I could not hear what she was saying --- but I understood from her lips. Her dull expression and uncaring face wounded me. Her eyes seemed to laugh at me, mocking me as my heart drowned in sorrow and my soul burned with ignominy. I sat there, rendered dumb and useless as she cut me deeper and deeper with her gaze. Although no tears of lamentation ran down my cheek --- my soul was weeping. My grasp on reality was unquestionably unhinged and my senses were frozen by my devastation. I was broken by her unspoken yet irrevocable words and could no longer see hope in anything. Gray was the world now and the future Black. She looked at me with her hazel eyes, lethal yet captivating, as I slipped into insanity and hopelessness. She watched on, with an air of icy indifference that stabbed me deeper than any weapon ever could. Her slender fingers carelessly played with her hair, as the shadow of a smile played on her tender lips, that it hurled me into the deepest pit of despair. All was lost and I knew that Hope itself had already forsaken me. I knew at that moment that I would forevermore stand, although the world may be unaware of it, as a broken man.
I woke up with a start. I looked around me in slight bewilderment and slowly started to comprehend that what I just experienced was a dream and that I was lying in my bed, at home. Lying face downwards, I pushed my body up and realized that my right cheek was moist. I looked down at my red pillowcase and realized that it was dotted with maroon patches. I took my index finger and placed it on one of these mysterious new areas of my pillowcase and grasped the perturbing reality that it was damp. Damp with the tears that I had shed from the dream that I had just woke up from. I collapsed back into the warmth of my bed and tried to recapture the ephemeral pieces of the dream. The memory of it grazed my heart with discord. The feeling that my soul, which was actually my body in reality, was weeping, turning out to be invariably true had the effect of disturbing me to the very core of my being. I buried my face in my wet pillow and contemplated. Innumerable sighs escaped the confines of my lips and were released only to be muffled from the ears of the world as I lay in that wretched position. As memory linked to memory and thought led to thought, my mind began to break and my heart pleaded for sympathy. Utterly hopeless, in reality and in dreams, I wished my life would end. I wished that I would be struck dead and be given the mercy of leaving the heartache and the troubles of this world.
I lay there and, for the first time in my life, considered suicide. As I tossed and turned in my bed, the idea tossed and turned in my head. After countless minutes, for my sorrow completely impaired my sense of time, spent in utter devastation, I conjured up some fake courage, supplied by desperation and misery and decided to do it. To just end my worthless life and seek some reprieve from the many aches of this world. I dragged myself to the bathroom and took the razor that I use to shave every morning. Putting it to my wrist, I pressed into my flesh. Blood oozed out and stained the white tiles of my bathroom floor. Tears flowed down my cheeks and all I could see through my blurred eyes was her smile. I was floating now, slowly losing consciousness. With the last remaining strength that I had, I slashed my wrist repeatedly, making sure the wounds were deep and life-taking. I collapsed onto the floor. The crimson pool in which I lay was warm. I closed my eyes and saw her. As I remembered all the stupid things I had said and the foolish things that I had done for her, I felt bitter and loathed the world. I could feel it now, I was dying. All I could think of at that moment was “Fuck You."
