Now that I was outside I slowly started to calm down. My tight bundle of nerves slowly loosened as I stared out at the darkening sky. A sky covered with a multitude of dark blue and purple clouds, slowly rolling across the horizon unimpeded, striking a sense of envy and longing within me for reasons I couldn't explain.
It was then, giving one last glance to the hospital behind me, than I began walking forward, my pace slow and carefree as I moved with no destination in mind. My mind was blank, my only thoughts revolving around my immediate surroundings and deciding which direction I should take. This lasted for what felt like hours. Until, finally, I came to a stop, finding myself in an unfamiliar area at the top of a grassy hill, the grass a bright green even in the darkened surroundings. On top of which a great oak tree stood, steady and tall at the centre of the hill. Nearby the edge of a lazily flowing stream could be seen, the sound of the flowing water releasing a soothing song. I looked around once more, the sky now thoroughly dark with only a few scant sightings of starlight held within and the streets all but deserted except for the rare passerby rushing along.
I sat down upon the hill, uncaring towards the grass stains that would inevitably be found upon my trousers, and stared towards the spilling river, getting lost in the mesmerising flow the water followed. As I stared ahead I finally allowed myself time to think, to truly think about my situation and what it meant. To think about my death. Tears quickly started to pour out the moment I did, running down my face like the river along the bank. Unable to keep everything bottled up, I released a string of screams and wails into the nighttime air that travelled miles in all directions.
While I continued releasing all my rage and sadness, I couldn't stop thinking about the unfairness of it all. 'Why? Why did this have to be me? Have I not suffered enough? Been through enough fucking shit already? Is this punishment for something I did in a past life? What could I have possibly fucking done to deserve this kind of fucked up life?'
Feeling the pit of burning rage within me growing with every thought I had I quickly stood up, turning towards the magnificent oak tree to my right before exploding into a fit of violence. Instantly I released a flurry of punches at the bark of the tree, too blinded by my anger to feel the onset of tears and spasms in my muscles. It was only after what must have been a couple of minutes, when I finally came to a stop and bent over gasping for air from exhaustion, that I looked at the blood-covered knuckles of my hands and felt a sudden rush of pain wash over me. Cries of agony rushed out my throat as I collapsed into a shuddering ball under the evergreen leaves of the oak tree. Yet I greeted such a feeling with sick delight, happy for the welcome distraction it provided me, wanting to keep my mind away from the unavoidable truth of my upcoming death.
After I had laid down curled up in a ball for close to an hour in a catatonic state, no longer able to weep for my tears had run dry, I slowly sat up; making sure to do so carefully with both my blood-torn hands. A freezing wind blew across my skin making me hiss in pain when it came into contact with my fists. I looked up towards the sky once more, the sky now pitch black with only a luminous, crescent-shaped moon hanging above, high up in the midnight sky.
Realising how late it was, I knew I should probably start to head back home before I ended up spending the whole night in the numbing cold, an idea I wasn't terribly adverse to. Feeling exhausted, both mentally and physically I slowly stood up, needing to use the now blood-stained, but undamaged, tree for support. Once I finally felt stable, stable enough to at least not collapse underneath my own weight, I began to walk home. Doing my best to retrace my steps before finding an area I was more familiar with and knew the way back from.
During the walk, just like after I had left the hospital, I tried desperately to focus on my surroundings in an effort to distract myself. I stared at the large brick houses that showcased just how nice the area I had stumbled upon was, the many different cars which lined the road, anything to keep my mind away from focusing on my true thoughts and feelings. Even the streets themselves which wound up being virtually barren, only passing by a handful of people during the entire walk, each of whom looked at me in shock. Reminding me of how much of a mess I must have looked. In hindsight, I must have looked like a madman with my blood-coated fists.
It didn't take long before I started to recognise the area I was in and got closer and closer to home. The houses became smaller and dingier and the acidic smell of rot and fumes got thicker and denser, carried along by the blowing wind. And there before me, after only a few more minutes, was home. A place, that despite leaving less than twenty-four hours before, I felt like I hadn't seen in months.
I quickly shook my head, banishing the misery-induced thoughts that tried to worm themselves in and looked back to my home. In truth, to call it a house was extremely generous. A dilapidated shack would be a fairer assessment. It shakily stood at one storey tall, half covered in a peeling white paint. The other half was covered in the black mould that could be found within. The wooden structure itself was filled with an assortment of chips and cracks, looking as if it would snap in half under its own minuscule weight.
Out front, on the weed-infested driveway sat my dad's most prized possession, his 1990 Ford F350. A dull red truck that would seem more at home in a junkyard than in front of a home. With its rusted bumper, broken tail lights and worn tyres it amazed me each and every day that he would even be able to get it started, let alone moving.
Seeing that the truck was there and knowing it meant my dad had already come back home, I prayed to god that he had already gone to sleep. With how mentally and physically exhausted I was, I didn't know whether I would be able to come up with a coherent lie about where I had been if he was still awake. Cautiously, I opened the front door as quietly as possible. That was until I heard the creaking of the hinges and the splintering floorboards and realised the futility of such an action.
As I stepped inside I was greeted with the first bit of good news I received all day. An empty living room bathed in darkness and the booming snores of my dad a couple of doors away. Thankful for the small act of mercy and not wanting to tempt fate, I quickly shut the door behind me before all but sprinting on the tips of my toes towards my room. It was only when I was safe inside did I let out a sigh of relief, grabbing my sleepwear as I carelessly chucked my bag beside my bed, my only focus on getting ready for bed before I collapsed on the floor in exhaustion.
After changing clothes and as I was lying on my bed, I realised I hadn't checked my phone once since I awoke in the hospital, my phone having not been a priority at the time. When I opened my phone I saw I had one unopened message from over six hours ago. Without even looking I knew exactly who it was; though with the amount of contacts I had, it was hardly a difficult guess.
I opened Sam's message, doing my best to focus on the meandering words through my quickly blurring vision long enough to see what he said. Luckily for me, it was only a short message asking whether I was alright. A message that almost made me burst into raucous laughter at the irony of it, with my situation being worse than anyone could have expected.
Wanting nothing more than to just go to sleep and forget all about today I responded with a simple confirmation saying we would talk more tomorrow. Once sent I all but tossed my phone onto the floor, not caring whether it gained another scratch or two to add to its extensive collection. I climbed underneath my duvet, cherishing the small amount of warmth it provided until, within moments, I was out like a light.