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MidReal Story
Julia is laying on her bed
Anonymous
Apr 10
Scenario:Julia is laying on her bed
Create my version of this story
I lay on my bed, drowning in the suffocating silence of my apartment.
The city outside my window is alive with its own heartbeat, a symphony of sounds that never cease to remind me of my solitude.
But tonight, itās like that heartbeat has justā¦stopped.
My mind is this vast empty canvas and I keep willing myself to think of words to paint on it, but nothing comes.
My laptop is open, the cursor blinking at me with the impatience that I wish I had.
Itās been three hours and I havenāt written a single word.
I donāt know if I can anymore.
I donāt know whatās happening to me.
The worst part is, Iāve been waiting for this silence for so long.
I used to crave the days when my apartment was empty and I could write without any distractions, without feeling like I was missing out on everything life had to offer while I was trapped working in my office or writing in my bedroom.
But now that itās here, I donāt know what to do with it.
It feels like itās swallowing me whole.
The silence presses down on my chest, a weight I can no longer bear.
It feels like Iām disappearing into it and Iām not sure if I want to be found anymore.
My body shivers as a gust of wind comes through my window, but it does little to break through the heat radiating off my body in waves of cold sweat.
Outside, the city is quiet, too quiet.
It doesnāt sound like the city at all.
Itās just this empty void that keeps reminding me of all the things Iām not doing with my life.
Of all the things I can never have back.
My chest tightens as a sudden wave of panic hits me.
My laptop screen dims and I quickly tap a key to keep it awake before Iām plunged into darkness.
Nothing moves, nothing stirs.
It feels like the world is holding its breath and waiting for me to say something.
Anything at all.
But I have nothing left to give.
I close my eyes and will myself to think of something, anything at all to put on the page.
But thereās nothing in here except darkness and despair.
I throw an arm over my face as a sob wracks through me and then another and another.
I donāt know how long I lay there, crying without making a sound or moving a muscle.
And then a chime breaks through the silence and pulls me from the depths of my despair.
I grab my phone and swipe a hand over it to remove the lock screen where three new messages are waiting for me from Michael Johnson.
He sends me so many messages every day that itās hard to keep up with them sometimes, let alone reply.
