I live in a dark world. It's been days since I left my house. The walls feel suffocating. I’m not alone; something else watches me.
It begins with faint scratching sounds. I thought it was just termites or something. Then, I had a dream of a shadowy figure in smoke. I woke up sweating and noticed the wall seemed alive in the dark.
One night, I noticed a sign on the wall. It was dark and burning. I got closer, breathing fast. I could almost see shapes inside, including a face full of pain. I stepped back, my mind racing. Am I the one who did this? No, I wouldn’t do that. But doubts came up. What if I’m the culprit?
Days passed. My paranoid grew. I hid the mark with furniture, but it returned. I hear whispers now. They tell me, “Look closer! ” and “You know what you’re doing. ” I fought it, trying to convince myself it was all in my head. But the voices got louder, filling every quiet moment.
One night, I faced my fears, shaking in front of the target. I screamed, “What do you want?” I laughed, hearing it echo in my mind. My fingers shook as I touched a warm surface, feeling pain and horror from a memory I can't recall.
She. . . that woman, I can’t forget her face. Naive, angry, and jealous. At first, she seemed ideal to me until she revealed her bad side. With a lighter and a bottle of alcohol, she threatened me. Without realizing it, I took it from her. I. . . lost control. I. . . burned her. I. . . I’m the culprit.
Clarity emerged; I realized I am the monster, not the victim. I fell to my knees, sobbing, feeling alone with my madness, which felt like freedom. I understand now; I am both the prisoner and the prison.