No Air (Short Story)

You promised yourself that you wouldn't. You promised Him that you would try harder. Like dipping your toes in water, you revisited the haunted ways of your past. Just a peek you said. Just a little touch you believed. The effects were not the same, but you could not seem to figure out if that was good or not. If the growth been real, or an illusion. What have you truly learned? You did not know. All that matters now is how you can push harder.

Perfection is a myth for the human race. He is everything, but without Him we are nothing. Messy machines in need of repairs. A mixture of false colors that hide a beautiful portrait. Potential seeping from the crevasses of our flesh and bone. So then, how could we sink so deep? You try to wrap your head around it, although with no avail.

"Hey hun, we're ordering out. Do you want anything?" Your mother asks.

You eat to survive.

"Yeah. A grilled chicken salad with sweet peppers." You reply so regularly.

The door closing afterwards perfectly invites a golden opportunity. In the center of the wall, your nice-sized mirror reflected the hideous creature staring back at you. From a side view, you alternate between holding in and releasing your stomach. That humongous head given at birth tilts slightly to the left. Was there a difference? Ultimately, you made the smart choice and sucked inwardly, with your shirt covering the rest of the shame.

Now, you turn to fully face yourself. Decency, if we were to be nice. Those around you see what you want them to. An uncontrollable storm to damage anyone in sight is sealed by the content, oh so lively persona. How can He love something like you? Sheer ugliness flows within your veins. It creeps and shows and there is no one to blame. Except...there is.

Shake it off, you say. No one values your importance anyway. Do not pity the unworthy. Evil shall receive evil. Be guided and do not make stupid mistakes. You are human, but not hopeless. There is a brain somewhere, find it and use it. Turn the lightbulb on and go. Dare not say no! You could not comprehend anything more efficiently than a stick meant to glow. Push harder, be a steady flow. Forbid your darkness from putting on a show.

Think of them. How they would feel. How they would react. Oh sweet child, the toxicity brewed inwardly is trying to escape. Faults of others fail to matter when you have so many. You owe them. Owe Him! When are you going to stop being such a disappointment?

Oh right, it's embedded in your DNA.

One moment, you see your face. Click! What was that? A flicker. Squinting, you see the morph. Your face fighting the demonic, red glow trying to take its place. You stumble backwards. The fear doesn't stop it. Widened eyes and frightened features to carnal wickedness and a scarring grin. Back and forth. Back and forth. BACK and FORTH. BACK AND FORTH. BACK AND FORTH!

Finally, you scream and grab the largest object you have. Crash! Nothing was left undamaged. Like the scars that cut and broke your heart, you smash your belongings into pieces. Your parents shout for you to stop. You blocked the entrance. Screw them! They don't care about you anyway! Just the mess you were making. Hyperventilation clogs your ears. All you hear is the sound of your own shrieks. For once, you allow yourself to lash out. It didn't change anything, but it confirmed what you were: psycho.

At long last, you admitted it. At long last, you knew the truth and understood why you did the things you did. And yet, you still were unsatisfied. Even when you found the tiny bit of sanity you had pinned in the corner, the same sanity halting your tirade, nothing changed. In fact, you missed the noise. The chaos. The lack of peace. You were used to it anyway. What's a little more to tie the whole thing together?

'Where's the freaking knife?' You wonder to yourself.

Worthless scum like you could not roam the earth. There's enough problems in the world! But if you came out, questions would fly at you. You couldn't face that right now. So instead, you sink to the floor and wrap your arms around your knees. The emptiness hollowed you. You wanted to die. You needed to die. You have to die.

Beside you is the cellphone you received after eighth grade had concluded. Moments passed before it vibrated. Its white light flashes in the darkness. You reluctantly grab it, fearing the worst. Like a text message or whatever. However, it wasn't a text, but it was a message:

[Psalm 34: 17-20] "When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all. He keeps all his bones; not one of them is broken."

Your heart skips a beat. You put your phone down and turn your head. Your breathing settles a little, but still functions erratically. The urge to break returns. This time, you fight it. You get on your knees. You bow your head. You close your eyes. You muster the courage to speak:

"I need help Father God, won't you help me?"