A Night Of Revival

The darkness within me consumes me every night and tempts me to do things which I have always wanted to do.

So here I was, standing on the edge of Hotel Vintage’s rooftop, as the voices in my head continued to convince me to stop.

I thought of my dad and then of my dead mom while my heart beats increased moment to moment, the more I looked down at the gloomy depth.

They were right, I did fail everyone.

And that’s it.

My vision becomes blurred and I felt my body ignite. I felt myself fading away but somehow, being in the palms of death, seemed safer than anything else in this world.

Suddenly, the atmosphere grew cold, everything just stopped, and I found myself in a gloomy room.

No noise at all, silence was all around.

Am I dead?

“No, you’re not.” A familiar sweet voice echoed in the empty closed room. “I assume, you won’t like to talk to me, but I have to be here, since you need me.”

A number of questions flushed in my head as I recognized her voice. Mum, it’s my dead mom.

My mother, who always kept pushing me away from herself, who treated me like I was worthless.

My mom— my mother, whom I loved the most; the one who walked towards her own death like me, when she got frustrated from everything.

I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her, I could feel her. God, what’s happening?

She’s dead, so does that mean I’m dead too?

“No, you’re not dead, right now.” She repeated.

I knew the answer, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Does that mean you are also alive?”

“No, I’m not... alive.”

Neither she spoke nor I did, for a moment.

Silence between us started to annoy me. I had many things to say but even if I say them, nothing will change, neither she will love me nor I will be alive.

“Why did you jump?” She suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

“Who are you to ask me that, when you also killed yourself?”

I thought everything would be quiet once again, but she replied, “Just another girl like you, who never got love by her mother.”

Wha-what was she saying?

“Just another woman like my mother, who passed on whatever she received in her childhood.”

The more she spoke, it became hard for me to breathe. That was the side of her story— which I never knew.

“Now, I don’t have much time, but I want you to listen to me carefully Arya, if trauma and hate could pass generation to generation then so the healing can,” She quivered, and I felt as if I was being embraced by her, for the first time, “Go sweetheart, correct every mistake that I’ve made…” and that was it.

The vision stopped, and I found myself at the same place, at the same time however the only thing that was different was, I wanted to live.