Hannah Streett
How to Survive
The lights have gone. Familiar darkness tickles my skin, poking and shoving, trying to find my weaknesses. But I don’t have any. I don’t want to have any. I am comfortable with the darkness now because that is the only way to survive in this world. As invisible minutes tick past though, sparks jump around within me, causing my limbs to twitch and my gaze to dart hopelessly through the night. No. This is fine. I’m all right with this, remember? They die down, flickering into oblivion, and I relax. This is normal, after all. Why should I feel uncomfortable in my life? There must be an excellent reason hidden within me because just moments later, a remaining, unnoticed spark flares up again and rockets through my body, stronger than before. I stagger backward. A strangled cry stabs my ears. Is that from me? I collapse against the wall, curling up and slamming my hands into the sides of my head. That will make the voices shut up, right? Because for that second, I remember. I remember that I am a horrible person doing horrible things and all I want to do is go back to my ignorance like I have a thousand times before. But this time, the thoughts won’t stay contained. They bounce around my skull in a furious cacophony, berating me for the lies I’ve told, the people I’ve killed. I wish someone would put me out of my misery. But as I scream again, a pinprick of light flickers across my vision and a hand, strong and sure, grips mine. I shrink back. I won’t let anyone help me. I don’t deserve to live unless I can do it on my own. But the hand follows, refusing to let me go. And although I’m trembling, it pulls me back onto my feet.