Overcome

What can you do when the world has already made its mind up about how your life will be?

A wave of darkness swept past the streak of light above the desolate stage. I turned my head swiftly in the direction of the shadow. The darkness was gone and the light shone too bright to see behind it. I canvassed the seats, but it resulted in finding nothing. I let myself get enveloped by the murky shadows behind the stage. The immortal being began producing feedback from the speakers. I edged toward the stage door and jiggled the handle, only to find out that it was locked. A shiver rushed through me as the ghost breathed easily through the Auditorium. Finding myself cowering in the stage right wing, I grasped for the work lights. When I found where the switch was, I pulled the electric wire loose with a slight tug. I heard chuckling at my attempt to escape. Behind me, I encountered footsteps and one of the rigging cables being released. The lighting structure came soaring down like an eagle scavenging for its prey. The cold, metal system missed me by inches. I tried to scream for help, but my vocal chords froze when the creature breathed down my neck, seconds away. Running wasn’t an option. I turned to face the music and was confronted with my greatest fear. The darkness was there, reaching into my soul. I could feel joy being pulled from me like a dementor. Relapse crept closer until it could touch me. Thoughts in my head swirled faster in a whirlwind of emotion. I thought of my family, my friends, being whipped around in my head like a tornado. The wind picked up and I felt it again, the coldness against my body. My old friend came back to visit, and this time, he wouldn’t let me escape. I was held despite my cries for help; no one heard me. I was left alone, empty. All of a sudden it was quiet, I looked down, only to reveal the cherry liquid running from me being subdued only by my rope-burned hands. I knew I would get pulled back in. I collapsed to the ground in a heap, wondering what I had done to deserve this. The terrible thoughts in my head never halted, although the whirlwind did. I thought about who would miss me, who would cry when I’m gone, who would suffer as much as I have. The ghosts that I thought inhabited the room were my prosecutors, and me, the helpless convict. I resided on the floor, shaking tremendously, remembering what it is like to be overcome, once again, by depression.