It’s not the dark that scares me. It’s what it brings to life. It sparks every latent fear alight and summons what hides in the deepest confines of the night.
I can’t run anymore. My leg is broken, and my head feels like it is about to split in half.
The pain is excruciating, but it doesn’t compare to my twisted heart. I wish I could reach inside of myself and pull it out.
I think I’m the only one left in town.
Nadine is dead. And in the wake of her death, she has begged me to leave her.
She told me through stiff lips that she didn’t want me to watch as her body broke down and rotted.
And I told her I couldn’t leave and I won’t.
It’s my fault that she is dead, just like it’s my fault we couldn’t get away.
I wish I could say she looks asleep, but that would be a lie.
I wish I could bury her in the garden underneath the weeping tree, but she has always hated the thought of being put into the ground, and I don’t have the time or strength.
They’re so close now. I can hear them scratching at the door.
How is it possible that all that you’ve known can be erased in seconds?
I watched as my neighbors died and listened to the wail of sirens, the explosions that lit the night.
Nadine sits up and cocks her head at me quizzically. Her face is smeared with vomit, and her eyes are cloudy and gray.
“Why are you still here?” She whispers to me. “I’m gone, but you are not. Why are you here?”
I want to tell her I’m sorry for everything I did and failed to do. But I can only look at her and hope my eyes tell her what my mouth refuses to say.
I am sorry that I hurt you. You were my everything.
If love had a name, it would be yours.
I call these monsters my nightmares.
They look like an amalgamation of all the monsters that have haunted me since birth. In them, I see my past, my future, and the present. I created and fed them, but I wasn’t enough.
I did everything they asked of me.
I wrote about them and drew them in ink, graphite, and dust.
I painted them in shades of black and splashes of red.
I gave them life, and in return, they paid me with death, and the canvas I created paid me in blood.
After I broke my leg, Nadine dragged me into the room, barricaded the door, and pushed pill after pill through my lips.
The last time I saw her alive, her dark eyes shimmered, and her tears left silver tracks on her face.
I know she meant to kill me because she knew we were dead and rather it end this way than be ripped apart.
“I wanted you to be with me,” Nadine sighs as she strokes my arm. “I want to wake up with you in another world.”
I knew that, but I also knew that this was purposeful. They wanted to be what killed me because I birthed them.
I can see the world from this room.
I used to sit by the window and watch stars form constellations and sit weightless in the galaxy. I would trace the clouds and divine the figures that emerged from them.
“Why did you create these things?” She had sobbed as it began. “Why didn’t you fight?”
I hadn’t wanted to; I had screamed. But if I hadn’t, I would have become what they are. I would be the nightmare, and I would have painted the world with blood, and I wouldn’t have been able to stop.
“Then you should have died. You should have sacrificed yourself.”
And that’s when I slapped her, and, in return, she pushed me down the stairs. I heard the crack as my leg broke and was deluged by blinding white pain.
She apologized fervently, but I didn’t deserve it because she was right.
Everything that has happened is my fault.
The city burns, and there is ash in my throat, and amongst the flames, the sun is rising.
My time is ending.
My nightmares recede as morning comes, and I know they feel its arrival because the door rattles, and the scratching has become furious. I will not make it another day, and that’s fine with me.
“Why are you doing this?” Nadine whispers from the bed. “You need to try harder.”
No. There’s no point.
After I woke up and found Nadine, I gathered my strength and found my sketchbooks, a lighter, and candles.
I spread my sketches across the floor, on the bed, on me, and I held a red candle in my hand; I am a symbolic idiot to the very end.
I’ve finally figured it out, and I’m sorry it took so long. I apologize to the town and its people; I tell Nadine I love her and do not blame her.
And to you, I urge you to take this as a warning because if this doesn’t work, then that means they will come for you.
You can do whatever you want with this information if you wish.
I am sorry for the destruction that I have brought, but at least you have this warning to prepare yourselves.
“You should have left,” Nadine whispers over and over. “You should have left. You should have left. You should have died.”
I know.
The candle has been lit, and I watch as the flame dances and the wax drips down my fingers like bloody tears.
They’re closer than they have ever been. They bang on the door so hard that the entire house shakes. Strong hands scrabble to remove the barricades.
My eyes are so heavy, and I can’t move. I entwine my fingers with Nadine’s, and I drop the candle.
I watch as the fire engulfs the sun, and I hear the door burst open.
Nadine strokes my face with a long, frozen finger, and I close my eyes and remember what a beautiful life we had. How much joy she brought to me, and I hope I brought as much to her.
I’ve learned that to love is to burn, and to die is to be consumed. And now that I have made my peace and sang my prayers, with the sun, I will sleep.
I am so sorry.