now in this void I have nothing but regret, which is the worst of feelings. I search for meaning in my wretched life, but despite it all I cannot find it. What was the purpose of all this wasted time? Now I am near the end. Desperation is setting in. I can feel my pulse quicken, a sweat breaks out as I stare with my mind at the abyss and wait for that last push into nothing. Drop, drop.

My agony, my everything is now summed up in the drops. There are no more options. I am helpless to my captors. They own me, just as I must own all that I have done in my God forsaken life. Drop, drop.

I’ve got to get out of here, somehow. My panic is beginning to overwhelm my reason. Just release me, or end it all! I cannot take it any longer. The drops, those God damned drops! Each one is a stinging reminder that there is only one thing left for me now. Well, bring it on! What do they want from me? A confession? Okay, fine! I’ll confess to anything, everything. Just make it end! Drop, drop.

I’m in a fever. Every muscle, every fiber of my being is tense, awaiting the fate. I am torn from everything I know and yet, imprisoned in this place where all I can do is relive every moment of my existence. I can’t stop the cursed thoughts. I am crying out to be free but I have no voice left. Perhaps they killed me already. Maybe this is what death is like for the damned. Nothingness. Loneliness. Emptiness. Drop, drop.

They say that when you die there is a light that guides you to the other side. I see nothing, only the endless void. They are liars. Heaven is a cruel joke, a fantasy. If this is Hell, it is the most boring, meaningless existence every contrived. Perhaps that is the lesson. Drop, drop, drop.

“Okay, he’s coming around. Stop the IV. Good morning, Mr. Eckhardt. It’s been a long night.”

psychological

About the author

Scott D. Williams

Scott is a writer, family man and San Diego Padres fan.

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