I'm writing this by the faint light of a train car, surrounded by the rhythmic rocking of steel wheels on tracks. The only sound that's managed to drown out the screams in my head.
I don't know how I ended up here. One minute I was wandering aimlessly through a crowded station, and the next, I was slipping onto this train just as it was leaving. No ticket, no plan... nothing. Just me and these three bags full of booze that have become my constant companions lately.
As I settled into my dorm on this godforsaken train, the conductor barely gave me a second glance. Maybe he's seen too many like me before – lost souls clinging to their vices for dear life. He tossed a sympathetic look my way and handed over a worn key card with a nod.
My dorm is small – cramped even – but it's mine for now. And mine alone, which is all that matters. The fluorescent lights above flicker occasionally, casting eerie shadows on the walls as we rumble through tunnels and bridges alike.
The silence is almost deafening when you're used to city sounds or people constantly asking questions you can't answer anymore. But amidst all this quietude lies an illusionary sense of peace... one that might last until we reach our first stop tomorrow morning perhaps?
I've got enough liquor stashed away in those three bags to last me at least till then – maybe longer if I pace myself correctly (laughs bitterly). Who knows? It might be enough to carry me through till we reach our final destination; wherever that hellhole may be...
It doesn't matter anyway because what else do I have except these bottles filled with oblivion? They've become more trustworthy than anyone walking around outside those flimsy doors separating us from everything else in existence...
You see... after that day, things haven't been right within these walls called 'my mind'. Everything turned upside down: words became meaningless whispers echoing off hollow corridors; laughter transformed into mocking jeers; every face morphed into his face – haunting reminders everywhere...
No amount of counseling or support groups could lift this crushing weight pinning me beneath its thumb day after agonizing day... so here lies Zarina: escaping reality one bottle at time while deluding herself she still has some semblance control left over her own life storybook pages ripped apart by merciless hands once upon an unlived lifetime ago