Backhand Stories: The Creative Writing Blog

Gaze at my eyes. What do you see? The sunny amounts of happiness will first warm your heart. But then, you’ll be able to tell. Because only time will tell, shedding layers of my fake life. The dark, deep midnight of the core of my soul can be seen from where I see. Every day, I speak closer and closer to my secret and past that I’ve tried so desperately to hide. Tossing away such events isn’t so easy.

When someone asks me, “how was your day?”, I smile broadly — a fake smile — and state the lie, ‘fine.’ Fibbing through my teeth.

A tear drops. Falling silently to the ground. The lost pictures stare at me, glaring through their happy faces. My bed grows harder and rough, like cement. Slowly, my hand clenches hard, as I fight the urge, the immense urge to cry out and start sobbing. Snow flakes are falling outside my window. People say that every snow flake is a lie that SOMEONE in the world has told. For me…there are probably a lot of snow flakes, just melting, falling.

Tart and sweet citrus fruits sit in a bowl, they make my mouth water. My shaking hand reaches for one, and grabs a piece. Delicately, it enters my mouth. I swallow, then lay down. On my bedside table, is a long box. Covered in silk, rich silk. A cardboard box, long and narrow. Tied up in the end, with a yellow ribbon. I only use it for when I want to feel alive, feel better. But now…. I just can’t stand it anymore. Everything in my life is slowly drifting away…

I carefully unwrap the box. Inside is a war-like-knife that my dad had owned before he died. Luckily, he passed away before IT happened. Gripping the blade, I gradually put it up to my wrist. One…two…three…I grimace. The sharp pain hurts. Blood seeps through the cut almost immediately.

I reach for the bottle of wine and my mother’s sleeping pills. Regardless of my cut, I pop a few pills in my mouth, then I gulp down half the bottle. My weak legs stumble over to the bed, lay me down, and I wait to leave. The blood comes out thicker, and I start to black out.

Dad, I’m almost there. I’m almost with you.

Please wait for me, Dad. Please be ready for my arrival . . .

I’ve missed you so much, I can’t take it here anymore.

Thank you for understanding, Dad.