Night Week Death

He loved life. The sun was shining, and felt warm on his face. Not that it wasn’t already, but today was looking to be a great day, as always, for him. It was only Monday morning, and he felt the positive energy flowing deep inside himself, and all around him.

Day, however, bleeds into the night as blood flows from arteries exploded open. This night, for this man, would lead to an internal death to which no eternal slumber can compare.

His night, as they always do, began in the evening.

“Is something wrong?” Asked his loving wife of two years.
“No, why?”
“Well, you’ve been acting almost… irritated, agitated, if I had to give it a word.”
“Huh, nope, not at all, feel fine, like I always do.” He paused to reflect upon his actions, minor as though they may be. “At least, I think I do.”

She always could pick out the little things in life, that’s one of the reasons he loved her so much. She found details, and he enjoyed them, the whole process was always magical.

It was just before dinner on Tuesday night when he noticed little grand thoughts in his head that were never there before. This is stupid, irrelevant, and boring, they said as he watched the news. He was interested in hearing about the extinguished 6-alarm fire in the government building downtown, near enough to where he worked, but surfed the channels anyway. This only made his thoughts angrier, more irritated. But he didn’t know what to do. Luckily, he soon found one of his favorite shows on from when he was a little younger. The nostalgia helped to drown out the thoughts, slow them down, distract them, make them fewer and far between.

But not stop them.
He felt a bit listless the rest of the night, and told his wife he just felt tired. He managed to play his old self fairly well.

It was on Wednesday night after dinner that his new thoughts had began to give him a headache. Well, not his new thoughts exactly, but him, trying to force his old thoughts to happen again, the ones of joy, the vibrant, joyful thoughts, making them fight, compete. The new ones, the violent, cruel ones, the vexed, hateful ones, the ones against life (in particular, his own life, but also those of the faceless bodies that fill the streets), won. Once it got late enough, he took some headache medication, and talked to his wife.

“Hey, honey, do you ever have thoughts that you think you can’t avoid?”
“How do you mean?”
“I dunno, like, ones that make you feel depressed?”
“Of course, everyone gets those kinds of thoughts every now and again.”
“What do you do to stop them?”
“Hell, well, lots of things, I guess, you could listen to a happy song, or even whistle or hum it; make a list of all the things good in your life–”
“I don’t think that–”
“Ooh, one thing I did that really helped, during this particularly bad time in my life, before I met you, I listened to some self-help recordings, I know hypnosis doesn’t really work, and know it’s pretty silly now, but it helped me during that time, to change my frame of mind.”

He thought of a million ways to dismiss her ideas, he knew they weren’t talking about the same thing. He no longer knew why he asked her for advice. He wanted to tell her his thoughts, explain them to her, but he couldn’t even explain them to himself. And he didn’t want to frighten her the way that his thoughts oftentimes frightened him. They’re eating away at his personality.

“Thanks,” he said with an honest smile applied to his face; she tried her best. She smiled back, and looked at him with her gorgeous and soulful emerald eyes. He could feel her love for him in those eyes, and in his heart, but not his mind. In his mind, there was only darkness and pain. He grabbed at his temples.

“I have a headache, babe, I think I’m just gunna head to bed.”
“Alright, feel better, I’ll probably join you when this show is done.”
Shortly, she came and gave him a kiss, then crawled into bed beside him. He rolled over and spooned with her, held her tight in his arms, and for the final moments before he slept, thought that he felt love in his mind once more.

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