Friday, January 15, 2010

#fridayflash--Black to Blue

Black to Blue
by Eric J. Krause

Dear Stupid Diary:

I hate the idea of writing in you, but if Dr. Quack says I need to, I'll give Dr. Quack what he wants. Meds aren't enough anymore. A padded room with no sharp edges isn't enough. Now they need to make sure I'm happy. Why can't they see the only way that's possible is if I join Sonia? One quick slash of the wrist should do it. I know where to cut now.

Is this what you want, Dr. Quack? Are these the feelings you wanted to read about?

Fine. You were smart to prompt me on this. Otherwise I'd have just cussed at you and your hospital, your jail, over and over again. I still might if this doesn't go well.

My life with Sonia was dark. I hated her, and she hated me. But were we happy? In our own little way, yes, but no one else would have said so. I'm sure those around thought our lives together foolish, destructive. But we thrived on the hate. The more I hated her, the more I loved her. And vice versa.

We lived in a rat hole little apartment on the shitty side of town. We hated our jobs and took it out on each other when we came home each night. I fed off of her negative energy, as she did with me. More often than not we'd fling food and insults over the dinner table and then create the most deviant acts in the bedroom minutes later. In our sick, twisted way we were the happiest, the darkest, beings in existence.

When she died, that darkness faded. I didn't hate. I didn't love. The only thing--the only emotion--was sorrow. I lost everything, both inside and out--my job, my friends, my soul. Black gave way to blue. I could exist in the darkness. Hell, I did more than exist; I thrived. I couldn't do that in my depression. That's why I tried to bleed my life out with a jagged bottle.

One thing you told me stuck, though, Doc. I want you to know that. You said that we need to make do with what life gives us. Fight through. Persevere. And I will. Those guards you have posted are watching, but not close enough. I'll have enough time to jab this pen in my wrist and yank. It should be sharp enough to get the job done. It'll hurt like hell, but what do I care?

Black may give way to blue, but that's not to say it can't all come full circle. Open your arms, Sonia. Here I come.