That was hope

Chapter 1: Retrospection.

________________________________________________________________________________

Summary: Rique encounters another one of those negative thoughts again whole looking outside the window. He finds out that some of his 'negative attributes' are keeping him alive to this time.

________________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________________

A sad distorted reflection stared back at me, as if I had answers to why things were the way they were then. It always looked at me that way every time I was by the window: just as confused, remorseful and/or bitter as I was. I'm no mind-reader, but I could hear it cursing me out for ruining everything in 'our' lives.

I hated how right my reflection was every time. It's quite talkative, but it made a lot of sense...sadly. Punch after punch was thrown at my reflection, but somehow it still could not change how right it was. Punches only hurt my hands. Screams only hurt my throat. Run-offs only made me tired. Insults only made me more miserable. For every time I tried to hush my reflection's voice, I subtracted a reason to keep going on with living. I kept subtracting a reason to even try and improve my mental state. In fact, I subtracted a reason as to why everyone around me would stop trying to keep me alive. Therapy got expensive, so my parents might as well stop trying. Meds only made me weaker: my sight kept drifting away. Relapse after relapse...and before I know it, I'm stuck in a vicious cycle of being scared to relapse and being scared to fail to relapse to my old habits. I know, I could break all the windows, glass and every other shiny surface so that I finally get peace. However, I knew that I would wake up the next day and forget that I ever hated how I looked, or even talking to my reflection as I whisper sweet compliments to myself: smithereens of truth doused in sugar. My, do these compliment hit different with a sweet tooth! Besides, in an African household, whose windows are you going to break?

My thoughts ran a bit too deep. The golden hour began to rust and dissipate from my mind as the colours of my reflection began to pop. From bloody Timbuktu, a figure appeared before me slowly, but surely. My reflection seemed to censor my senses. I could no longer feel how crisp the breeze was. I could no longer feel how warm the rays of the sun felt on my skin. The grass looked...green: then, it only mattered that the grass was green. The sky was...orange. The sun was...setting. The trees were...there. Yay. Trees. In front of me was...me? But I'm here, so who am I? Am I here? Hello???

________________________________________________________________________________

Reflection: (in a familiar distaste) Rique, you're moping again? You know that it wins you                                          nothing, right?

Rique: You would too if you knew what I've been through. Wait, of course you know.

Reflection: (in a mocking tone) By now the whole world already knows how you feel.

Rique: It's a valid feeli-

Reflection: That should be squashed. Look at yourself right now, advertising your emotions.                                 Only for you to say that everything is okay when someone is checking in on you                                    (Rique drifts away from the conversation). You know, you're just wasting all your                                   time with all these 'feelings'. (Mockingly)"Waaahhhh!!! My dad has been a bitch my                             whole life. Waaahhhhh!!! My feelings are broken like my family. Look at me all                                       depressed and shit. I just want to jump and end   it all but I'm too scared of hurting                             myself." And at the end of the day,  we'll go nowhere. We'll be slowly tortured to                                   death. We've already lost our minds. We're now known to be mentally ill. (Long,                                   deafening silence) Look, I know, you claim to not give two shits about other people's                         opinions, but you are doing the opposite. Your sobbing is kind of attention seeking                             and very pathetic.