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I shot up from my bed, sweat pouring from my brow. I wiped it. It was sticky. Sickening.
It was red.
I held the scream in my throat and closed my eyes.
Slowly...after a few seconds, I opened them.
My hand was no longer bloody. I sighed, relieved.

My days were beginning to blend, filled with the same pattern of restless nights and disturbing visions. I fidgetted, and jumped, when I was approached. I knew 'it' was following me. I couldn't see it, yet its image was haunting me everywhere I went.
My friends grew increasingly aware of my inability to communicate and well...function. They forced me to the school's guidance counselor.
A pitiful position for someone who has multiple degrees in psychology.
I sat there, thrown into a staring battle between a woman with a large, yellow notepad in her lap. Her pen made scratching noises against the paper.
All I could think of was the buzz.
Buzz buzz.
The woman stared at me. Of course she didn't understand.
Wait...I was buzz. The soft rhythmic sound was coming from my own lips.
She didn't understand, couldn't, wouldn't understand the fly and the torment its eyes gave me! The taunting of my everyday existence! So I didn't inform her. I wouldn't, I couldn't.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," she spoke, her voice calm like a small stream, yet as uneasy as the ocean. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing." I said it almost too quickly. If she realized my agility in the answer, she would've written it upon that savage notebook. She wasn't.
"Are you sure?" She asked. She was trying to wrip me apart.
Too late, 'it's eating me... "Positive. There isn't anything you can do."
What I said could've been taken two distinct ways. One way as a plea for help, assistance. The other, relief. Pure, dreadful, relief.
Her expression said it all-she took it the first way.
"Oh no, Miss, I meant that there is nothing you need to worry about." I said, lifting every inch of "concern" from her.
She let out a small sigh. "If there is, will you come to me?"
"Of course." That was a lie.
You can never get rid of that damned fly.
No one can.


When you walk out of a therapist's office, or a friend's home, you're supposed to feel relieved. Yet I didn't.
It became clear to me.
I realized exactly what I had to do.


No more for a while sadly for I must write the rest *sigh*