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Watch Me Fall Above You

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I’ll make you bleed beneath me.

Watch me fall above you.

You used to feel on top of the world, making them bleed beneath you. It used to give you an exhilarating rush, seeing the blood pour out of their open bullet wound. You don’t remember why anymore. Maybe it was the way that the blood made a thick red puddle around their unconscious bodies as they lay on the cold floor with their mouths half open and pouring blood. They looked beautiful, in that moment, as they said goodbye to this sad, sick, messed up world. It used to make sense to you, that in their last moments of life they were finally calm. You knew that they had suffered as they took their last shaky breaths, but in your heart you knew that the last breath they exhaled would be a sigh of relief. Sure, most of them didn’t want to die, or at least, they didn’t know that they wanted to die, but at the end, as they saw the flashes of their miserable life pass before their eyes, they should have been relieved.

The world is a terrible place for pure souls. You don’t understand how they don’t see that, you don’t understand how they are so blind to the fact that by taking their life, you are saving them. They don’t know the truth about the world and what a sad place it is. They still have the picture in their heads that happy endings exist and that life is something that can be enjoyed. They dream of finding love and watch Anne Hathaway movies like they’re all that matter. Naïve, miserable beings. They would have been hurt by life, life would have ate them up and spit them out and they would have ended up like you. You’re just saving them. You would save yourself, too, but you would have no way of knowing if it is real or not.

Does this make you insane? Probably. It doesn’t matter in the end. Why would it? It’s all in your head isn’t it? Slaughter at your heart’s content. You were never given the chance for sane, and at this point you aren’t even sure if you ever wanted sane in the first place. You don’t want to waste your time chasing after something that you could never have. There is no point, these are the cards which you have been dealt, and you have no choice but to play them. You were never going for sane, that should probably be clear by now. You have done your part, played your hand and even thrown in your cards when you’ve had to. It’s all for their own good.

You try to make yourself believe this, as if somehow, you believing in your own philosophy would make this all okay. It is somewhat fulfilling, the knowledge that you are something. You may not be nice, you may not be normal, but at least you’re something, right? You try your best to accept the person that you’ve become and keep moving forward with this sorry excuse of a thing that you call a life, but God, sometimes the silent yearning for normalcy is too much for you to handle.

You didn’t ask for this. You never wanted to be crazy. You got it anyway (he gave it to you anyway.) You never asked to be stuck in this never ending labyrinth of uncertainty and suffering, even though you were always on a strange euphoric high as the bodies of your “victim” (you thought you were more their savior, but victim was the word that everyone else would peg them with, you had no choice but to throw in your cards and just go with it) lay silently bleeding beneath you.

You had been anxious and easily irritable for the past seventeen years. Fears of the unknown swallowed you whole and kept you safely in their ambiguous and indefinite stomachs. That is how you felt. You felt like you were in this bubble, and you would push and push your nails against it, begging it to pop, to let you out, to let you go back to your sanity. Or rather, acquire some sanity that you never had. After all, it is hard, not to get to “sane” but to start at the insane and try to find your way back. If you could go for sane, you would, but there is this unyielding bubble in the way that prevents you from escaping this horrendous and terrifying state of not knowing reality from your own imaginary doings.

This obstinate bubble served as your prison, trapping you in a constant state of paranoia and terror. Your feelings, your confusion, your anxiety, the panic that wanted so desperately to have its liberty, they were all forced to linger inside you, trying to drive you completely off the edge of what little is left of your sanity. And you know that no matter how long you turn your back to these fears, someday you will have to turn around, hold your head high and face them. A task that to you seems so desperately impossible in this egomaniacal bubble.

You faced the mirror in front of you, and didn’t know whether to hate or love what you saw. Your eyes stared back at you as they always had, one blue, one brown. You curled your hands on the edges of the sink as you stared back at this person in the mirror that you hardly recognized anymore. The numbness of your doings was beginning to dissolve, and you could no longer feel the weight of their blood tugging at your hands. You stared at the dingy bathroom mirror as you watched the tips of your reflection's mouth turn into an eerie smile, which you definitely did not feel on your face. You watched this wicked-Addie’s smile grow into a sadistic smile, as she revealed a set of milky-white teeth. She flung her head back and let out a spine chilling laugh, then she gazed back down, stared you right in the eye and said, “Boo!”

So this is what ultimate fear feels like? You thought as you felt like a massive wave was advancing towards you. There was nowhere to turn, no way to escape. You could almost feel the wave crashing over you in a swarm of white bubbles as you saw it send you down, spiraling deep into the heart of the ocean. You felt yourself losing your ability to breathe, to think, as you tried to hold on to that last ray of sunshine, of sanity. You reach your hand out and try to grab it, but it’s gone, and now you’re deep in a bottomless pit of desolation.

It’s just a hallucination, you told yourself, trying to hold on to reality. You could feel the wave crashing over you and you could feel the seaweed brushing softly against your bare legs as you flinched. It felt like the seaweed was choking you, encasing you in its grasp as manic Addie continued to laugh sadistically at you as you screamed. You felt your back hit something hard as you snapped out of your hallucination. You were back in the dingy bathroom in which you started, your knees brought tightly to your chest. The waves were gone and there was no trace of manic Addie left in the mirror, even though you could still feel her presence looming over you like a dark cloud.

You felt the cold linoleum floor beneath your bare feet, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how dirty the floor could be. It was too late, there were bugs on you. You saw the first one, a big black bug with a red stripe, and you screamed, standing from the floor. It was too late, you could feel them, millions of identical bugs crawling all over you. They were a flurry of black and red. You could feel them crawling on your arms, on your legs, they were all over you. You scratched your arms mercilessly as you felt pain shoot up your skin, but the bugs were still there. They scurried on their small black legs as they crawled over your skin. It’s in your head, Addilene. It’s in your head.

You saw the bugs vanish before your eyes and felt ashamed that you had let your insane imaginary doings control you again. The bubble encased you tighter now, trapping you inside it and keeping you from ever achieving sanity. You poked at the bubble, begging it to pop and let you finally be free.

“Nice try,” it cackled heartlessly.

You could never be free from them, they’re inside your head.

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