Nothing is Wrong
Part III—Before Six
You don’t take the medication.
Not because you’re brave. Because you’re tired of obeying something that hurts you for thinking.
The pain notices immediately. It doesn’t strike. It hovers. A low thrum beneath your thoughts, like a finger resting on a trigger. Every time your mind drifts toward the scar, toward the numbers, toward why, the pressure swells just enough to pull you back.
You stay awake.
Sleep refuses to come. Your body lies still while your mind circles, caught between fear and curiosity. The dark feels thicker tonight, pressing against your eyes.
The clock glows.
5:18 a.m.
Your head aches differently now. Less sharp. More desperate. Like it’s trying to pull you under before you see something you’re not supposed to.
You stand.
Pain spikes, furious, as if you’ve broken a rule.
You don’t sit back down.
At the window, you part the curtain.
Nothing waits outside. No stars. No moon. No hint of morning. Just a flat, unfinished dark that doesn’t feel like night.
Where are the birds?
The pain explodes. White-hot. Blinding. You clutch your head as images crash through you. Hands holding you still. Light burning through your skull. A voice saying this will help. Another saying he won’t remember.
You scream.
The sound cuts off halfway.
Silence.
The pain drops out completely, leaving your head hollow and ringing. You look at the clock.
5:54 a.m.
Your chest tightens.
The world holds its breath.
6:00.
The sun snaps on.
Not rising. Appearing. Light floods the sky all at once. Birds begin chirping mid-note, as if they were paused and suddenly released.
Behind you, something clicks.
You turn.
The wardrobe door is open.
Behind the clothes, where the wall should be solid, there’s a seam. Thin. Deliberate.
Your scar burns.
You reach for the seam.
The pain screams once more, frantic and pleading.
You don’t stop.
glitch.
—Written by Deerswanlie🦢