Slumber

Told in a 2nd person narrative, this short story tells the story of a teenager, who is suffering from depression.

You wake up to the buzzing of your alarm, and look at the time: 6:15. You want to get up. In fact, you have to. Yet, there’s something begging you to go back into your bed. Your comfort zone, if you will. This bed has protected you from the dangers of the outside world for years, and just recently have you began your steps to get out of it. But the voice in your head will have none of it. “Shhhh,” it whispers, reassuringly. “It’s okay. Just close your eyes, and go to sleep.” You listen to the voice, and just like that, you’re blissfully sound asleep once again.

You wake up a second time. This time, however, that blissful ignorance has ended. The constant beeping of the alarm rings through your ears like Hell’s Bells. You look at the time: 6:50. “S**t,” you think, “I have to go.” You rush to get dressed, knowing that this wouldn’t be the first time you were late for school. And it certainly wouldn’t be your last.

You finally arrive at school, and right off the bat, you know that you’re going to have some sort of consequence, given the fact that it’s at least the 20th time you’ve been late. You look around the hallways, and in every corner, there’s a couple, digging into each others’ faces like shovels in the dirt. Only this dirt is dried up. None of that rich, nutrient-filled soil.

You get to algebra, and it’s fairly clear that the teacher isn’t happy. He sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. “Let me guess,” he says, “you overslept again, didn’t you?”

This man is the bane of your entire existence. His long, straight face looks over you like a hawk, as you do whatever it takes to make him at least somewhat satisfied. And even that isn’t enough. It’s as if Satan himself is breathing down your neck with his fiery breath.

“Do you have last night’s homework, or did you sleep through that, too?” He smirks at you, still shaking his head as you frantically scramble through your binder to find it. You see the class giggle at you, as you stutter with your words, “I-I-I know I have it. I just can’t find it, that’s all.” He continues shaking his head, tisking at the very excuse that just rang through his ears. “Typical excuse.” He moves on to the next kid, as you think to yourself “I swear to God, one of these days, that a*****e’s gonna get what he deserves.” Until that day comes, however, you are but a puppet in his eyes, just begging to have your strings pulled.

You finally come home after a long day of school. As soon as you walk through the door, a sense of pleasure travels through your body. “I’m home,” you say, “home sweet f*****g home.”

Suddenly, a reminder rings on your phone. Go to work. “Son of a b***h,” you say to yourself. Just when you thought you had enough time to relax, you get that reminder. You know you’ll be reprimanded by your manager as soon as you walk in, no matter what you did, be it good or bad. Regardless, you still do it just to get by in this cold, unforgiving world. You hastily put on your uniform, and rush out the door for work.

As soon as you walk in, you begin to cringe at the very miserable atmosphere you’ve been put in. You clock in, say “Hello,” to everyone, and begin your shift, masking your crippling depression with a smile and a “Hi! How may I serve you today?”.

After what seemed like an eternity, you look at the clock: 9:28. “Two more minutes,” you say quietly, “Two more minutes.” Suddenly, a large family walks in. You begin to analyze the situation, like how a computer analyzes algorithms. Let’s see. Some guy yelling at his kids, asking them what they want. They reply: double cheeseburger with fries, and a large chicken nugget meal. You sigh behind their back, but under the hawk’s eye of your manager, you turn back, and welcome them with your signature, yet repetitive phrase. “Hello! How may I serve you today?”
“Yeah, could I just get two large chicken nugget meals, please?” The man sounds exhausted and tired. And who isn’t? Especially at this time in the night. Suddenly, one of the kid starts bursting into tears, throwing a tantrum. “I said I wanted a double cheeseburger with fries!” The man sighs, mumbling something that you can’t quite understand under the screaming of that kid, but somewhere along the lines of “These little s***s are going to be the death of me.” You want to yell back at the screaming kid, but common sense pulls you back just as you’re about to do so.

