WAVE.
written by ✧Aurora Lovecraft✧
Aurora Lovecraft's "Wave." is a three-part allegorical narrative based on a personal struggle with bi-polar depression. In less than 1000 words paired with absorbing soundtrack, the haunting nature of a battle with mental illness is conveyed through an anonymous girl's frightening encounter with a universal fear - drowning. (Not recommended to a younger audience due to sensitive themes)
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
4
Reads
509
Wave.
Chapter 1
The void of darkness saturates the sky, inhibiting the now-concealed morning sun from declaring its optimistic presence. Rain pours onto the battered roof of a colonial-style house, while simultaneously trickling down the windows into the soil below. Inside, a merciless alarm clock demands the awakening of a huddled lump of pillows and blankets on the bed to the right. Stumbling from the bed, she passively drags herself to the bathroom and begins to progress through the almost rote routine of getting one’s self prepared for the down-casted day. She expertly masks her swollen eyes and dark circles with an over-used brush and proceeds to the following schedule that has been hers for months: Work. Classes. Support group. Go home. Take meds. Try for the thousandth time to sleep with the demons that so often curled at her side. There used to be additions like friends, parties, the gym, clubs, and concerts. But she had eventually surrendered to her own irrational fear of the unknown. Her mind had become so overwhelmed that she eventually lost all interest and desire altogether. People eventually have a way of discarding you from their lives when you choose to aimlessly stay in bed for 16 hours over going to the mall with them.
If only they knew.
If only they could grasp a mere fraction of the darkness that plagued her mind.
If only they would they care.
Now, after landing the painful flight of daily socializing and perfecting the art of an illusive smile, she collapses once again into the comfortless bed some would call a haven. She begs herself to stay there enveloped in the nothingness, crying out for the oblivion instead of taking care of the endless list of responsibilities life ensues. But, instead, her feet hit the floor and walk in the opposite direction. The Prozac must have kicked in. She passes the cluttered bathroom adjacent to her oddly-shaped bedroom, struggling to tear her eyes from the single razor on the sink.
Whispering to her.
Beckoning.
She finds her way to the kitchen – counters collecting dust and the small fridge swelling with fast food and take-out she hadn't touched in days. Hands shaking, she picks up the phone and starts to dial when the first Wave hits.
