Monsters Under The Bed — Pt. 1

It was around 5pm when she opened her eyes. The sky was starting to darken, and the gloomy air was hanging around the room. She could feel her head was getting drowsy, either from sleeping too much or from remembering all the unpaid bills that were about to due soon scattered on the table in her tiny room. It’s about time I woke up, she thought to herself.

She stood up lazily, taking her own time. She glanced around her room, noticing the absence of living being in it, and the empty void that filled the space. Her phone blinked, and she picked it up immediately. Another message came from her therapist, reminding her to come on time today for her fifth appointment, which was starting to feel like forever. She sighed at the redundancy of it all.

While she was getting ready, she took a glimpse at all the medals that she once won and were now hung neatly on the wall. She was once proud of it, was proud of her younger self, the older version of her that had some fire sparking inside her. She could see that most of her medals has now lost its shine, exactly like what life did to her.

It’s almost time, she thought, and off she went.

The session with her therapist went well, or should she say it went exactly just like it did previously. She munched down her croissant that she thought was too overpriced yet she bought anyway, while she wait for her bus to come. It’s only been 3 hours since she left her home and she’s already dying to get back to the familiarity of her own home. The city and its tall buildings has always felt cold and strange to her. She often felt unwelcomed and isolated in her own hometown. Not that it gets any better at her home though. It felt odd, she thought to herself, being a stranger at every places she walked into.

It gets worse, when people are looking at her, or should she say more accurately, looking at her right hand that were no longer there. Sometimes it was just a glance, sometimes it’s a questioning face, some other times while also rarely, it’s an expression of being annoyed, as if she doesn’t belong with them.

Several years ago she might’ve snapped at them, for looking and making her feel alienated in her own skin. But now she didn’t even bother. She was just too tired and angry at every one and every thing, for not knowing how it felt like for her. The hell that she went through, and the cage that she trapped herself into.

To be continued in Pt. 2