Apocalypse by Mysticsartdesign in Pixabay

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A long night

Mindy McHorse took a big slurp from her first cup of coffee. She couldn't get all the events that have shelling on in her head out like a broken pearl necklace.

Her mind and her heart debated, but both were clear about one thing, you can't live with shadows, either you are or you aren't, and if you are, you must fight for what you believe in even if it costs you to chop up soul and skin.

Burning slowly like a slow burn, the vision of concreteness exploded the glasses of assumptions. There was no more room for lies, the truth burns when you ignore it and you prefer to avoid pain than to face it.

Right in front of her, the life she knew is fading away like the ashes of the old newspaper that had been undermining the foundations of her home. Too hard to speak, very deep scars emerge in her darkness, burning the voices of warning.

She gazes indifferently into the cup and a tear takes advantage of the carelessness to peek out, evading the order that silences her pain. Her chest oppresses her, she can hardly breathe, but her stubborn intention to make herself respected attacks her with an abstinence syndrome that staggers her ego. But it is respect, more than love or habit, that binds a relationship.

"Over 50 Hacks for a healthier Happier you," she screamed as she was waving the pamphlet in every by walkers face.

Her mind wandered. He reviewed every moment of his life and could only imagine rubbing the truth in the face of all those who sleepwalk through life.

At what point did this happen to him? She was so sure of herself, that she was teaching composure and grace by walking proudly with the security that comes from loving oneself. A love that also staggers and, now, is sustained by valium forks.

She looks, look and look inside the dark liquid, as if wanting to decipher the message about what to do now that there was no return. The masks fell away, there are no more bandages to cover what her eyes saw, nor a white lie to cover the sky that was filled with blackbirds.

She doesn't want to lose control. Her bombastic and moralistic, now almost worn-out, drive threatens her. She falls, falls into a bottomless pit with the smell of coffee that doesn't let her sleep, because deep down she is afraid of dying.

The quacking of some thrushes announces a macabre end to the story, and he sees a red scarf flapping as his exit signal. Once more alone in life. Alone and in quarantine.

"What a kind visit from destiny," she sighed ironically, as she took her last sip, already cold.

As an automaton she stopped and poured another cup of coffee, she had more than once already, but still the coffee pot was half full, there was fuel left for a long night seeing cat's eyes out the window.

With each cup, hundreds of empty thoughts came to life in the realm of the abject. I should have been more assertive from the beginning, I let him be more than he can handle, and there's no maturity or responsibility in him... But, "So, what are you complaining about?" she said to herself. And she could find nothing that subjected a claim to an illusion.

"One can love even beyond any logical reasoning, beyond any indecipherable emotion, but not after having been trampled upon in your dream garden and having lowered your aura to a black degradation, for others. It is better to fall with dignity than to leave your soul dancing in an endless bolero with the devil as a companion". She said aloud as if she were trying to convince herself that the best thing is what happens and not to keep hanging on a thin thread of web.

This is going to be a long night...The depression is knocking your gateway.

@zeleiracordero
04/04/2020

In response to @mariannewest: Weekend Freewrite 4-4-2020. The prompt for each part is highlighted in bold. If you are interested, find out here