Depression.

He's not entirely sure when he wakes up or when he's asleep anymore, all he knows is that it's probably a different day. Somewhere between nine-o-clock and noon he becomes aware on a slightly more conscious level. He remembers seeing the clock before that though. He lies in a humid daze drifting in and out of his own thoughts until that becomes tiring enough that he's willing to overcome his physical exhaustion just to ignore it for a while. He stays in his room until the rest of the house is empty. He gets something to eat, anything that's the furthest from nutritional value as possible. He wants to learn how to cook, but he's willing forgo effort and health for the sake of convenience. Then he steps into the bathroom, and there's a stranger staring at him.

“It's me, I'm your conscience asshole. Look at yourself. You got up and ran away, expecting results and nothing's happened. What the Hell are you doing so far away from home?”

“But...” He paused. “This is my home... isn't it?”

“Why the fuck do you need to ask me, you slob? Get in the shower, I'm tired of looking at you for the moment.”

“Just for the moment?”

“Don't you have some important failing to do soon?” He got into the shower and stood there. He contemplated whether or not to shave that day. He didn't. He got out of the shower and dried himself off and put on the same clothes he always wore, just cleaner. He got up and grabbed his phone. He put on his best mask and called the place he applied to.

“Oh, we're not hiring yet. But give me your name and your number, we'll keep you in our thoughts.” His phone number could be known by half the county at this point, but nobody would call. He thought they might because it's a different day of the week, though. He texted his family about his car, expecting that he might actually be able to get it after being broken down for nearly a year. He got no response, but he thought he might get one because it's a different day of the week.

“...so now what?” he asked his conscience.

“No but seriously. What the Hell ARE you doing here? Didn't you just decide to run away?”

“W-well, I had to.” he reasoned. “Being there was killing me.”

“Why?”

“B-because I'm... I'm depressed.”

“Oh Jesus, here we go again.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked.

“Listen here,” his conscience began. “Everybody has their problems. Most people handle them like reasonable adults. Are you an adult?”

“I think so.”

“Alright, better question. Do you think others see you as an adult?”

“Um...”

“The answer to that is no. You're not one. What did your dad call you again?”

“Um...”

“You remember right? Say it out loud. Come on.”

“...a fucking loser who should kill himself.”

“Do you think that's accurate?”

“Can we stop talking about this? Please?”

“Now answer me this. How much longer can you keep telling yourself that you're too depressed to do anything before it stops being a reason and that it turns into an excuse? Before you can just concede and accept that this is it for you?”

“B-but I can't now.”

“Why the fuck NOT?”

“Be... because I have responsibilities now.”

“YOU DON'T FUCKING DESERVE THEM.”

“Responsibilities aren't something someone deserves.” there was a bit of resolve in his voice. “People just have them. I have them now, and that's... that's just how it is.”

When the man decided to go to try sleeping, it was well past the time any reasonable person would be up. But despite how exhausted he was, he couldn't bring himself to sleep. He lied in his bed, his whole body trembling for little to no reason and it stirred his blood enough to keep him awake. He could not feel his hand. And he was incapable of doing so for a significant portion of the day.

“I suppose you're going to ignore that because you're a coward.”

“Nothing's wrong. It's going to be fine.”

“Don't show optimism in the stupid places where you should admit when you're actually in trouble.

“Can't I sleep?”

“Clearly not if you can't even stop fucking shaking.” He looked on his bed while he lied down, examining all the empty space.

“Why did I get a full?”

“To remind yourself that you're alone and that you always will be.”

“Well, maybe not always.”

“You'd have to find someone either as stupid, crazy or as much of a fucking loser as you are for her to even believe that you're worth being attached to.”

“...probably. Maybe I might get lucky?”

“If it's you, her definition of 'lucky' would be like Russian Roulette. Being with you is spending time hoping she doesn't get the chamber with the bullet in it that day.”

“Because that's when you'll show up.”

“And I'll remind her of everything she needs to know to understand why this is a mistake. I'll show her those ugly things about yourself that she deserves to know, and she'll rightfully leave.  Just like what happens with everybody else eventually.”

“...would things be easier if I was just dead?”

“You couldn't go through with that shit the first few times you tried, what makes you think it would be able to do it now?”

“You're... you're probably right.”

“Besides, you have 'responsibilities' now, don't you? It's easier to do when you just hate your fucking family. Now you're committed to this shit. There's no way out of here, you're in this for the long run and you're going to drag a bunch of people down with you who don't deserve it.”

“...I think I'll be okay with that eventually. Just like everyone else.” Even his conscience went silent for a bit.

“...right. Shouldn't you be asleep?”

“I don't really know anymore.” He wasn't entirely sure when he woke up or when he was asleep anymore, all he knew is that it's probably a different day.

