CW - Themes of depression and suicidal thoughts. Please don't read ahead if those themes will harm you.
Written whilst listening to the Annihilation soundtrack
Forty eight fairy lights circle above my bed, a loop of protection from the tall phantom standing straight, formed by the winter coat hung on my bathroom door, the slumped ghost of grimy clothes piled up on my desk chair, a scarf slung over my bookcase, now a broken boneless arm beckoning me closer. The light seals me away from the ghouls and intrusive thoughts that give them life.
I cannot help but wish that they were real. It almost would make me feel less crazy to know that my irrational thinking were rational after all. But they’re not, and I am truly alone in my bedroom on another Tuesday night.
Reaching for the familiar shape of my phone under the duvet, I double tap the screen. For a second, the round notification I see delights me - until I realise it’s my phone telling me that it needs to be charged. How sad you are, It says again. I’ve heard this one before.
Nobody cares about you, nobody is checking up on you, nobody wants to know. The tone is gleeful - It delights in my discomfort.
Sitting up quickly, suddenly I catch myself in a brief moment of clarity. I see the clothes dirty, the dishes stacked, the packets of food empty, and I know I should be disgusted but I cannot bring myself to care. My duvet is kicked back, and numb to it all, I ignore the gritty crumbs scratching my leg as I shuffle out of bed.
The lukewarm sordid static air in my room is what finally regurgitates me out of the nest I’ve created for myself. The lounge is dark, and the shadows in my peripheral beg for me to give them attention, give them life. I know I will if I delay, so I carefully, from memory, step towards the curtains and balcony door.
Cold air surges through as I fling it open. The breeze is welcome - I haven’t washed or changed my clothes in days, but there’s something else. Like my intrusive thoughts feed phantoms and fuel ghouls, the chill from the winter air electrifies its way up the waxy skin of my arms, raising goose-bumps, and I am awake for the first time all week.
Vertigo keeps me from the edge of the balcony, but bravely I tip toe as far as I can go, holding the door to steady me as the frosty metal floor bites my bare feet.
I wish I had the strength to jump off, It says. This one can’t be mine, but, wait - it does taste like my words, my thoughts, my desires.
That’s not you. A stronger part of me that’s been sealed away all month grips the door harder and stops me from stepping further. Instead, I look up.
The stars are bright tonight. Cars zoom past the flat, the occasional honk from someone impatient and eager to go home. Construction loiters in the soundscape too, the heavy bass from a truck ready to leave, the final rounds of the drill whirring, men shouting at each other to hurry up. My neighbours below push open their door and start to argue.
It is too loud. Jump. Everything is too loud. So jump. It wouldn’t be fair. You wouldn’t know.
I can feel my heart beating faster beneath my skin, erratic and frightened. Stepping backwards into the flat, I drop on the sofa and squeeze my eyes shut, clenching my fists, nails pressing into the soft flesh of my palms. Red half moons will be etched into them all night now, but I need the pain to centre myself.
In my head, I bring a pillow to my face and scream. The sound is muted, but I can imagine the vibration, and see the camera shake of my mind’s eye. She is so angry, the yell bloodcurdling and healing, and I cannot help but be jealous of her freedom to be furious. I want to be angry. I want her freedom. I wish I could scream.
The curtain whips back inside and covers my face, as the wind begins to blow relentlessly. Opening my eyes, I push it away and see the clouds approaching from behind the two tall silhouettes of apartment blocks. Then, the rain. Light spots pitter patter against the metal, a tinkering tune that builds to a torrential crescendo.
There, a soft purple light diffused by the clouds, then, a flash cracking across the sky, sharp and straight. I am now in the middle of the storm and my ears pop; I can barely hear the rain now, everything is incomprehensible and low, like listening from underwater. Thick fog obscures the other apartment blocks, and rolls low across the window like a predator slinking towards prey.
The door banging snaps me out of it. I stand and struggle to yank the handle towards me, the wind and slippery floor working against me. With one more pull, I fall.
There, another crack of violet lightning illuminates a dark human like shadow hovering in arms length of my balcony, its arms raised high, and then, wet grass.
The rain has stopped, and the fog once dense, lifts into the air as if pulled up by the hand of God. I do not feel alone.
Paranoid, I check behind me. The flat grassy plain I’m sat in stretches far; faint black hills are pressed into the landscape and looking up, the fog melts into the clouds and they dissipate like candyfloss in water. Were they never there to begin with? I am shocked that that voice is my own. It is silent.
I push my hands into the soil. I take a long breath in - salt on my tongue, the delicious earthy scent of petrichor in my nose. My ears un-pop, first the right, then the left, and rolling waves crash into rock from somewhere below me, so I stand to find the sea.
Clambering forwards, I walk up the steep hill towards the cliff’s edge. Only one cloud has lingered on the horizon. Vertigo has released me, so fearlessly I stand, toes to the very edge looking down at the water crashing into the rocks below. I am so high up, and yet I can feel the water spray on my face.
The cloud now faces me, and I see beyond it the diffused purple glow I saw before. A bolt of light flashes through it, and for a split second, I swear I see the familiar shape of those two tall apartment blocks.
Jump. Fear wells in my lungs. I am at the edge of a cliff facing a storm. I collapse to my knees.
Jump. It’s voice is so salacious and enticing. The feel of the nothing it presents to me is so inviting. I want to jump, I want to jump.
The cloud is drifting closer, and my heart is beating faster. Distracted by the storm, I press my palm against my chest and feel that it is wet. I creep my fingers up towards my shoulders and feel thick pools of water drip further down - and the weight. How have I never noticed the weight before?
There is something on my back.
Jump, It commands.
So I jump - up, gripping the slimy creature that’s latched behind me, throwing It into the cloud that has approached so slowly all this time, and as its black form breaches the soft white haze, I listen to It gurgle and screech the words jumpjumpjumpjump distort and get ever so distant and quiet.
The lightning flashes once more, and with one breath I blow. The cloud evaporates like smoke.
Stretching above me, I spread my fingers, wiggle out the pain from my back and luxuriate in this feeling of freedom - and then, I scream.
Written by Erin Louise Harrison at 4am on 12th October 2022
Cover image by Henry & Co.
Not inspired by any other direct work.
(Edit: I was thinking a lot about that spooky cloud in Nope as I was writing, so maybe just that.)
(Edit: I was thinking a lot about that spooky cloud in Nope as I was writing, so maybe just that.)
