I struggle to speak, throat hoarse. I cough, covering my nose and mouth with my shirt. As I move to return to the conversation, I glance down to see flower petals. They sit in heavy contrast to the pale blue backdrop created by my shirt. Deep red, they look like spots of blood spreading through the fabric.
My breath hitches and I excuse myself, rushing to the bathroom. I pull my shirt off and look at my chest, seeing a red mark stretching across my chest and stomach, nearly reaching my sides and neck. I start to feel pain blooming in my chest, growing with every breath. I feel my stomach lurch, and rush over to the toilet, heaving what little was in my stomach out. Flower petals float in the filthy water, making it look like the worst attempt at romance.
Ironic. Even in my own head, I'm completely done with everything going on inside of and around me. Guess I'll just have to wait out the end. Of me or my feelings, I can't say. I move to the sink, looking down into the marble sink. Either way, I don't have much of a choice, do I? Only about a quarter of removals leave the capability for new feelings, and it's not like I'm determined to live, anyway. What would be the point in getting the flowers removed? I have a choice, and I've made that choice.
My fists shake against the stone vanity, and I lift my head to look at myself in the mirror, more to focus on something other than my emotions than anything else.
I hate my mind. I hate my heart. I hate this stupid disease, but I guess I don't mind the whole "possibility of dying" part...
I feel my fingers brush against the red mark as I pull my shirt back on. The skin is tender, sore to the touch. I place my fingertips against it, just below the base of my neck. My fingers curl into a fist against the fabric of my shirt, and I shove my hands into my pockets, frustrated with myself.
"You can't let yourself think like that, ok? Just forget about that being a possibility, alright? It's not even a possibility for you, anyways..." I shake my head, trying to clear my head.
I turn and open the door, returning to the world of the living.
YOU ARE READING
Programming Errors
Short StoryWarnings: mentality/mental state issues (depression, anxiety, mental breakdowns, etc.), beware (other stuff possible) This is a collection of dark(ish) short stories that I've come up with. Some of them involve things like mental breakdowns, so be w...
