1 | It Won't Stop

          Death.

         That was the first and only word that hit me like a bullet to the head. Everything that was in my line of sight was absorbed and implanted into my memory, which only made the thoughts I already had escalate to an even darker place.

         What could possibly be worse than death?

         Examining my surroundings closer only helped develop the sudden urge within to scream and cry. The strong scent of alcohol and the endless amount of colorless objects that scattered the room began to initiate faster, shallow breaths from deep within my chest. Everything around me was completely colorless—the bed sheets, walls, counters, medical supplies, and cotton—all of it— plain white.

        Wrapping my arms around my shuddering torso, I took the initiative to witness what was clearly within my line of sight a second time.

         "No, no, control yourself Ava," I mumbled, my voice vigorously shaking the darker my thoughts became, "You're just dreaming. You must've passed out or something. This has to be some sort of sick nightmare."

        Within the hospital room, in front of my very eyes, stood one occupied, colorless bed. I gulped nervously and took a few steps closer, watching as my feet appeared as though it was floating—slowly disappearing even. While grabbing hold of my breathing, I tightly shut my eyes and tried to think about how I wanted to sincerely believe that I had not seen what I thought I did.

         Taking a few calculated steps without my eyes to guide me, I stopped when I felt the cold metal of the bed brush against my slim fingers.

         Suddenly close enough to see what's within the occupied bed, I opened my eyes and concentrated upon the corpse, hoping and praying that this was only a nightmare or some sort of twisted joke.

          What kind of joke was this? Why was I—

          My eyes widened and all of the memories I seemed to have forgotten rushed back the moment I took a good, long look at the corpse.

          In that bed laid a petite girl with frizzy waves of light chocolate strands scattered all over the hard, white pillow. Her skin was close to colorless. Besides the little acne and acne scars, the color of her lifeless skin was similar to the skin of a shiny, newly-made porcelain doll. Both of her porcelain colored hands rested atop of her flat chest as if ready to be placed in a coffin and plunged five feet beneath the ground.

         The body no longer looked alive, rather, a corpse—a corpse ready for its burial.

          Swallowing the shriek wanting to escape, I brought both of my shaking hands to my quivering lips. The warmth of my breath no longer had any existence against my fingertips. At the discovery, I let out a fear-filled yelp and stared through both of my somewhat transparent hands towards the corpse that was, no doubt, taunting me. My shallow breaths only increased in shallowness and speed at this point.

         Sooner rather than later, my breaths escalated further and turned into pants as my spiritual heart refused to slow down.

         I had been through many horrifying moments—all from watching grannies disco, having a dog pee on my favorite shoes, and finding my books scratched—all to the near experience of losing my life to the dominant waves of the water. But with this sudden change and remembrance of forgotten trauma, there was no doubt that this ranked number one in the 'Horrifying moments that almost killed my spirit' diary entry I desperately wanted to write.

          Or well, in my case, 'already killed my spirit' would have suited this situation much, much better.

          "I . . . did that," I mumbled and shook my head, adjusting my somewhat transparent arms to my side. I tried to calm my conscious and tried to control my breathing. It worked a bit, but stopped after the first thirty seconds, "I . . . that I . . . oh my God."

          More memories flooded back in. It took a month. I had lost my mind in a month. It took a minute of remembering, but all of the emotional baggage I had tried to rid myself of came crashing back down—my best friend's death all to the attempt of my own.

          "Why . . . was I still . . . here . . ."

          I repeated that over and over again, hoping to convince myself that this was not me and that I was dead. I tried and continued to chant the words so I could finally find a way out of this mess. Despite the fact I tried over and over again, I knew the truth deep down.

          I had tried to kill myself.

          And no matter what angle I chose to look at it, I knew very well that the corpse within that bed was mine. But that wasn't the part that hurt the most—it was my heart that refused to surrender. The heart monitor taunted me time and time again. Its beeps every few seconds reminding me of what I failed to do.

          I wasn't dead.

         And this was a nightmare.