by Reem Dafaalla
I’ve walked a long road of flaming lava, walked every inch of it, endured the pain – even found pleasure within the painful burning sensations yet when I was met with the first turn. I was determined to see what this new pathway holds. As the tips of the broken glass, the thorny broken glass that stretches miles before my eyes, touched my bare skin and sliced their way up to my insides, with each passing second, the throbbing escalated. I felt my self coming to life – it took me to whole new level of onerous aura. It made me feel alive. I strolled slowly taking in all the mixed yet homogeneous emotions I was receiving. Luxuriating. I walked and walked until the glass beneath me no longer affected me, I was numb. That’s when I knew I’ll encounter another turn, I was ecstatic. My third bend was a bit different, the moment I took the turn I was welcomed with darkness and silence, the type normal people might find deeply perturbing. Conversely, I found it very inspiriting. I heard nothing but my thoughts, the darkest of them, squealing right at me in full volume, clouding my ears with assumptions and dilemmas I’ve been trying to despise. Out of oblivion flashbacks started to distort my vision, flashbacks of incidents I supplicated they never originated, flashbacks I was craving to obliterate. They say mental excruciation is worse than the physical one – poppycock, it’s rejuvenating. My mind was functioning in full power trying to take in all what’s happening, all at once, frightened that it might be over before I utterly delight in it, dauntingly enjoying the satisfying ache.
I was vivaciously suffocating in my own miasma. Wallowing. Pain is what kept me going, I lived for the agony…