A Story (Part I)

I run. I run and run and run until I cannot possibly run any longer and collapse on the ground, curl up in a ball, and cry. And I cry and cry and cry until I cannot possibly cry any longer. I try to scream, to call out, plead for help, weeping and wailing with all that is in me for comfort, but that same utter void that has engulfed me for so long now simply destroys my cries of pure agony before they are even formed in my throat. I am trapped. I've been trapped for...

for.....

Was there really even ever a time when I was not lost in this abyss of emptiness and solitude? It's like a tunnel with no light at the end, where the walls seem to just keep closing in...even though there really are no walls. There isn't even really a tunnel. Just black. Nothing but endless black. So I lay there, wanting to scream but being unable to draw a sound, longing to cry but having no tears left to shed, yearning to run but being inescapably overwhelmed by the knowledge that I have nowhere to run to.

There is no way out of this tunnel that does not exist.

Suddenly, I feel the anguish, the bitterness, the solitude, the rage, the helplessness, the hopelessness, the darkness seem to compound all together with full force in the very pit of my stomach.

And I want to die.

I so want to die, but I know that even death will provide no escape from the black. So I just lay there, on the floor of the tunnel that does not exist. I bring my hands to my head and begin to rock myself back and forth.

Unable to run...

Unable to cry...

Unable to scream...

Unable to die.

I feel the sweat on my forehead mix with that on my hands. My entire body is saturated with sweat. But then, I realize, in that moment of utter hopelessness, that it isn't sweat.

It's blood.