Immortal Illness E-Book

Emilia Sayaka Sarajlija

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 51

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

"It's okay to not feel okay." Immortal Illness, written by the same author as Crimson Purple, is an emotional thriller with a slightly comedic twist to it. You are the protagonist, a young adult suffering from insomnia, traumas and chronic depression. This story is the protagonist's way of coping with the inner demons she has, and how to escape the endless circle that depression causes. Immortal Illness is a tale about love, hate and the sacrifices one might have to make in order to understand the meaning behind the simple yet complicated word 'happiness'.

Leseprobe

Day 3650: Wow, I’ve been writing these silly diaries for ten whole years now. Yay, I guess… I don’t usually go through the things though, since they’re just inner thoughts about my illness, but maybe I should reread some of it. My mother recommended it, since all my current thoughts are basically in shackles right now. I’m stuck with my chronically depressed ways of thinking and cannot find any means out of this, so what’s the point, honestly? And insomnia, on top of that. I know, even I think I’m too bothersome for this world. Right now, the only thing keeping me alive is… well, that’s a good question. What am I living for? I’m 21 years old, living alone, unemployed, single, with no social life except some vague contact with my mother over the phone (and my imaginary friends), I don’t have any talents… Yeah, you get the hint. I’m not taking any antidepressants or sleeping pills anymore, as they don’t affect me, so I need to keep filling these pages to keep myself sane.

“I think that’s enough writing for today”, I casually say out loud to myself while putting my diary away, but not hiding it. Maybe my imaginary friends want to read it, who knows. Azalea and Aconite are like the little sister and big brother I never had. Imaginary or not, they’re my all. I even named them after flowers because of my love for the cute things. Azalea got the name because she is very gentle and loving, while Aconite got his name from his kind of toxic personality, though he always means well in the end. “I hope you’ll find your meaning someday then,” a sweet voice from nowhere tells me. It's the innocent little Azalea. Seems like she has been sitting beside me the whole time I was occupied with the diary, while Aconite was chilling out in my bed. He makes a comment about being impressed how I’ve dedicated myself to writing every day for 10 years. “Thanks, you two… I don’t know if I’ll have a happy ending, but I suppose I’m not writing in vain,” I respond, mentally exhausted as usual. It is embarrassing that I’ve kept these guys by my side for longer than the average child. I’m an adult now: Aren’t imaginary friends supposed to vanish at, what, 12 years old? Well, my friends stayed, and they have been the most loyal people in the world to me. It’s safe and comfortable in my bubble, so I don’t see a reason why I should be taking a needle and make an exit for myself. I don’t want to lose Azalea and Aconite anyways. If there is something I’m really living for, it’s them.

“What do you want to do, now that you’ve written the daily stuff down?”, Aconite asks from the bed. His appearance is very bad boyish, with a black leather jacket and ripped jeans that matches his image. He decided to dye his hair from brunette to black and pierce his ears, even. Maybe to match everything else. He basically looks like he belongs in a motorcycle gang… If he was real, anyway. He hates when I call him ’big brother’ instead of his actual name though. I don’t know what’s up with that, but whatever.

“We should play a game! That sounds fun, doesn’t it?”, the childish Azalea makes a remark and starts looking around my awkwardly furnished room for inspiration. Azalea is pretty much the opposite of Aconite: Beautiful, cheery and fragile in both character and appearance. She is very petite and loves her baby blue clothing, which is a light blue blouse with a longer white skirt. She usually has her dark blonde hair put up in a neat bun or ponytail.

“As long as it’s not a shitty game, I’m in,” Aconite says without giving any thought to the fact that I don’t like when he swears.

“Stop the swearing already, Aconite. And I’m too tired to play any games, Azalea. Sorry. I just… wish I could fall asleep already,” I say pessimistically while going to the small kitchen. I’m way too skinny because my source of energy are these forsaken snack bars. I’m not good at cooking, so I usually just let mom cook my meals when she comes over for a visit. The thing is, I don’t like having people here, other than Azalea and Aconite. I can hear the two of them bickering in the other room, as they sometimes do like actual siblings, so I decide to stay in the kitchen and rest my head on the round, tiny dinner table. “This chair is uncomfortable, but it’ll do for a quick nap.” I slowly close my eyes and begin to drift away.

I wake up on the floor in a strange-looking hall somewhere unknown. I have no idea where I am nor how I got here. Didn’t I just fall asleep? I sit up and look around. There are no doors or windows anywhere; it’s simply a long, bright hallway. It’s giving me claustrophobic vibes.

“… Hello?”, I call out in hope for an answer, but all I hear is my voice echoing back, as if slapping me in the face. I realize this is probably a dream and lays back down, waiting it out. In an instant, I’ll be gone from this creepy place. As soon as I begin to return to reality, a noise awakens me, disturbing me from getting back to Azalea and Aconite. A noise I’m all too familiar with.

“Hello?” I repeat myself in the direction where I can hear the desperate sobbing, but I don’t see anyone. Strange. But then, when I turn my head back, two eyes meet mine. Pitch black orbs are staring right at me. It’s a little girl with horizontal white-and-black stripes, with no other features than her short-length black hair, with bangs hanging all the way down over her eyes.

“Hello,” she greets me. Her voice sounds young and adorable but tragic, as if she’s been through something horrible just now. “I need help.” She continues. “Can you save me?”

I don’t know what to do, since I have to save myself from this dream. Oh, I forgot: This IS a dream, so why am I even listening to this girl? “Sorry, but I’m getting out of here,” I tell her. I try not to come across as too harsh, but I don’t care. It’s a dream, dummy.