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The Fade

Rantings of a Madwoman

It’s hard to explain, but I’ll try, to the best of my ability.

You’re sitting somewhere, minding your own business and it begins to dawn upon you. Perhaps, that’s not the correct phase. Dawn brings with a new light, a new day, and new hope for something different. Dawn brings an end to the nightly terrors that chase us down empty hallways, where it doesn’t matter how fast you run because you can never outrun. Then, you barely know who or what you’re running from, all you know is that you can’t stop. Perhaps, that really isn’t the correct phrase.

You’re minding your own P’s and q’s, and it starts to creep on you. Ah, there it is. I feel an irrational sort of pleasure at having found the correct phrase. These words, my dear reader, they’re of a tricky sort. Use the wrong ones, and they can make you feel like a liar, be too honest, and someone else will do it for you. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t if we’re all being open; I think I should’ve used the word honest there, but did you even notice that until I pointed it out? Do you even care for this stream of thought, or are you too eager to get to the point of the story, the plot? Are you sure there is a plot? If so, you might want to start again.

So, it creeps on you, slowly, but surely. First comes the emptiness; you start to feel a little…hollow. That made me wince, I’m not on speaking terms with that word. No, don’t question why, a girl’s got to have her secrets, now. All of a sudden, when it has already settled in, the emptiness just…becomes. I don’t know what it becomes, maybe it becomes you or me, and sometimes it’s rather becoming on you, more than on me. Sometimes, it stands out garishly, like the sun against a rising dust storm. Whatever the effect, you’ll know it, recognize it, because it is bound to happen more than once.

Then, you begin to notice the colors. Or rather, the lack, thereof; they begin to blend into each other, the ugly begins to spread like a ghastly fungus, and before you know it, begins to complement the hidden ugliness inside. If I look at my room, I’d say there are plenty of bright things in there. But, none of them appeal to me, because they complement each other,

because like my insides, their brightness has been overtaken by some unknown blight.

By the time you notice the colors, the feeling would have left from the tips of your fingers. What feeling, you ask? I don’t know. It has left me now, and I no longer am cognizant, but if it ever returns, I’ll tell you. The numbness sets in. The indifference, too; it isn’t because you want it to be so, it just is. The sky appears blue because of the sun, the sky goes dark because of the earth’s movements, the storm turns the day dark, and if you try to find the meaning or logic behind the numbness, I’m sorry to say, but you won’t find much. Perhaps, sometimes like me, you won’t even be able to lift a finger to try and investigate. Because that’s just the way it is. And how do I know to change it, if I don’t know what the change will bring?

Before long, you’ll have faded into yourself.

I could go on about the fade, but why should I? I can’t do anything about it, nor do I want to.

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