A Writer’s Take on Depression — Flash Fiction Story

Depression does not strike based on a person’s gender, age, race, or intelligence quotient.

Depression is not something that can be brushed away with a smile, or shooed away with a pat on the back.

It’s something more deeper and profound.

There’s no gadget to test which person is suffering from what type of depression, and there’s no instrument to measure the extent of depression.

For some, depression may be the urge to cry and wallow in self-pity.

For others, depression could be a numbness that encompasses their minds, and renders them incapable of clarity of thought and reasoning.

Many people live with depression, and sadly many people die from depression.

When the will to ‘let go’ exceeds the will to ‘hold on’, a precious life bites the dust.

Without saying much more, I share the pain of ‘not belonging’ in the short story below…

JAGGED EXISTENCE

The smell was intolerable. A defiant odor reigned heavily in the air, masking the familiarity of the stagnant space. Two reluctant hands probed the limits of her body. She was still, her beautiful eyes creased shut. The unnerving tremble would never return to haunt her again. Her body was a careless mystery, the secrets within her waiting to be revealed.

Would he find what he was looking for?

His meticulous touch traversed her softness, leaving no stone unturned. His methodical approach encouraged her fragile state to respond, to share the untouched depths hidden beneath the stony facade.

The stench was inexcusable. It escaped through the openings, penetrating restless minds, inhibiting the smooth advance of commitment. He paused as a slight moan escaped his lips. It was beyond him to continue. He needed to escape the deafening silence. With a flick of his wrist, he covered her nakedness, concealing the madness, liberating the humiliation. Her crumbling beauty camouflaged the disgust and hostility.

She knew he would return for more.

The violation would continue, mechanically repeating itself till it justified his disgraced ambition. Yet she would not resist. He was welcome to discover her. His nauseous lust for completion would devour her body, tearing apart what remained of her dwindling dignity.

She knew she deserved far worse. Fear deserted her while logic declined to comply with her shattered sanity. Loneliness crept across the expanse; a numbing sensation overpowered her guilt.

Would she survive the brutality?

Her battered frame exhibited the price paid by her to endure the outrage. She would carry on though, breaking the shackles of her past, erasing it without a single tear. Her meager life consumed by the struggle to break the narrow-mindedness of a prejudiced crowd. The others would be quick to dismiss the atrocities, thus condemning her life to the shadows of shame.

That is why she simply trusted him, and surrendered herself to him. He was her savior. He would salvage her lost soul, and provide answers to the questions that had haunted her for so long.

The foul air filled his lungs again. The decay was worse than he had thought. She was not the first, and definitely would not suffice as the last. The ones before her had ensured his supremacy, entrusting themselves to his ‘significant care’, granting him the pleasure of domination. He had conquered them, eventually disposing of their worthless frames.

However, she was different.

Her submission left him clueless. It was incomplete, preventing him from accomplishing his purpose. He stripped her, layer by layer, till she was left with nothing. Yet he found her to be completely empty, incapable of sharing. There was nothing more that he could do.

She sensed him leaving. He escorted his warped judgment out the metal door. Her heart shrieked, burdened with explanations howling for freedom. His naive perception had made him neglect this invaluable piece of evidence. A seasoned slice would have been enough to extract a river of unspoken feelings, revealing the severe devastation inside.

The reek of indifference smothered her, extinguishing her final hope to survive.

As he removed his gloves to write the Autopsy Report, he stated the cause of death as suicide by drowning.

Yet he disregarded the fact that ‘she never did belong’.

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