She walked out of the building after leaving her resignation note and towards the park on the other side of the street, hoping to get some air as her burdened mind suffocated her.
Sitting there on one of the lined up white benches, watching the life breathing around her in the trees and the birds and the rising sun, in the floating clouds and the sky, while contemplating the death that’s been eating her from the inside out; wondering how could it dare exist in such a lively atmosphere? And how could she not allow that life to conquer the darkness in her mind?
No matter how hard she tried, she failed. Malaise and grieve have consumed all her energy and have deprived her from everything in life. She couldn’t work or talk, or even eat or drink anymore; sips of water would fall down her throat like a flood of lava, causing her immense pain. All she could do was just sit and breathe, and with every breath there would still be pain, but that was the only thing she couldn’t stop doing.
She wondered how people manage to get over this. How can you pull yourself away after being completely immersed into someone’s mind and heart and soul, becoming a part of them?
How can someone decide to break another so easily in a blink of an eye and strip away everything that once gave meaning to their life; that once was a reason for life?
And how do those people continue to live on? Are they ever haunted by the souls of those they’ve decapitated and tortured? Do they ever find it hard to fall asleep with all those pieces of broken hearts floating around their bed? Are they ever scared that someone someday might do the same thing to them? Or are they even aware how evil and destructive they are?
She would think of ways to get over the thoughts, but how can you not bleed in pain at being cut open and have pieces taken out of your soul, parts of your existence? How would you be expected to live again, normally, as if nothing happened, as if nothing is missing, as if you are whole and complete? How can you undo all of it?
The pain was severe and dreadful that she would curl up in bed or chair while remaining completely still, breathing very slowly and cautiously without moving a muscle, because just like a predator waiting patiently to attack its prey alive, pain would attack her mercilessly on the smallest prove of existence.
Her limbs and body would shake out of pain at times, despite her stillness, and she wouldn’t know what to do stop it; so, she would just sit, helpless, and let it feed on her even more, asking whatever power controlling this universe, to do what she has failed to do, to rescue her from this despair and take her soul away from this aching, distorted existence.