Descent

The morning light slipped through the curtains, weak and pale, as if it could barely muster the strength to brighten the room. Dave lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the previous day pressing down on him with renewed force. The spark of resolve that had flickered within him was gone, snuffed out by the suffocating darkness that had settled back over him like a shroud.

He felt hollow, drained of any remaining energy or hope. The thought of getting out of bed felt impossible, as though his body was anchored to the mattress by the crushing weight of his own despair. Every movement felt like a monumental effort, his limbs heavy and uncooperative.

But eventually, he forced himself up, driven more by habit than any real desire to face the day. The apartment was silent, the emptiness of it closing in on him, amplifying the isolation that had become his constant companion. He moved through his morning routine like a ghost, his actions mechanical and devoid of purpose.

The coffee tasted bitter, the once-comforting aroma doing nothing to lift the fog that clouded his mind. He stared out the window, watching the world outside move on without him. People went about their lives, unaware of the abyss that Dave was sinking deeper into. The sun was out, but it brought no warmth, no light. Everything felt cold, distant, and meaningless.

The thought of reaching out, of making another phone call like he had the day before, filled him with dread. The conversation with his sister had been painful, opening up wounds he had tried so hard to ignore. Hearing her concern, her worry—it had only made the emptiness inside him grow, reminding him of all the ways he had failed, all the people he had let down.

The weight of his thoughts pressed harder on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He tried to shake it off, to push through it like he had before, but the darkness was stronger today, more relentless. The effort of trying to fight it felt like too much, like he was trying to hold back a tidal wave with his bare hands.

His mind spiraled, the thoughts turning darker with each passing moment. He thought of all the people he had hurt, all the relationships he had let slip away. He thought of his parents, his siblings, his friends—people who had once been so close, but now felt like strangers. The guilt, the regret, it all weighed down on him, crushing any last vestige of hope.

Dave tried to push the thoughts away, to distract himself, but nothing worked. The silence in the apartment was oppressive, amplifying the thoughts that swirled in his mind, turning them into a relentless torrent of self-loathing and despair. He felt like he was drowning, the darkness pulling him under, suffocating him.

He wandered through the apartment, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto, but everything felt wrong, tainted by the darkness that had seeped into every corner of his life. The flowers on the table were dead now, their petals brown and crumbling, a reminder of the life that had withered and died within him.

He sat down on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen, unable to summon the energy to turn it on. The silence pressed in on him, growing louder and more suffocating by the minute. His thoughts turned inward, darker and darker, until they were all he could hear.

What was the point? What was the point of any of this? The fleeting moments of light, of hope—they were just illusions, temporary distractions from the inevitable darkness that always followed. He was tired of fighting, tired of trying to push through when it felt like there was nothing left to fight for.

He thought about his family, about his sister's voice on the phone, filled with concern and worry. He thought about his parents, the way they had tried to reach out, only to be met with silence. He thought about his friends, the ones who had drifted away, tired of trying to pull him back from the edge.

They were better off without him. Everyone was. He was just a burden, a weight dragging them down, just like he was dragging himself down. The thought of reaching out again, of trying to reconnect, felt impossible. The darkness had its claws in him, pulling him deeper and deeper, and he was too tired to fight it anymore.

He closed his eyes, the thoughts swirling in his mind like a storm, dark and relentless. The weight on his chest grew heavier, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. He felt the darkness closing in, filling every corner of his mind, until there was nothing left but the overwhelming sense of despair.

Dave didn't cry. He didn't have the energy for tears. He just sat there, numb and empty, the darkness consuming him. The spark of hope, the flicker of life that had once burned within him, was gone, snuffed out by the relentless tide of despair.

He was tired. So, so tired.

And as he sat there, alone in the silence, he wondered if it would ever end. If the darkness would ever release its grip on him. If there was any point in trying to fight it anymore.

But deep down, he already knew the answer.

The darkness had won.