Dream/Reality

Long day, long night.

She enters her dingy apartment and shuffles into the bedroom.

Dirty clothes are scattered all over the floor. The bedsheet smells of musty cigarettes. Drips of liquid from empty beer bottles stained the carpet floor. But she couldn’t be bothered. She can’t even muster the energy to fix herself, let alone her room. Somehow, her mind drifts elsewhere.

Her thoughts are drawn to…the emptiness.

She feels…indifferent.

Should she cry out for help? But she doesn’t want to create a fuss. The world has enough troubles in its hands.

This room looks like shit. This place smells like shit. She feels full of shit.

How did it all go so wrong?

She holds the kitchen knife firmly in her right hand. Slowly, she uses it to trace her wrist, decorating it will parallel, linear lines. She watches with apathy, as streams of warm, red ink trickles down her skin, hoping it’ll drown the pain away.

She’s never been this numb before.

But then she opens her eyes and is startled by the sounds of vehicles echoing from down below, and the city gradually coming to life. A ray of sunlight peeking through the blinders, blinding her eyes momentarily. She notices her wrist remain unscathed.

She rises from her bed, only to she realize, it was just a dream after all.

Because when she scans her surroundings, she saw the dirty clothes still scattered all over the floor. The bedsheet smells of musty cigarettes. Drips of liquid from empty beer bottles staining the carpet floor. But she couldn’t be bothered.

This room looks like shit. This place smells like shit. She feels full of shit.