Tag: Depression

Checkout

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Dark Realism, Micro Fiction, Shyla's Stories4 Comments

Two bags of chips, onion dip, a collection of those cheap mixed gummies – the ones that are kind of sour, and tin foil (just because she was out). Eden started placing her items on the counter, self-consciously. She didn’t always eat like that. Or, at least, she didn’t think she did. It wasn’t as though she kept a food journal. She began moving quicker, eager to get her impromptu, late-night drug-store transaction over with. As she handled the foil, she caught sight of her chipped nail polish and felt suddenly as though it was evidence of the fact that she hadn’t figured out life yet. Not even the simple, daily mechanics.

“Hello, how are you?” the cashier asked without looking up.

There it was. The dreaded question. Eden held her breath. What could she say, really? ‘Two weeks ago I miscarried and I’ve been having night terrors ever since. Though, I must be exaggerating because I also don’t believe I’ve gotten any sleep at all. I don’t think it’s healthy. And everyday now I’m afraid to look in the mirror because I no longer look like me. I’m not me. Not that I’m terribly well acquainted with me. I’ve got a million faces. It’s hard to keep track. And, no, I’m probably not as fucked up as I think I am. But I’m definitely not as together as I pretend to be. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m lost. I can’t find me. And it’s not just the miscarriage. It started before that. Long before that. I’m just… lost. So, overall, not well. I’m not well.’ 

“9.75.”

Eden snapped out of her daze and mechanically handed a bill over to the cashier, awkwardly hiding her nails. Her hand was shaking but she gave a pleasant nod when she received her change, before hurrying out the automatic door.

‘Fuck,’ Mia thought, staring down at her till. ‘Did I give that lady the right change? Shit – did I even greet her? A simple: hi how are you?’ She sighed and checked the time. Three more hours to go. ‘Get it together,’ she thought, promising herself to be attentive with the next one.

© Shyla Fairfax-Owen

Nothing to Offer

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Dark Realism, Shyla's Stories4 Comments

Ash was having a difficult go at life when he met Alia. Undoubtedly, they were drawn to each other because they recognized their own desperation in one another. That was no way to start a relationship. He couldn’t take care of himself, so how could he take care of her? And, vice versa.

But…

She latched on to him, in a way that made him lust and cringe. That weakness in her drew him in, even when it repulsed him. His ex-wife was nothing like Alia. She was a fighter. She was strong, and smart, and hard-headed. One might imagine that those qualities in her were what created the barrier between them, but that wasn’t at all the case. It was Sandy. Losing Sandy. Actually losing her – she was just gone. And every time Ash looked into his wife’s beautiful eyes, he saw his daughters’ staring back at him, begging him to find her, asking him why he let her go. That was a barrier he simply couldn’t get by.

So one day he found that he was sitting there with Alia, drinking until he could no longer keep his thoughts straight. And Alia let him. Because she would let anyone do anything. Because she was meek, and timid, and lost. But Ash had found her. And she loved him for it.

He thought about all of this as he stood at the water’s edge. He was swaying back and forth now, likely too drunk to swim back to shore if he wanted to. But just to be sure, he had tied weights to his ankles. Now all there was to do was step in, and keep going. So why was he standing there, thinking about Alia? She would cry. She would quiver, and crack, and break. He would break her. It would be his fault. He didn’t love her. But that wasn’t the point. He couldn’t stand the idea of letting her down. He let down Sandy, his wife, his parents, his dog (where had that damn dog gone, anyways?) – and now Alia. Sweet, sad, Alia. But if he didn’t step in, if he untied the weights and climbed back into bed – dry and alive – well, what could he offer her then?

Nothing. And yet – he just couldn’t step in.

© Shyla Fairfax-Owen

Invisible

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Dark Realism, Shyla's Stories1 Comment

Eliza was always trying to be someone new; live another life; know another mind. When she was twelve she read a story about a boy kept locked away in an attic for months that turned into years and years that turned into decades. Eventually, he died, and became the ghost of the mansion. Of course, Eliza saw that he had always been the ghost. After reading the story, she locked herself in her own attic. She wanted to see how long she could stand it without going mad like the boy, but her mother found her after just two days, and she wasn’t mad at all. When she was sixteen, she saw a movie about a girl trapped in a well. She considered jumping down one, really she did. But she didn’t want to tear her dress. Now, as she stared blankly at the job application before her, she wondered if it wasn’t too late. Perhaps she could simply disappear, after all.

© Shyla Fairfax-Owen