Secret by Batool Hasan

You see, I’ve been standing on this bridge for quite a while now. The molded planks are rough with age, tiny wooden needles digging into my bare feet. The pain is sweet, momentarily at least, comforting my nerves. An endless black abyss stretches below me, surrounded by a dense dark forest. The smell of rot is rich in the air as my lungs burn, consuming it. The traffic of venomous voices shuffling around in my head collides with a tornado of my own grim thoughts, unbalancing me. 


Caught in a state of vertigo, I hear them inside my head and I hear them outside my head. I break through my frozen stance and lunge forward, falling hard on the set of wooden planks ahead. Blood and sweat paint a thin layer on my body as I fight back the tears, it’s too early for tears. The bridge skids to the side as I stretch my arms forward to grip the plank in front of me. Gasping for air through the murky fog manifesting around me-

The frail threads linking the planks of wood cushioning my legs snap and I fall backwards, my hands catching on the edge of the ropes.


I feel their shallow touches on my mind. I hear them yearning for absolution, a better ending, a cheat.

Blood trickles from my battered palms and—

I slip. I fall.

No longer resisting gravity, no longer ignoring the pull.

I pray to God but I can’t distinguish my prayers from their cries.


I’m ready to be shattered, ready to be thrashed into a peaceful state of limbo.


The fog is blinding so I close my eyes, unable to tell how much longer I’ll have to wait. My heart drops as I open my eyes again.

My feet are firmly placed on the bridge once again.


Here comes the mania

The pressure on my skull increases and I clamp my hands over my ears.


My heart twists and turns inside my chest, nothing but a stiff lump of mixed emotions. All I ever wanted was to see two vertical gashes adorning both my forearms. They were never deep enough because no amount of self-inflicted pain could counteract the agony I keep reliving inside my head.

Why? Just why?

It’s like a switch. I turn it off. They turn it back on.

I’m exhausted from harboring this secret, this untold truth. Maybe I lost my sense of reality while roaming the roads depression led me on.

No, maybe I’m simply delirious.

How can I be lost when I’m home?

Soft dust swirls around me in a haze of bewilderment, almost tickling me. My body isn’t proud of me. They turned my forearms into a beautiful canvas of crimson red streaks. Scars peek shyly between the red lines on my arms, slightly curving into crescent moons like shallow smiles.

Smiles or frowns?


”How’d you get these scars?” They’d ask.

“Oh, it was the cat!” I’d answer. Silly cat making perfect parallel lines on my wrists.

I claw at my heart, hoping to stop their pain from poisoning my veins. These voices, they’re not demons, they’re variations of me. Their words bleed accusations drawing depthless rivers interlocking with each other across my thighs.

I often think about heaven and hell. What if hell is as cold as the inner depths of their souls? What if it’s as lonely as the lost look in my eyes?

What if it’s as sad as…

I laugh at myself, never mind, I’ll find out soon enough.

Secrets have a way of intoxicating your mind until you’re nothing but a mess of pure cynical skin. I’ve given myself so many names to satisfy all the changes, all the variations, but they’ve all lost their meaning to me.

I feel everything and they feel nothing. This hunger feeds from a place between their greed and my useless pride, hunger for…



I feel nothing towards them.

I can’t take it anymore.





Beep Beep Beep

I force my eyes open, blinking away the blurriness of my vision. I move to the side while furiously slapping my phone with my left hand to turn off the alarm. I lie on my back for a few minutes, mesmerized by the tiny cracks in the dirty ceiling. Reluctantly, I pull the warm sheets away, cringing at the sight of dry blood and swollen cuts on my wrists.

I’m just the girl with voices in her head.

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