Wait for Mourning to Wake Me

She became aware in the infinite blackness, experiencing warmth for the first time. The darkness wrapped itself around her in a blanket of impossible comfort as it carried her through the abyss. A spot of light broke through the nothingness, nearly blinding her. It pulled her body toward it like a vacuum, dominating the darkness and tearing her from its grasp. The apocalyptic presence let out a deafening shriek before swallowing her whole. She shot up in her bed, gasping for air. Her alarm had been going off but she barely noticed until she composed herself. She reached over to turn it off as she laid back down, relieved to be awake. She remained there for a moment, focusing on the popcorn ceiling, losing herself in her own mind. She imagined shapes and odd forms while contemplating all the possibilities that this wonderful day had in store. A sudden ring of the doorbell snapped her out of the daydream. She was filled with a moment of unjustified anxiety as she thought about who or what it could be. The endless possibilities overwhelmed her but she decided to remain optimistic; It was early enough in the day that there was no sense in panicking. The doorbell rang once again just as she pulled the sheets back; The cool air brushed against the skin on her legs as she climbed out of the bed. She scanned the room for something she could quickly clothe herself with. There was a white t-shirt hanging off her nightstand which she grabbed without inspecting; she slipped on yesterday’s jeans which were strewn about the floor. “I’m coming”, she yelled in a frustrated tone as the doorbell rang for the third time. She stopped in front of the mirror as she passed so she could smooth out any remaining indication that she had just woken up. She ran her hands through her thick auburn hair, shaking it out to settle the displaced strands. She wiped the inside of her big bright eyes with her thumbs. She brushed her soft cheeks with her fingertips as she tucked her hair behind her ears. Her youthful beauty was obvious to everyone but her. She turned to the side and placed one hand on her flat stomach, except she didn’t see it that way. She let out a defeated sigh and opened her bedroom door. A cinnamon candle sat burning atop a small decorative table in the hallway. The wall was lined with pictures of her family and friends, each a small window into a different time in her life. She stopped to admire one as she made her way to the staircase. She stood staring at the picture from just a year ago; It was of her and her friends celebrating her birthday. The sudden realization that today was once again her birthday added some context to who the mystery guest at the door could be. Gone was the anxiety which was now replaced with hope and optimism. She smiled and turned to face the stairs, being sure to take a moment to appreciate how much better the day now seemed. The doorbell rang twice more consecutively. She took a few more steps toward the stairs before being startled by a thud that shook the floor behind her; she turned around to find that one of the pictures had fallen off the wall. She dejectedly picked up the broken frame and turned it around to reveal that it was a photo of her sister. She looked up to see what could have caused the problem which is when she saw a large spot of mould where the picture was hanging. She set down the broken frame and went to inspect the wall, pushing it with her fingertips. The drywall was soft and moist -- a problem in which she lacked the expertise to diagnose. The mould suddenly started to creep toward some of the other pictures. She jumped backwards, covering her mouth with both her hands as if to contain a scream; She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The mould crept behind a picture of her mother as it left a trail of moisture that bled down the wall. The picture loosened and then fell to the floor, shattering on impact. She was struck in the arm by a piece of broken glass. The cut bled almost instantly, staining her white t-shirt. She remained motionless and terrified while the cut on her arm continued to bleed. The doorbell rang once again as if to mock her. She moved quickly to get the remaining pictures off the wall before the creeping mould could do any more damage. She stacked them neatly on the decorative table and stepped backwards, pressing herself up against the bannister. The mould continued to grow as the wet drywall peeled back; through the tear, she could see a bright light shining. She approached the wall slowly and reached for the hole with trembling hands, pulling at it with her cold fingers. The drywall easily fell apart revealing the front end of a car that had clearly been in an accident. Her feeble attempts to make sense of the situation only drove her further into madness. She could suddenly hear the sound of the collision which sent her crumbling to her knees. Screams pierced her ears like a knife as she clutched them tightly with both hands. She closed her eyes so tight that it was no longer clear what hurt more. The screams stopped suddenly with the sound of steady car horn being all that remained. She loosened her eyelids and removed her hands from her ears as the sound slowly faded away. She opened her eyes as the silence provided some relief from the episode she just experienced. She pulled herself to her feet just before the doorbell rang again. She slowly scanned her environment through the lingering dizziness. On the floor in front of her were the fallen pictures of her mother and sister, now blackened as though they'd been burned. A deep sadness filled her heart. The wonder and optimism she woke up with was gone and what remained was a feeling of helplessness; she was stuck in a house that she no longer wanted to be in. The doorbell rang once again -- a cruel reminder that the guest wasn't going to wait for her misery to subside. She walked into the bathroom to get another look at herself in the mirror. Her reflection was different now. Her thick auburn hair was a little bit thinner, her skin more coarse. The light in her eyes had dimmed as the fire inside of her burned a little less bright. Her white shirt bore the stains of the day's events, unpleasant as they were. She wiped some tears away that had formed in her eyes and walked back into the hallway. She approached the stairs a little more cautiously than before. The house had proven itself to be unpredictable and she didn't want to be caught off guard again. Each step felt more purposeful now, as though the events left in her wake could not be undone. She gripped the railing with purpose, leaning into her steps as she descended. She scanned the floor below carefully as she placed her bare foot on the final step. There was a damp sensation followed by a sharp pain that sent her reeling backwards. She let out a scream that echoed through the upstairs hallway where the sound of the fall still resonated. She held up her leg as blood dripped off the heel of her foot. She pulled the leg over her resting knee to get a better look underneath where she saw several large pieces of glass lodged deep in her skin. She grabbed onto one of the pieces with trembling hands and