I feel weak most of the time, and that mortifies me.

Death? Is it time?

I smoked one cigarette the other day, and felt a stab right in the chest.

I looked at the fireplace. The flames were dancing recklessly. I remember when I used to dance like that; without a single care. Now, I guess it’s over.

I laid down on the sofa, looking at the cracked paint that was torn apart from the ceiling. I tremble after every little step. What is left?

The memories. The adrenaline rushes. The disputes. The reconciliations. The laughs. The sorrows. The regrets. The accomplishments. Gone.

I’d give a friend a call, but I can’t hold my phone without shuddering anymore.

I’m terrified. Why me?

The questions continued to revolve in my head as I grabbed another cigarette. I puffed out a cloud of smoke. No regrets. Always so good.

Now, where was I?

Oh, right. My reminiscence. My misery. My upcoming demise. My future remaining ashes. My current remaining ounces of hope.

Nick.  My…friend?

What I don’t understand is why are my feelings for my best friend so strong? What is happening to me?

I puffed out smoke again.

I stood up. I twirled around. If I was going to die, might as well die having done what I loved. I spun faster and faster, but I was too frail. I fell and my face hit the ground. I could feel the cold parquet against my cheek. I shivered.

It took me around five minutes to stand back up, and at that moment, I ran towards the door.

That was it. I had to talk to Nick. I ran through the building corridor, between the worn out walls and the shredded curtains, tripping quite often. Yes, I was that feeble. But I had to run. Never in my life had I run so madly. You could say it was almost an insane rush.

I arrived at the bottom of nick’s house down the street, and I found him standing outside. At 2AM.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I needed a hug. I’m tired. Why are you out?”

“It doesn’t matter. Come here,” he said.

He hugged me and added, “If you’re so tired, then why don’t you sleep? It’s 2AM.”

“No, you don’t understand. I am…anyway, I’m just glad you’re with me. Thank you.”

“Thank you? I didn’t do anything special.”

“You did more than you think. I don’t feel so tired anymore.”


3 thoughts on “Enfeeblement

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