Everything was bright
but not in a good way. It was the blinding kind of bright. Worse yet, his head
was bursting. Not with meaningful thoughts, not with brilliant ideas, but with
dull throbbing pain. He was sick in more ways than one. And that bothered him
most of all. Is he restless because of the alcohol that he hasn’t yet expelled
or is it because of the decisions that he can’t make; he won’t make.
It’s just a hangover. It’s definitely not nature
rejecting my choices. My ailment is physical. The pain in my head is proof of
that.
But the unidentifiable
force that pulled him down unto his bed; that force that caused him to randomly
claw on his face; that force was probably caused by the mass of his despair and
frustrations. He sat up, held his head and tried to stand. Then he got caught
in the event horizon. The blackness awaited him. And it would have consumed
him, if not for that light. The sound his phone made has programmed his brain
to release dopamine. Supernova, a star must die for this fleeting light show.
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| "Oft expectation fails and most oft there Where most it promises, and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits." -Bill Shakespeare |
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