You look at the time again: 9:31. You look over towards your manager, and you could tell clear as day that he’s about to say something he doesn’t want to say. He sighs, “Don’t worry. I can handle this myself.” Your eyes raise in shock, while your mouth is wide open. You clock out, and walk to your car, knowing that that was the highlight of your day.

You wake up the next morning, tired and confused once again. 6:15. The buzzing of the alarm rumbles through your room. You turn it off, and get ready for school, knowing very well that it’ll be no different from yesterday.

You walk through the doors of school, and, much to your disgust, there’s an immediate change in the atmosphere. Couples practically f*****g each other in the hallways, teachers screaming their heads off at their students. And that algebra teacher. Dear God, not him. He’s the last thing on your mind right now. But even then, you still have to deal with his bullshit every day.

All of it just makes you want to cringe.

But this is your life now. Whatever happiness hasn’t been extinguished in the past couple years is very close to doing so. And yet, despite all the things that you have to deal with, as well as the many more, you still hang on by a thread. And even if you’re just about to plummet to your death, at this point, it’s far from over. At least, that’s what it feels like.

You come home from school, almost on the verge of tears. It’s been far too long since there’s been some sort of change in your routine, be it vacation, or even hanging out with whatever friends you had left. They say that “Tomorrow’s always a brand new day,” but when you have to go through the same things every single day, it gets harder and harder to believe that statement as fact.

You storm into your room, tears running down your face. “That’s it,” you say to yourself. “I’m f*****g done.” In a fit of rage, you destroy everything that comes in your way. Pictures, posters, clothes. Nothing is safe. It’s as if a bomb had detonated in your room, showing little mercy for anything within.

As you fall asleep, you dream of a world in which you would never see the light of day again. Your friends, your family, everyone, all simply going on with their daily lives, without a single thought that you ever existed. And just as you think your life is over, you wake up. But this day is different. Everything feels numb, and you can’t remember a thing about yesterday. You don’t go on with your daily routine. Instead, you take a much darker turn. You pack up your things, and head for the nearby forest.

There, you take out your father’s shotgun, contemplating what you are about to do. And just as you pull the trigger, every memory you ever had, every emotion you’ve ever felt, and every person you’ve ever loved, gone in a flash of gunpowder and smoke.

Ten hours go by, and your parents begin to worry. It’s now 4:30 in the afternoon. Usually, you’d be home by now, but an eerie feeling hovers over the house like a stormcloud. They order a search party, and within just a few hours, they find you, underneath a bridge, motionless. Your parents cry and beg of you to wake up, but it is too late. You have already passed on. The paramedics pronounce you dead at 7:03 in the evening, even though you would’ve been gone for quite some time now.

The next day, your school holds a memorial in your honor. And despite not doing much for the school, to them, it’s as if they had lost a brother. The whole atmosphere for the next few days would be very somber, as words fly throughout the hallways of how much of a great guy you were, and how you were the last one on their minds that would do such a thing.

It has now been ten days since your passing, and your funeral is just about to begin. Everyone you knew is in attendance. Family, friends, classmates, you name it. When they finally lower your coffin into the ground, it only serves as a grim reminder to those willing to take the step beyond the physical world. It becomes very apparent to everyone that you are now gone forever. The tombstone only makes it worse, as no one in their right minds would ever think of the day where they would see your name on it. But there it is, marked on a piece of rock that will likely be so for an eternity.

Just like your slumber.

Author's Note

The reason why I wrote this in 2nd person was to give perspective on what it's like to suffer from depression firsthand. I understand that it's not the ideal choice when writing a short story, but when it comes to stuff like this, it's still enough to give people chills down their spine.

Reviews

[Lewis Jane]

I liked the first half of this due to my relation to that kind of monotony when I was younger and I certainly have no issue with it being written in the way in which you described.

At first I was almost disappointed the character decided to go the route they did, however to me the way you wrote the end was as if there were many people out there who actually did care about this person and they only needed to open up to those people to realise and perhaps get help.

Either way I enjoyed this, thank you.