They said that it was a bad idea.
Evil, in fact.
Revolting, but I knew that it was the thing that would save me.
I could never have conceived it, but once the idea was in my head, whirling round and writhing like a worm, I knew that it was the key to everything.
It was such a simple idea, and with every screaming debate and rage fuelled twitter storm, I was overwhelmed with excitement.
Finally, there was a cure for my malady.
All of my life, I had belonged to my bug, dedicated to the discipline that kept me healthy, and kept me from spreading my sickness to somebody else.
“Wake up early, Mia.” I would whisper to myself as I climbed into bed at night. “Every day is a brand new opportunity to be good.”
I would meditate, breathing deeply, and often. I’d watch happy films, to keep my spirits up. Musicals and comedies, and listen to music with sunny, sweet melodies.
I’d whisper kindly to myself every night as I fell asleep, hoping to save myself from what I would always become, but unfortunately, he liked to whisper too.
He’d wrap his arms around me, his lips snaking down the back of my neck, as he whispered his wishes into my ear.
I’d cry, praying that my tears would fade as I fell asleep, but there was no sleep, until he was satisfied.
He would never let me sleep without it.
His craving was too strong, and it became my sickness, so I would lie awake, sick as a dog, staring at the ceiling and hearing his irritated, furious sighs until it was time for me to give in, and give him what he wanted.
It was always the same, and it still is, even now that I have found my path to some kind of release.
He wants to see my darkness. It belongs to him, as much as I do, so he cannot be denied, and I am nothing more than his possession.
I told him once that I had no darkness, and he laughed, for the longest time. It echoed and endlessly swallowed up the room, until all I had was the laughter
I wanted to please him, for the promised freedom, but every time, it got clearer that the freedom would never find me.
“Give me something, sweet baby.” He’d whisper, his arms tightening with every word.
I tried to breathe through it. It was just one little moment. I could make it through one little moment.
Another little moment would follow, and another. There was no rest, or respite. No relief or release.
“I need a little something, sugar bear.”
I would succumb. He knew it, and so did I. There was nothing else to do.
I would rise from my bed, and open up all of my dating apps, my tired eyes teary at the burst of light from my screen as I swiped on as many suitors as I could find. It wouldn’t take long. A few minutes of small talk, followed by the promise of an immediate meet up at my place, and soon, they were in my arms.
We would share drinks, kiss, and then he would interrupt.
He never wanted them to have me, that was all just a ruse. I was his pure, little flower. He told me that all the time. Nobody could have my darkness but him, so all he would allow them was a kiss.
Always with a slight smile as they backed away in confusion, feverishly fiddling with the locked door as I looked away, wincing as their bones crunched and their screams filled the air.
I used to pretend that I didn’t feel any guilt. It was them or me, so I was just choosing to survive the night, but with each body that littered my floor, and each missing person on the news, it became harder and harder to hide from my guilt.
They didn’t want to die. They always fought him, struggling right up to the end. I didn’t look, but I could always hear it. As I cleaned up their bodies and cleaned up our wounds, I could see how much they had wanted to live, and I could barely live with my part in it all.
I had never asked for him. He was just always within me. Him, and his dirty desires, his lust and longing for that final breath and pools of blood.
He was surprisingly disgusted at the new initiative from the government. I thought that he’d be thrilled by the idea of fathomless fatalities, but it offended all of his sensibilities.
An app, just like so many that clogged up our phones, where users could request a meeting with one another. Not to date, or hook up, but to die.
Maybe they were sick, maybe they were tired of the human experience. It didn’t matter. No questions asked, if you wanted to leave the land of the living, it was now only a few swipes away.
There were protests, of course, furious panel debates and rallies in the streets. People speculated that the government was pushing it to get rid of members of society that were inconvenient to them. I could see that being a very real possibility, but I also saw the possibility of release.
I could be free.
No more a slave to my sickness. Lifted from under my darkness and taken to somewhere safe. I could go to a place where he could no longer find me.
He fought, just like everyone that had expired before my very eyes over the years. He pleaded and pummelled his fists against the walls, begging and bargaining as I set up the profile.
I swiped on every sicko who posted their wish to feel what I had felt night after night, but it turns out that it’s just a fantasy for most of them.
Cowards… Bloody cowards, all of them. Spineless, stupid little worms who can’t ever follow through.
Despite his indignation, I will keep searching, because there has to be someone like me out there, who can finally set me free. There must be someone out there that is a perfect match for me.
I’ll keep looking, tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after. Every day is a brand new opportunity to be good.
Sincerely, Jennifer x 