'Today' A Short Story

by Void Neon about a year ago in depression

This is a short story I wrote about a lost soul, explaining the pain.

'Today' A Short Story

Today I wear grey on top of grey, which shows the true blandness and pain I feel, with every inch of creativity ripped away. I feel as if my heart has been taken away, stolen by the same people that put worse people with others, even though they are not lonely and hold weaker morals. It hurts, seeing so many others with someone, and yourself not getting a shred of hope, happiness, or warmth.

Some people say that depression is something you can get over, "It's temporary" but that is something that just isn't true with some people, especially me. I feel as if every little action is worthless, that if I just died, fell to the ground limp, no one would really care. It's as if it is a seed inside the ground, that once it is planted inside of you, its only path is to spread and grow, crawling and scraping the leaves together to the very top, until it becomes unbearable and the only thing that is present.

The pain subsides with losing her, the one that got away, the one I was supposed to be with, but I suppose that just answers the question itself. If she is leaving, then I suppose I am not supposed to be with her. But why put two people together without letting them be with one another, and put others that are not alike and let them be with each other, why does life have to be so unfair and stupid like that?

Although I suppose it’s not all that bad, the experiences are to be kept as reminders, as statements and keys to the future, rusty and old keys that are sometimes forgotten about, because the door to life doesn’t need them. But when it happens it feels like I will never get over it, and that it would never grow out of that feeling. I guess the door to life is just a fortified mess, with every person’s mark left on it.

Some of the marks represent spitting in life’s face, saying “I have beaten you, I win, you can’t hold me back, I am victorious.” Others mark it with blood, not strong enough to go through it, and get to the end. Not to be blamed by many though, life can get very difficult to the point where ending it is the only choice. The next are the people that hurt, the tears smeared on the door, they aren’t strong enough to be confident, but also not strong enough to end it all either. That used to be me, but not anymore, I am the final warriors, the virtual leader. Then there are the feral ghouls of the world, the ones that put other people down and waste their life with drugs or excessive wasted behavior. They are the vermin, the ones that don't deserve anything they have.

This final small army of people are the gladiators that hurt, but use the hurt to become something special and inspiring, shredding anything in their way, ripping and tearing at challenges and pain, their heart stronger because they know who they are, what they represent, love, even fear. The strongest men, the ones of no more pain, lonely but not afraid of it, knowing exactly what they want. “THE JUGGERNAUT” of men.

Nonetheless, the pain still lives, like a ghost scraping the walls, calling out for something. The pain marinating in the experiences of life, and it will finally melt away, through distractions and other ingredients of aid, like medicine.

I miss you, and I always will, but that is just how it has to be.

The way it has to be...

Read next: Never In the Cover of Night
Void Neon

I write essays about Film and TV, especially about different and unique pieces. I also write poetry and stories here and there.

See all posts by Void Neon