Author's note: This is my entry for Tewahway's Wheel of Misfortune 2022 story contest. My challenges were "Write a story about an obscure mental illness" and "Every sentence must begin with the same letter".
I know what I saw, you cannot tell me otherwise. I feel them, crawling up my skin. Insane? I wish. I am forced to watch these creatures plague me. I can barely move. I have been told it was a car crash. I have been told I am being delusional; "It's just a reaction to the drugs." I can tell that they are lying. I am not as stupid as they would like to think. I pick up a syringe from the medical waste bin. I asked about this stuff, some sort of toxic chemical. It is painful, but it will do...
Inside the other room, the family is screaming, wailing, pounding on the door. It has been locked from the inside, now they must watch, helpless, as the father of the family takes his own life. It was bad enough, to see that horror, but worse was what they found after the door finally was broken down. It was a simple sentence, but chill inducing all the same...
"I should like to be cremated, it will keep them out."
I do not know what them meant, nor do I care. I am in the emergency room; a cruel jest has been performed. I am in the very same bed where my husband, the love of my life, died. Call it PTSD; call it whatever you like, but I cannot stay here, not just this room, but also this mortal plane. I open my eyes, that is when I notice it, the needle. It is mocking me, a constant reminder of the fate of my true love. My withered feet tap on the tile. I have refused to eat, it has been that way for almost a month, I walk towards the needle. It still has the odd green fluid that was injected into my husband, as if it was never used, the only reminder of the trauma inside my mind. I rip it from the thin plastic it is wrapped in. I will join you, John...
I am at peace.
Written by RAZORstories
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