(Trigger warning, self harm, drug use, suicide; this one’s dark)
I am the sorrow, The pain you feel each day. I am addiction, The cause of your deadly craze.
They call me depression; You call me your friend, Your enemy, your savior Until the bitter end.
I am the scars on your skin, The blood in your veins, The darkness within - Nothing of you remains.
You can get high to hide me, Drink to numb the pain, But I’m always there, waiting To bring you back down again.
I feed on your pain, It makes me grow stronger. And I am the reason You can go on no longer.
There’s a way to kill me, Save yourself from my hell. We can go down together In a final farewell.
Today Memories are tied to me Like weights Pulling me deeper Blocks of Lead Sinking
Darkness encroaching As I’m pulled Further under
Today water Burns my lungs Every breath - pain Pressure I cough but Can’t expel the sensation
Today I want to Stop Fighting
Today I want To be one With the water
Today I wish To be lost forever On the ocean floor
Today I feel like dying
Today I think I won’t survive
But
There have been many todays And tomorrow might bring A raft
Lying in soft grass Eyes on the sky Eyes on each other Blue sky and his blue eyes
I tell him my dreams He tells me his fears We laugh and we cry The fear disappears
The sky fades to pink Fingers intertwined Confessions to be told That we don’t seem to mind
Orange clouds ballet Darkening light Comforting gaze Beautiful sight
When our lips finally meet And breaths become one Stars dance overhead Ascent has begun
I readied myself and fixed my gaze on the mirror.
I had always been short and scrawny, but now I was gaunt. Sickly. Ghastly palor like a corpse, with a matching physique. Dry, cracked skin caked in dirt. Tattered clothes hung from my withered frame. Muddy brown hair a wild wilderness, with a scraggly beard to match. Eyes sunken in, exhausted. Like two broken, dead emeralds. I was near skin and bones, hips and ribs jutting out like rugged mountains. My spine was defeated, slumped forward. Shoulders followed suit. Deep wrinkles betrayed my youth. I looked as awful as I felt.
They call me eccentric. They think me mad! They say she’s not real. That she’s my mother, sister, aunt, lost lover. Alas! The face that haunts my dreams. The face that will bring death! How many times have I painted her? Her portraits pepper my studio. I could fill galleries! I have seen her! I have seen her power! The hour of our doom- what’s this now? Footsteps? Who’s there? If that idiot boy of mine… You.. Foul maiden. From my dreams. No! It’s the end of days!
He’s grey, black, brown. His soft face grey, jagged black stripes, the forehead M pattern on any tabby. Narrow brown cheeks, terracotta nose for booping, freckles, long white whiskers like needles that pierce the soul. A face that begs for affection. Round absinthe eyes lined with pale beige, reflecting light and love. Slits for pupils that widen in excitement, darting curiously, always watching, stealing my heart. Ears forward, turning, scanning, listening. Pink velcro tongue surrounded by sharp white teeth. Spotted mouth, content mewing, whiskers twitching. Slow blink, a symbol of love. Roaring purr and sandpaper kiss.
(Well, this is terrible)
The change is happening. I knew it would, but hoped I’d have more time. I stare at the claws where my nails once were, at my twisted fingers, at my jaundiced skin. I can’t bring myself to look at my reflection.
Waxing gibbous. I’m out of time. Blood thirst is building. It’s not like the movies. I will change on the night of the full moon, but there is no changing back. I’m done for. The options are become a beast and kill indiscriminately until I’m hunted, or call the hunters now.
My wife is asleep. I’ve made sure she will be taken care of in my absence. I’ve left a note on the table. She will be sad, but she will understand. She’s strong. Stronger than I. I’m not even strong enough to tell her. I kiss her forehead and walk outside.
The moon is big and bright. 3 days from full. I look at it for a while. Part of me is second guessing my decision. I open my phone and dial the number before I can decide not to. I call the hunters.
The Thing powered its attack, and time stood still. John saw his life laid out before him, his days as a boy on the swing set, junior prom, flight school, the birth of his daughter. He was an explorer, not a soldier. He cursed himself for ever landing on this loathsome planet. He glanced left, gunfire and death. He glanced right, more of the same. John gripped his gun and steeled himself, digging his feet into the ground before lunging forward. If he was to die here, he would not go down without a fight.
