She's smiling in everyone's face. Her laughter fills the place, she wins everybody's admiration. When she passes by, her beauty catches all eyes and humbly she reacts. She's recognized whenever confidence, honesty, initiative and hard work are mentioned.
A normal day, as usual, she goes out and spends a wonderful time with her friends. “I had a great time, I always love to hang out with you guys,” she says with her famous lovable loud laugh, then turns away heading home. Her friends’ goodbyes and wishes to see her again soon trace her all the way until she gets in her luxurious car. They are just so glad to know such a girl.
She goes home. Her smile, gradually, fades away. Her forehead starts to wrinkle and her eyebrows shadow over her sharp looking eyes. Her muscles stiffen and you can hear her heart beats banging out loud. She throws her bag across the room and you can sense her perfume bottle crashing into pieces as it hits the black cracked wall. A fierce monstrous deep shriek is heard echoing throughout the place. It shakes the room upside down. Her bloody tears start racing down her cheeks that are being torn by her pointed scratching nails. Definitely, there are others around, but somehow they neither hear nor see her transformation. Her deep self is never witnessed. It's buried underneath her weak uncontrollably intended façade. She's haunted. She's haunted by her own soul and she can never break free. At least not now. Does she even try? No clue. Does she realize her misery? Still, no apparent clue. There's even no proof whether she names it a misery or not. Maybe she feels normal. Most probably she feels normal for she seems happy and satisfied. Yet, none of these is a certainty. It's either you trust your own perspective or just let her lead you and you may, eventually, find out the truth…or not! You may fall. You may become a prey and a mystery on your own.
She walks slowly around the room, approaches a cornered covered shape at the very back of it and lifts her shaking hand to touch it. She hesitates. Once, twice and thrice. Then she violently takes off the dirty piece of cloth and raises her face off the ground to take a look at herself in the mirror. She opens her watery eyelids and starts scrutinizing every inch of her body as if she is looking at a stranger. Seconds, minutes, and before an hour passes she decides to make a move. She gently wipes away her tears, moves her hands across her hair and clothes to feel them in place and, finally, the left corner of her mouth begins to tremble. She smiles. She smiles to and at herself. "It's me…only me…great me…you stupid," she whispers and ends with a wide shiny smile.
Her music plays. Monotonous is her rhythm, loud is her beat and outrageous is her tone. The song changes, but the chorus does not. Stagnant. Her books are scattered all over the place. The pages are too neat to think anyone has ever read them, but she knows every word by heart. Her head is her pile of books. Knowledgeable, rich, valuable, and, totally, stagnant. Derived from the real world, yet have no place in it. She believes she understands life, but, in fact, she has never lived it. Her renewable thoughts keep rotating in the same endless circles. They blindly flow through stony underground roads. Her senses are malfunctioning. They feel what they feel like feeling and completely reject any intruders. Stagnant.
She rests her head on the soft pillow, closes her eyes and tries to get some sleep. She never turns off neither the lights nor her music. She feels so alone, despite her strong feeling of being whole and self-sufficient.
I, actually, forgot to mention her name. It's …well I don't really think I'll need that. Her story, probably, won't include anyone but her. She, too, won't mind putting her name aside, although, she's so self-centered. She has a point.
She dwells in a deep state of numbness. She enjoys disconnection and delves voluntarily into the world of dreams which, to be more accurate, is a world of nightmares. Dark, damp, cold and isolated is her place. Sharp narrow green eyes blinking and she can feel their breath crouching onto her skin. Cats. A lot of black cats mewing painfully in her ears. Every day they grow in number and they approach nearer. Every day she belongs more to this place and is detached from her life. It’s scary, yet soothes her.
One day she wakes up determined to make a choice. She can live such agony no more. She starts rejecting every particle of the real world that its features begin to disappear. Houses vanish. People fade away. Emotions die. The world collapses around her like a house of cards being knocked down by the tip of the finger.
She moves farther and deeper, and the world keeps deteriorating more severely. She seeks seclusion at the top of a high mountain. She climbs and her cats follow. She, finally, makes it to the top. Exhausted; physically and mentally.
There she stays, watching everything being lost. The vision becomes blurry and foggy and the cats increase. They are everywhere and they get closer and closer to her. Now nothing is left but the mountain and herself surrounded by her thoughts, past, and memories. And it hurts. Yet she doesn’t even consider letting go of the cats. She lets them stick to her body and cut through her flesh. She feels the pain and wishes for more. The mountain, just like everything else, gradually, vanishes into the air bit by bit, from down and upwards. The cats get fiercer and attack her more violently. She’s buried beneath the pile of the furry creatures. The mountain is no more. The cats are eating through her and blood is splashing all over them. They got the best out of her. She is no more.
And the cats remain…