Little Freak (h.s)

Prologue

I started writing just because I was feeling blue. I was never intended to be a writer but my heart was feeling as heavy as my head and I wanted to cry on the paper so the pain would stop. I was writing poetry, I was writing short novels and stories that nobody ever would hear about or even worse read. And all of a sudden, I wanted to be known. I wanted people to feel what I was feeling and to know that if they want a shoulder to cry on, mine was always free. I started writing because all of a sudden I was feeling powerful. I had this dull idea that I would be one of the few that will change the world. But my heavy feelings took a turn in me. Suddenly, I didn't have a muse, I stopped writing my thoughts and express myself. I became half. I remember that day clearly.

I had just woken up. The pain I was feeling in my head was enough to make me stay in bed all day long and won't do a simple task that I was required to do. I was listening to music, just classical so I couldn't relate to the lyrics. I had lost a piece of me, I had lost a piece of my identity.

I look outside my curtain and I see that everything is dark. It is late and the whole town is sleeping so I decide that it is the perfect opportunity for a walk. I know where I am going to go. To the bridge. The little one that would be lit up enough for me to not die but scary enough to be afraid that someone would kill me. At least, they would take the pain away and I wouldn't need morphine to suppress my feelings.

I am walking in the dark, all alone. My earphones are playing a soft melody so I can calm down. What is wrong with me?

I sit to my regular sit and I take my earphones off. I want to listen to the sound that the wind and the sea are making. I am in the middle of the road and the only thing that I am seeing is the sea under my feet. I am looking at it and for a moment I feel serene. Everything seems calmed and even if I know that not everything is the same as it once was, I feel peaceful in that state of mind. So peaceful that I could write something.

I open my notebook, I always have it with me. But when I start writing the words come out empty. There is not a simple meaning behind them and I am afraid to continue writing something empty. The paper in my hands is feeling as empty as me, no it is emptier that makes me wanna cry even more. I have the said writer's block and I can't get over it for the past six months.

I have to start writing my new novel. But how can I do that when nobody is a muse, when nothing is a muse and the void in me is calling my name louder and louder every day?

I hear steps from behind me. I don't want to look back at that person and see who they are. If I am to die, I am happy that it is that moment when nobody is waiting something for me. I feel a hand on my shoulder and that is the only moment that I look up and see the stranger that feel so comfortable to touch me. I thought for a second of time that they were going to push me to the sea so I could drown. Why didn't they do it?

I look up and my eyes met with two green eyes. I know him from somewhere, he is a familiar stranger.

"What are you doing here all alone? It's late and a little bit scary may I add" he say to me.

"I like sitting here and think" I answer his question simply. He looks at me like I am some kind of freak but he doesn't say anything. Instead he lets out a breath and asks me something that I didn't expect to hear.

"Can I sit with you? I won't talk to you if you don't want me to."

"You can do whatever you want."

He sits down next to me and admires the darkness of the view in front of us. I knpw that in a few moments the sun will come up again and the stolen moments that I wanted to have, they would end.

"Difficult day?" I ask him this time. He turns his head and looks at me.

"Difficult life to be more specific" he answers but his voice comes out as a whisper like he didn't want me to hear what he just said.