Diary Of A Psychopath, The Wandering Mind.

I was sitting on the wooden floor, my arms were at the edge of the bed and my head rested on them. The sounds. They were so silent yet so loud. I could hear the wind, did it call my name? it whistled through the tiny empty holes in the walls. What a flirtatious element wind is, whistling and whispering in the dark of the night. I could hear the rustling of leaves. It seemed as they were fighting with each other. Obviously the wind caused them to collide. I heard my own breathing; it wasn’t as smooth as it used to be. It sounded hoarse. I heard the crunching of gravel. People outside the house walked on the footpath, their feet pressed on the ground. The sound was so crisp. My mind trailed off to finer details of the sounds. I was always a silent observer who would search for an element of supernatural in the voices we never seem to hear.

I could’ve been a writer with my way of words. Quite a successful one too! But screw my family and my horrid past that has destroyed me and has shattered my interest in life. Another tear fell. I was surprised there were still some left in me. This came out in the memory of all my journal’s and short stories I had ever written. I can’t recall where I kept them. I must’ve burned them with the rest of my belongings when I crossed over from sane to a psychopath. Ashes. They might still be somewhere in the air. Maybe they are in heaven. Do these materialistic things go to Heaven and Hell the same way humans do? I must arrange for a funeral immediately. Better write that down.

I walked up to the mirror and saw my best friend. I called her Ayesha. It was a simple name and belonged to the person I adored the most in life, myself. Ayesha and I sighed at the same time. Our timing was so perfect. I smiled and she did too. See? Perfection.

I started talking and she did to. I asked how she was but she didn’t reply. I said I was fine and then she did too. I complimented on what she wore. She did the same. We were dressed in a plain white Shalwar kameez. We also had a maroon shawl wrapped around us with our hair secured in a messy side pony tail. Simplest attire I saw in ages, I swear. We both smiled.

I decided to tell her about my family. That was one story I missed out on. Another tear fell. How can I have any emotion left in my heart for them?