Amy

Escape

The nothingness was a welcome escape, a brief respite from the relentless torment. It was like sinking into a warm bath, the water soothing my aching muscles, numbing my raw nerves. I closed my eyes, letting the feeling wash over me, grateful for the temporary silence in my mind.

The next night, I sought out the pill, craving the oblivion it offered. The man, seeing my eagerness, smiled a cruel, predatory grin. He gave me another pill, and then another. The nothingness returned, deeper this time, more profound.

The drugs became my escape, my refuge, my only solace in a world of darkness. They allowed me to detach from my body, to float above the horrors that surrounded me. I became a ghost, a shadow, a whisper in the wind.

But the nothingness came at a price. The next morning, I woke with a throbbing headache, my body aching, my mind foggy. The world seemed distorted, the colors muted, the sounds muffled. I craved the pill, the oblivion, the escape.

As the days passed, my reliance on the drugs grew. I needed more, stronger doses, to achieve the same effect. The nothingness became my constant companion, a shroud that enveloped me, isolating me from the world. I became a prisoner of my own addiction, trapped in a cycle of craving and oblivion.

My eyes, once filled with fear and defiance, became empty and vacant, reflecting the emptiness within me. The doll with broken eyes, Hope, seemed to stare at me with a knowing gaze, a silent accusation. I had become as broken as she was, as empty as her missing eye.

The scratching sound, the whisper of my name, seemed to fade into the distance, lost in the haze of my addiction. I was drifting, lost at sea, clinging to the fleeting illusion of oblivion, while the darkness closed in around me. I hated that I needed the drugs, but I hated feeling more.