It Follows

The next morning arrived in the same way as the others, with sunlight filtering through the curtains and the soft sounds of the world waking up outside. But for Dave, the brightness of the day did nothing to lift the heaviness that had settled deep in his chest. The sun's light, once so warm and inviting, now felt like an intrusion, exposing the shadows that clung to him no matter where he turned.

He lay in bed longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, trying to summon the energy to get up. The room felt stifling, the air thick with the weight of his own thoughts. Finally, he forced himself out of bed, his movements slow and mechanical, like someone going through the motions of a life that no longer felt like his own.

The familiar routine of making coffee brought little comfort. The smell of it, once so inviting, now felt empty, like a hollow echo of the comfort it used to bring. He poured the coffee into his chipped mug and stared out the window, trying to find some trace of the peace he used to feel on mornings like this. But the world outside felt distant, as if it were happening to someone else, somewhere far away.

The park, his usual refuge, didn't hold the same appeal today. But staying inside felt suffocating, so he forced himself to go out, hoping that the fresh air might help clear the fog that had settled over his mind.

The walk through the streets felt longer than it should have, each step a little harder than the last. The faces of the people he passed were blurred, their voices muted. The vibrant colors of the market stalls and the cheerful chatter of the vendors felt disconnected, as though they were part of a scene in a play he was no longer a part of.

When he finally reached the park, it was as though a veil had been lifted. The familiar sights and sounds were there—the children playing, the fountain trickling, the birds singing in the trees—but they were all coated in a thin layer of something he couldn't quite describe. A dullness, a weight that seemed to hang in the air.

He sat on his usual bench, but the relief he had once felt in this spot was absent. The world around him was beautiful, as always, but it felt like a beauty he could no longer touch or feel. It was as though a thick, invisible wall had been erected between him and everything else, keeping him at a distance from the life he so desperately wanted to connect with.

As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, the elderly man with the dog appeared again, walking slowly along the path. Dave watched them approach, but there was no wave, no greeting. The man's gaze passed over Dave without recognition, his eyes vacant, as though he were seeing through him rather than at him. The dog, once so lively, now moved with a sluggishness that mirrored the way Dave felt inside.

The man and his dog disappeared down the path, and Dave was left alone with his thoughts. The children's laughter in the distance seemed to fade, replaced by a ringing silence that filled his ears, making his head throb. The weight in his chest grew heavier, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.

He stood up, feeling an overwhelming urge to leave, to escape the park and the suffocating sense of isolation that had settled over him. As he walked back through the park, the shadows under the trees seemed to grow longer, darker, stretching toward him like grasping hands. The air felt thick, heavy, as though the world itself was pressing down on him, trying to force him into the ground.

Back in his apartment, the silence was deafening. The walls, which had once felt so familiar, now seemed to close in on him, shrinking the space until it felt like there was no room left to breathe. The daisies on the kitchen table were completely wilted now, their petals brown and crumbling, like ashes left after a fire has burned out.

Dave stared at the flowers for a long time, feeling a deep, crushing sense of loss. It wasn't just the flowers—it was everything. The joy, the light, the connection to the world around him. It had all withered and died, leaving him alone in a darkness that seemed to grow thicker with each passing day.

He tried to distract himself, to push away the thoughts that were crowding his mind, but nothing worked. The TV's bright images felt harsh and cold, the sound a meaningless drone. The book he had been reading now felt like a heavy burden, the words on the page blurring into an unreadable mass.

By the time night fell, Dave was exhausted, but sleep seemed impossible. The weight in his chest had become a constant, oppressive presence, pressing down on him with a force that left him gasping for air. The darkness in the room was thick, suffocating, and he could feel it creeping into his mind, filling every corner with a deep, gnawing despair.

As he lay there, staring into the darkness, the thoughts that had been swirling in the back of his mind finally took shape, clear and undeniable. This wasn't just a bad day. It wasn't just a mood. This was something deeper, something that had been growing inside him for a long time, unnoticed until now.

And as he finally drifted into a restless, troubled sleep, Dave knew that the darkness wasn't going away. The perfect days were gone, replaced by a creeping, relentless shadow that he couldn't escape. And the worst part was, he didn't know if he wanted to anymore.