Shame.

shattered and incoherent, the girl stumbled forward into a place she wasn't actually at as her head spun high above the clouds far up and away from the ants she stared down at

on the ground the ants had large crushing mandibles, spindling grotesqueness and piercing black eyes impaling everything they glanced at, coming by the masses to pick and pull and tear the girl into pieces that they kept and fed on, just being another piece of meat to serrate and dismember into bloody bits

up above the clouds she held her magnifying glass not to look back down at them, but to pierce the veil with a ray of menace to incinerate all of them, to watch them burn and shrivel and curl up, scattering frantically with no semblance of unity when they finally realise indignation is on their doorstep, capable of killing, murdering every last one of them

but she was not up there, and her head was so high that it didn't want to come down because there wasn't much left for the gibbering mouthers to take

which was the important question she had to ask herself

“why am i up here, there is nothing left for me down there”

a maniacal shimmering the masses reflected from the ground floor blinded her, and her head began spiraling back down to the earth, to fall back into the twisted amalgamation of leaky fluids and gaping holes she had to claim as her vessel, her body to transcend through the laughing, cruel psychosis, the divine prank this life set up for her

the wind bellowed under her, her perfect wedding dress resisting the fall and reaching up for something to grab onto with no avail

the mighty sun, the bringer of life, the grandiose incinerator shot upwards higher and further from her reach as the earth rushed to catch her, to feed the rest of her to the ants clamping their gaping maws open and shut in anticipation

this is not real, this is not happening.

“when you hit the ground, this reverie will end and you will back into the hole made for you, with others ready and willing to bury you.”

“...does this really have to happen, isn't there some other shambling mess i can take residence in?” the girl asked

as she turned away from the rolling sky a festering mound of flesh looked back at her, eyes hollowed out, mouth closed and drool dried like dirty water left running

legs splayed apart with vulgarity trickling out, eager to creep out of the hollow vessel, to vacate the emptiness it was placed into against her will and become nothing more than a crawling infestation onto the carpet it seeped into

twisting, twitching, ready and primed for suicide

the smiling love the corpse desperately clung to in its final moments ripped from her hands, sticky severed fingers still clinging to it as blood painted the trail it was dragged away on

all in the name of somebody else who probably won't notice.

___

She breathed, and convulsions trembled as Remilia's heart creaked back to life as the evening sun hung over the storage shed she was dragged into. Every breath an ordeal, her crushed chest strained to reach upwards with every inhale and exhale. The weight of her clothes were nowhere to be felt, her white polyester blouse torn down the middle as it rested on her shoulders and spilled onto the floor. Her eyes slowly and desperately pulled some light back into themselves to glance around. Her neck was the part of her body that ached the least, the gaping anomalies between her legs being parts that ached the most. Her voice was trying to claw its way out of her throat, but it continued to slip back down. She tried to throw her head up off the floor, hoping it would carry the rest of herself with it to no avail. She rolled to her side onto her stomach, her bare delicate breasts pressed against the cold jagged concrete floor. Her palms pushed the Earth away and attempted to force herself up as her arms shook violently. After a few minutes of struggle, she made her way into a sitting position and slumped against a wall of the shed. Her stockings were torn, exposing her once-pale knees that turned pink and raw. Her entire self felt empty, with a continuous pressure that got stronger the lower it went down her shivering body. She rubbed the dried crust from her mouth, a flat expression that hung underneath her bruised and pretty face. She was nothing more than a mannequin that had dirt smeared onto its face.

And as time was lost to her, she just laid slumped against the wall. The only sound to keep her company was her strained breathing. The only thing she could bare to look and pay attention to was the light creeping its way across the wall.

“......this is happening.” a stifled, dry voice spit out. A coughing fit crept in and Remilia hung over in agony. She slumped onto her side, and soon onto all fours as a viscous grip on her stomach crept its way upwards and she began to throw up. She almost fell over, yet careful enough not to fall in bile she just expunged. The purge left her there. The only thing left in her were tremors. Her legs brought her up. He hesitantly attempted to walk, but a single emaciated leg was not enough to support the girl. She fell forward and padded the fall with her right arm, grinding itself open against the floor. The discolored bruises that coated her forearms and wrists were checkered with red dots climbing out of her pores. Her teeth gritted and hinted at a buckle of composure, but the anger quickly left her face as the lifelessness retook residence. She made her way to her feet and stood as the room drifted back and forth. A draft beneath her skirt and the slight subsiding ache made her realize her panties were missing, as did the chipping off of sweat and miscellaneous fluid being shaken back to life and creeping down her legs. The door seemed far away. It wasn't. She was at a wild west stand-off with it, though the reason was she simply couldn't bring herself to try and walk again. She did not know what was outside, and what happened in the shed was being left to unlock the door.

___

and staring back out there, the bloody imprint the girl's impact made onto the floor as she came crashing back down

her head turned to look, enough to break her neck

all of the people, the endless hordes had black paint splashed across their faces, giant x's blotting out the crowds as all of them were nothing more than self-contained messes

unconcerned with the localized disasters each of them withstood that none of them had anything to do with

because everyone carries problems, this is not different, this is not worth everyone else to impede on

take the brush and paint yourself out like everyone else

bleed into this congealed mass, selfish, seeking to look away or to pacify others for nothing more than a moment's peace

and always remember to smile, even if you don't mean it

lies are the make-up that keep people from seeing how ugly of a person you are

twist and mangle this ribbon until it can't be recognized anymore, until it's the only knot that's holding all of this together

it's a lot easier than shame