It’s Snowing Content warning: depressive tendencies, sickness
“It hurts to think. Takes too much effort.”
Teagan Posey
L
ittle white flecks litter the withering grass in your lawn. A creeping temperature bleeds through your colonial window and makes you shiver under a pile of covers. You want to flip through something on your phone, but you can’t even open your eyes, much less move your arm around to find it. There’s a building pressure in your skull. It’s too heavy, even as it lies on the pillow beneath it. You hope that you move in your sleep to a more comfortable position; heaven knows you can’t fix it now. Your mattress is soaked in tears and sweat. Your hair, once soft and down to your thighs, is one giant mat behind your head. It’s been two weeks since it was combed. It’s been a month since you took a real shower, settling for the occasional rag wash instead. The last time someone came into your room, they started gagging. You would too if you had the energy. They still haunt your dreams, giggling from across a picnic table. They’re the only person who ever laughed at your stupid jokes. You’d been losing them slowly, saw it coming from a mile away, but you hoped and prayed and begged that you were wrong. You weren’t. You never are with these things. The world’s worst gift, all for your taking. It hurts to think. Takes too much effort. A ghost of a memory glances against the side of your subconscious. It feels like summer, too hot, burning through whatever tender flesh your mind has built up to block the outside world from reaching inside. It leaves a cavern. Thousands of different voices charge through the breach, screaming all around you. You can’t make out any of the words, but you know that they all say the same thing, one way or another. You grit your teeth. Maybe they’re right. Someone calls from the kitchen. Whose voice is that again? You can’t make it out through the fog. Maybe it was your mother. If so, you better listen. You tell yourself to sit up. It doesn’t work. You try again, afraid of the voice as it grows louder. Why is it yelling? You can’t remember what you did wrong.
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