Breathless

The light that shines through the window into the dark room is cold blue-grey. It once was a warm, sandstone orange like the Tuscan sun. The walls are hardly illuminated, full of shadows and shivers. When did it get so barren and bland? When did the life get so sucked out of the light? The sun's no longer yellow, but pure white. The sky's no longer blue, but pure white. The clouds are the only ones who stayed true during the day, already having lacked color, but during the evening... too, are bleached. And as the sun hides behind the hills, they become gradient until utter blackness.

I'm tired. It's tiring. Slow days of lulling grey, mixed with humidity and birds chirping, and the fatigue of merely living. I feel the pain in my bones, the tears that want to come out, but can't — the onslaught on my body drives me down into the ground. I lose my breath and it flees from me. Why can't I catch it with my net and nestle it back within my lungs where it belongs? I sigh, and sigh, and sigh, shallow sighs as desperate attempts at ensnaring breath. But it's not enough.

My eyes become heavy, difficult to hold open. My body wants to fall into a coma and I'm almost willing to abide. Electric pain courses down and throughout my body in unbearable waves. Each bolt drains the life out of me until there's nothing more to take. My eyes water, but I still can't cry. I moan, trying to let out the demon's in vain attempts. "Kill me now," I pray to Azrael. "Take the life from my bones, give mercy on my soul." But no voice answers in return. I lie in total silence... I lie in wait... I lie in slowly... waning... hope.

A semi-fictional vignette about fibromyalgia and the closely intertwined depression.