slowly pulled it out. She did the same for the remaining pieces, each one more painful. She scanned her foot closely to make sure that there were no remaining shards. She massaged her ankle that had now started to fall asleep, noticing that her skin was coarse and cold to the touch. She quickly rolled her pant leg back down while actively ignoring the changes happening to her body. She got back to her feet using leverage from her uninjured leg. She cradled her right arm as she stood, which had been badly hurt in the fall. She carefully hobbled over the final step and avoiding the glass as she stumbled. There was a label stuck to one of the shards. She carefully reached for it, realizing that she was in more in pain than she thought. Gripping the label in two fingers she quickly readjusted to a standing position which caused her much less pain. She took a closer look at the label, revealing the shattered glass and liquid to be that of a whiskey bottle. The aroma was familiar to her but it wasn't until she saw the label that she experienced another mental breakdown. She closed her eyes as her pupils darted back and forth. She fell to her knees screaming "stop it, please!". Her head whipped to one side, then the other. "Stop it!" she continued "You're dragging me down with you!". She grabbed her hair as if she was trying to pry it from someone else's grasp. "I hate you! I hate you!". Her head whipped backwards with a force so strong that it knocked her over. "You're a fucking animal when you drink!", she shouted. She was snapped out of her episode suddenly when the doorbell rang again. She nearly forgot about the guest at the door whose silhouette was now in clear view. A black amorphous darkness lingered behind the frosted pane, beckoning her. She was terrified. She remained still, crippled from both the fear and her injuries. She could see that the closet door was ajar in the mezzanine and decided her best chance would be to hide within it. She pulled herself along the floor as the blood from her foot created a trail behind her. She finally made it to the closet where she shuffled to her feet, quickly closing the door. She clumsily reached for the hanging light switch. She pulled the switch revealing a massive room, much bigger than she remembered. The shelves were lined with keepsakes of her youth; Dreams and hopes of days gone by, now stuck in storage. She walked up to a pair of ballet slippers. She could hear music fill the room as stadium lighting warmed her chest. She put the ballet slippers on which barely fit. She tried to dance in time with the music but fell to the floor; Her injuries made it impossible to maintain proper form. She got up and tried again, convinced she could do it. Her knee buckled on her second attempt sending her to the ground once again. She wept as she looked at the slippers, one now soaked in blood. She pulled them off her feet and threw them across the room, hitting a box on the opposite shelf. The box read "painting supplies". She walked over to the box and looked inside to find tubes of old paint and some brushes. Underneath those were various canvases full beautiful art. She pulled out the paintings one at a time, admiring her work. Beautiful landscapes and portraits were all but forgotten at the bottom of this dusty box. The final painting was a portrait of her father. She slowly brushed the dust off and she closed her eyes. She was calm, holding his hand in hers. The sound of the heart monitor is all that broke the silence which cut through the serenity like a dull knife. She tightened her grip on his hand as tears snook through her closed eyelids. "I love you daddy", she spoke softly. The heart monitor started to beep more aggressively now. "Is everything okay?" She asked in a more worried tone. He began to convulse as his hands grew colder. "Daddy, what's wrong?!" she shouted, "Talk to me!". The convulsions stopped as the tone on the heart monitor became steady. She opened her eyes to find that all the paint had begun to bleed off the canvas. She dropped it back into the box and stuffed it away behind some old linens where she wouldn't be able to find it again. She backed away from the shelf and bumped into a mannequin bust. The mannequin was draped in veterinary scrubs with a paw stitched onto the jacket pocket. The room dimmed and the jingle of a dog collar echoed from behind her. "Jack!" she yelled out excitedly. "Here boy!". She closed her eyes and dropped to her knees, reaching her hands out. She could feel his fur between her fingers as she rubbed his neck with both hands. She opened her eyes and reached for the lapel on the jacket but the mannequin jumped backwards, just out of reach. She lunged in more aggressively this time, trying to grab the jacket before the mannequin could jump back again but she missed. The mannequin flew toward the ceiling as if being pulled by an invisible force. She looked up to find the scrubs on the highest shelf. She stood on her tiptoes to try and reach them but they were just out of her grasp. She jumped, swinging her arm forward to try and knock the jacket down but it seemingly got higher with each attempt, moving further and further out of reach. "No", she shouted, "I need this!". She continued to jump until her knee buckled again. A barmaid outfit came fluttering down onto her lap from one of the lower shelves which had been knocked loose from the commotion. She remorsefully held the skimpy outfit up to her body which appeared to be a perfect fit. Her efforts were fruitless. The shelves crashed down around her, all the items crumbling into dust as they the floor. The light flickered, blackening the room before illuminating it again. The closet was now much smaller, confining her like a tomb. It was much hotter as well, which was amplified by the coats that pressed up against her back. Sweat poured down her face as the lack of oxygen stifled her. She began to hyperventilate, clutching a coat in each hand, squeezing as tight as she could. The doorbell rang. She reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly. The air cooled her skin as the door opened and fresh oxygen filled her lungs. She exited the closet, hands firmly placed on her knees as she regained her composure. She lifted her head to look at the front door. It wasn't far now. The blackness behind the door now loomed closer than ever. The doorbell rang three times consecutively. She walked towards the door, less scared now than before. She turned to look at the standing mirror as she passed. Her skin was rough and wrinkled, her hair thin and grey. She had bruises on her face and arms, hunched over from the pain. Her clothing was tattered and covered in blood, her skin bearing the scars from the day. She was tired. She thought back to the morning when that youthful beauty would stare back at her. She resented herself for not seeing it then. The doorbell rang for the last time. She turned her head to the darkness behind the glass. She felt guilt, resentment, sadness and defeat, but not fear. She took two final steps toward the front door. The handle was cold to the touch, sending a shiver through her body.

She opened the door. She took a deep breath and opened the door.