Drowning.

Sometimes, life takes you by a fine thread, stretches, till the point of breaking, but not quite there yet. I, for one, have experienced this. Sometimes you wonder how God can push you to your limits, until you are fed up with yourself, ready to leave your body and mind to escape the complexity of the world.

The skies rolled grey, brooding like a mother who lost a child, looming over the city with a sense of depression. Everyone felt it. It was one of those days where I hated to get up at all, hated to face another day, hated that the drops of water falling from the skies hurts a bit too much on my skin. Rain nowadays feels like sharp pins, unsympathetic. Ruthless even. I dragged myself out of bed, and though trying to avoid my own reflection in the mirror, I caught a glimpse of my face. Haggard and dried out, like I wasn't a 21 year old girl with a bubbling fountain of youth.

The matter of fact is, that fountain is already dried.

Turned on the faucet and washed my face. Why does life have to be so tedious? Boring? So monotonous. It really was my fault. I had no desire, not even a little ounce of passion to want to turn my monotonous life into something worthy of living. Why should I? What's the point? We're all just going to die anyway.

I didn't even bother to take the umbrella on my way to class. Stepped out, and 2 minutes later it was pouring heavily, the brooding mother weeps and sobs, and the whole city was drenched. I looked up at the sky, and at that moment, I imagined the rain to fill the dark, dirty alleys, flood the busy streets, consume the possessions of man.

I imagined the rain drowning me.

I opened my eyes, and life goes on. But I won't.

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disclaimer/footnote/whatever it is called: I decided that I am pretty rusty in my fiction writing (I used to write a lot of fiction when I was younger) so I'm just writing whatever comes at the top of my head. It is not a indication of my mental health (I'm perfectly fine). I'm trying to delve into writing fiction of a more serious tone, but I have to test my skills first.

I personally enjoy angst fictions, it's like torturing oneself, and I get really emotionally attached to pieces that have raw emotions. Probably my biggest achievement when I was younger was the ability to make people cry through my writing (the good kind not the bad one). I wrote some lengthy fictions before and shared it on an online community but I stopped due to life-hogging commitments.

It's probably horrible (my writing), but fiction was always one of my passions, and writing them greatly improves my vocabulary, so I thought, ehh, why not.

I will not write all of my fictions revolving around angst and depression. I'm sorry if this piece makes you depressed, (if it did then the snippet served it's purpose lol)

Assalamualaikum.