I'm frozen—trapped inside my mind, buried under layers of thoughts that echo louder than anything outside. The isolation has become a prison, but not the kind you can see. No, this one builds its walls inside your head. And now? I don't know what's real anymore. The silence in my room feels thick, like it has weight, pressing down on me with every breath I take.
Is this a ghost tormenting me? Or is it my own trauma, rising up to take form and haunt me from the inside out? Both feel equally suffocating—too real to ignore, too close to call.
I stare at the door again. There's a figure standing there. A woman. I can't make out her face—it's blurry, like she's part of a fading memory, distant and out of reach. But everything else... the hair, the height, the posture... it's all just like my mother.
Then something shifts.
That night. The car. The crash.
Why am I remembering this now?
The figure fades, disappearing into thin air, like smoke slipping through the cracks of my reality. But in its absence, a storm of memory takes over, dragging me back in time. The sensation hits me like a flood, the images, sounds, smells crashing into my mind with brutal force.
We were just driving. Casual. Calm. I remember the sun was setting—orange spilling across the road like spilled paint. The sky was bleeding color, the kind of beauty that makes you forget everything else. Then, out of nowhere, this red car pulls up beside us. Some lunatic behind the wheel, revving the engine like he was in a street race.
My mom looked at him, unimpressed. "Idiot," she whispered, shaking her head, her voice dripping with disdain. She didn't want trouble. She didn't take the bait.
But he did.
He dropped gears and floored it. I still hear the roar of that engine—the violent growl that sent shivers down my spine. Then, the sudden, sharp swerve. BAM.
Metal against metal. Glass exploding. Tires screeching. And then… silence.
The kind of silence that rings in your ears long after the chaos is over. The kind of silence that clings to you, suffocating, like a second skin.
My mom's last words still haunt me. "Be safe," she whispered, her voice cracked and soft, right before everything went black. I remember the warmth of her hand on mine, the soft hum of the engine as we drove, the steady rhythm of the world. Gone, in an instant.
The red car didn't make it either. I saw the driver's eyes—wild, desperate, like he knew what was coming but couldn't stop it. His face was twisted in fear, frozen in that moment of inevitability.
He died too.
I woke up alone in the wreckage. Screaming. Crying. Covered in blood that wasn't even mine. The air was thick with smoke, the sharp tang of metal and burning rubber choking me. My chest heaved, each breath jagged and painful, like the air itself was broken.
I come to, gasping for air as if I've been underwater for hours. The faint hum of the engine running in the distance mixes with the distant wail of sirens. But it's not real. It can't be. This isn't happening again.
I close my eyes, trying to steady myself. But then, I hear it again.
A knock. Soft. Delicate. Not the kind you get when someone's asking to come in. No, this one is... unsettling. It feels like it's coming from inside me, not my body. It feels like my mind is knocking on the door, demanding to be heard. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to feel it. I don't want to remember. But it's there, relentless, like the claws of the past sinking deeper into my skin, scraping against the tender places I try to hide.
I sit up, vision still blurry, my body shaking with tremors I can't control. The room's too quiet. Too still. But my heart? It's pounding in my ears, a frantic rhythm that doesn't match the stillness around me.
It wasn't just a crash. It wasn't just a moment of tragedy. It was my fault.
The guilt rises, crawling up my throat, choking me, clawing at my insides. It's too much. It's always too much. I think of my mom's last words—her soft plea that echoes in my head, a whisper lost in the wind. Be safe. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? She was already gone. It was too late.
And I... I didn't even save her.
Another knock—this one louder. Closer.
I stand, my legs heavy, like they've been weighed down with cement. Every movement feels like it takes twice the effort, like I'm walking through mud. But I move toward the door. Every step feels like I'm sinking deeper into the ground, deeper into a place I can't escape.
My fingers hover over the knob, trembling like a leaf in the wind. I hesitate. I don't know what's out there. Who's out there. My mind is already tearing itself apart. My memories flash back to the wreckage—the blood, the pain. The weight of what I didn't do.
Maybe it's a ghost. Maybe it's my mind breaking into pieces, trying to show me something I can't handle. But I have to open the door. I have no choice.
I twist the knob, my hand shaking as I push the door open, half-expecting to see… I don't even know what. The figure? A reflection of myself? The guilt?
But instead, I find only emptiness.
The hallway is silent. No one's there. Just shadows stretching across the walls, fingers reaching for me, beckoning me into their depths.
The knocking stops, leaving an eerie quiet behind.
I stand in the doorway, staring into the nothingness, trying to make sense of the silence. Was I wrong? Was this a figment of my mind? The isolation... the darkness... the memories? How much of this is real?
Then, it hits me.
It doesn't matter anymore.
None of it does. I can't undo what's already been done. The voices are in my head, the haunting figures, the memories—they'll always be there, circling, waiting to devour me.
But maybe… maybe that's okay.
Maybe I'm meant to face the ghosts of my past. The trauma. The guilt. Maybe I'm meant to live with it, not run from it. As much as I hate the thought, maybe my punishment is just to survive—to live in this fractured reality until the very end.
I shut the door with a soft click, leaning against it as my breathing steadies. The silence hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating, like the calm before the storm.
A silence.
Then, another knock.
But this time, I don't move.
This time, I'm not afraid.