The Paranormal by Meshael Al Blehed

Posted on April 9, 2011 by


What are you afraid of?

I fear the quiet. It’s the quiet that terrifies me. The quiet only associated with the night. The quiet that overcomes the war of thought waging in your head when you’re tormented by insomnia at three am. The quiet that suffocates the background hums and chimes that annoy yet comfort you in the dead of night; imagine sound had a reaper and it came to rob you of all noise.

Quiet. Silent. Desolate.

A white tile massacre has occurred. But did you hear it? It’s the quiet. The quiet that haunts. The night never intended for this. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Stop. Make it stop. This only happens in books; this only happens in movies.

Calm down. Please calm down.

Liquid, silent and slithering, touching my feet. Why does it feel like it’s going to swallow me whole and drown me in deep darkness? Why is it insistently grabbing at my feet? I can’t look down. In my mind’s eye, I see it perfectly; how the red contrasts on gleaming white. I don’t want to open my eyes and confirm my theory. This is no good for me. This detailed account of soul and shadow, a narrative of the severance of spirit and body.

I need to get out.

That was all just another trick played by my mind. I need to make this stop. I look up and open my eyes.

Sun. Light. Sky. Perfect.

I could live like this forever, but the night always comes. And every once in a blue moon, on the dreariest of nights where any semblance of serenity is gone; the truth comes crawling through my skin. Get it off me. Get it off. Nights like these take me back to unwanted places. It’s on these quiet nights, clarity comes down upon me with the delusion of grand deliverance. A single moment where everything makes sense. A poignant instant where I can transcend the limits of human thought and delve into deeper meaning. I connect the dots in my head and no amount of hindsight bias would explain why I didn’t see it before. These moments are never good for me.

Bare, enervate, and ravaged.

Oh, what a mighty fine night to die, such a shame that I already did. I begin to ask myself if I’ve deserved this but I’m soon silenced with a litany of my faults.

From this moment forward, we are enemies.

A spark, it ignites. Catharsis. Illumination. A revelation, it fades. Surrender. Dark.

I am my own worst enemy.

Posted in: The Paranormal