Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Dead Inside

The sky turns black above my head, and the clouds swarm in in an attempt to blot out the sun.

I am discouraged, and feel like somebody is clenching tight on my heart, and it is not the physical pain, but the emotional pain that makes me want to cry.

I feel caged in. Any attempt to spread my wings are useless at the thought of being held back by the barrier before me.

I know I can do it, and I tell myself this every time I try to escape, but the cage has turned into a concrete cell, and I, a prisoner amongst the dripping dark cells, cry out to the fresh air that taunts me from outside.

The war was waged when I turned into a teenager, and I long at the memories of when everything seemed innocent and sunny in the distant past, where I was cared and loved.

Now I shiver in my damp cold shirt in a cell. The single light at the end of the hallway flickers annoyingly. I am the furthest cell from it, and therefore it is the darkest one.

There used to be a guard who would give me bread, and even though he threw words of hate towards me, I enjoyed the company of another human being. Even he had nice traits.

Now I sit alone in this cell with nobody to guard me because I am told that I mean nothing, and if I cry out, they turn on the water spout in the center of the hallway, drenching me with stale, cold water.

All I want is to hold somebody who loves me, but when I grasp out for somebody, I wake up from a dream that taunts me in depravation.

My heart bleeds out, but still has a pulse.

After a while I feel dead inside, and that no hope will come.

I have considered causing my own death, but don’t want to give up that easily, though it would make this long haul end.

I desire nothing but love, but when I feel the last part of my being lose it’s humanity, I become hardened, and want nothing but revenge on those who did this to me.

Trapped within the cage that is my body, the anger festers deep inside, and heats my dry veins to the breaking point.

I want nothing but for this nightmare to stop. I have no future, regardless to how I feel about it, and every time I try to get out, I grimly realize that I am never going to get out.

The good news is that my life is getting shorter every second, and once it is over nothing will matter anymore. I will have been just another flea on the dog.

Nobody wants me, and even less people care.

My world is a world without compassion, and you don’t want to live here.

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