Atmospheric fiction
chaos and opportunity
I can hardly remember the events leading to this. I remember coming to uncovering their secrets. I remember becoming obsessed with it: my research. I was taking something to help me focus. Or maybe, I took it to keep myself awake. Either way, I failed to consider the long-term effects. The world lost its depth. Colours blended into one another, and I struggled to find the meaning behind them. I think people must have become concerned with my behaviour toward it all. They came to me. Which is when it gets blurry, like my mind did from existence.
I snapped back to myself weeks later. They told me I had a mental breakdown, that I hurt people and was being sent to a psychiatric hospital.
It’s where I am now. Strapped to a rigid bed, laying my head on pillows that feel hollow. All of it’s externally uncomfortable. But I doubt my comfort is anyone’s main concern at the moment. Including my own.
I am thinking of the colours. I never much liked them. Now, when I look upon them, they melt and fade. And it reminds me that my mind is still broken. And it reminds me of my nurse. She has promised to help me.
he sees the colours too. It frightens me. The prospect of it all. But what great venture isn’t first met with fear?
fog
Oliver Harlon floats unburdened by the powerful forces of nature. He waits for his eyes to adjust, but to no avail. Oliver cannot see his own hand as he waves it in front of his face. The darkness which surrounds him is too great. It creeps under his skin, spreading like a thin veil of fog. It’s cold which doesn’t help dissuade the goosebumps forming along the surface of his skin. What is this place? He asks himself. But of course, there is no answer he must not find.
A heavy head
My head feels heavier than it did yesterday. I can feel the muscles at the base of my neck burn as they strain against the weight.
Each breath I take is shallow, only filling my lungs enough to keep me conscious. The sound of it, so low and rhythmic, is soothing, in a way. I could listen forever. And I must.
The light hurts my eyes. Like microscopic knives just barely piercing the skin. Every blink is a short reprieve. A blessed return to darkness.
And there is something else. A steady flow of warm water falling in slow motion. It starts at the top of my skull and washes over me, creeping through my hair, sticking to my skin. Every so often a drop falls from the edge of my brow, falling slowly to the ground.
My head bounces lightly as the weight of every drop is lifted.
