The Girl by the Sea (Countryhumans AU)

Strange New World

Written: February 10, 2024

I hate being alone. I just hate it. I need someone to talk to. Japan drops me off at the mental hospital, giving me a tight hug before leaving.

As Japan's car pulls away, leaving me standing at the entrance of the mental hospital, a wave of loneliness crashes over me, threatening to engulf me in its suffocating embrace. The silence of the empty parking lot amplifies the ache of solitude, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of isolation.

With a heavy heart, I step through the doors of the hospital, the sterile atmosphere closing in around me like a suffocating shroud. The sound of my footsteps echoes hollowly against the tiled floor, a stark reminder of the emptiness that surrounds me.

As I navigate the unfamiliar corridors, a sense of disorientation washes over me, the weight of uncertainty bearing down on my shoulders like a burden too heavy to bear. The sterile walls seem to close in around me, their clinical neutrality a stark contrast to the chaos raging within.

Alone in this sterile environment, I long for the warmth of human connection, the comfort of a familiar face, the solace of a sympathetic ear. But here, in this place of healing, I am confronted with the stark reality of my solitude—a reality that threatens to consume me whole.

With a heavy sigh, I sink onto a nearby bench, the weight of my loneliness pressing down on me like a leaden blanket. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I grapple with the overwhelming sense of despair that threatens to overwhelm me.

In this moment of vulnerability, I yearn for someone to reach out, to offer a kind word, a gentle touch, a reassuring presence. But as I sit alone in the quiet emptiness of the hospital, I realize that the only company I have is the deafening silence of my own thoughts—the relentless echo of my own loneliness.

I feel the weight of my mother's mabui on me as I lie down in this empty room. I walk over to the window for some fresh air. It opens just a tiny bit, then doesn't budge. I instinctively reached for the pin in my hair, feeling for it before remembering Japan took it away.

"Idiot thinks I'm hurting myself with it." I grumbled bitterly. "I'm 5 months clean."

As I stand by the window, frustration wells up inside me, mingling with the sense of loneliness that hangs heavy in the air. The inability to open the window serves as a tangible reminder of my lack of control, a stark contrast to the swirling chaos of emotions raging within.

Without the familiar weight of the hairpin in my hand, I feel a sense of unease, a disconnection from the comforting routine of fiddling with its familiar contours. Japan's well-intentioned gesture, while meant to protect me, only serves to amplify my sense of confinement, trapping me in a prison of my own making.

"I'm not hurting myself now," I mutter bitterly, my voice a hollow echo in the empty room. "She just doesn't understand."

But even as the words leave my lips, doubt creeps in, casting a shadow of uncertainty over my convictions. The weight of my mother's mabui hangs heavy on my shoulders, a constant reminder of the tangled web of legacy and expectation that binds me to the past.

With a heavy sigh, I turn away from the window, the cool breeze a tantalizing promise of freedom just out of reach. In this moment of solitude, I find myself grappling with the conflicting forces that shape my existence—the weight of tradition, the burden of expectation, and the relentless pull of my own inner demons.

As I sink onto the edge of the bed, the emptiness of the room envelops me like a suffocating embrace. In the silence of the hospital, I am left alone with my thoughts, wrestling with the demons that lurk within and the ghosts of the past that haunt my every waking moment.