The Black Molly

            3:23 AM. The faint light of the digital numbers contrasts sharply with the darkness of the room as she stares vacantly at the ceiling above her head. Her body aches with exhaustion, but sleep will not come. She has a good life. There is nothing so terrible about it to make it seem worthy of depression. She knows she is fortunate to be living her particular life, but still, she cannot escape the darkness inside of her. She fears if she allows herself to go back to sleep, the blackness of her mind will send her plunging back into wakefulness, leaving her more exhausted than if she had abstained from sleep altogether. So she sits, motionless, her mind numb, not thinking about anything and not feeling any desire.

            7:48 AM. 12 minutes until her alarm is set to go off. She doesn’t know why she bothers setting it every night. She’s always awake before it goes off. Sometime in the night she had fallen back to sleep, but the heavy feeling in her stomach and the tears on her face were indicative of the nightmares that had soon awakened her. And so her day begins as always. The sequel will be no better. She hears the voices of her housemates and waits until they have gone before leaving her room so they will not question her demeanor. A dark mind in a bright personality—these things are hard to reconcile.

            9:36 PM. He talks to her and she listens, mechanically saying yes, and strange, useless thoughts come over her, probably because she hasn’t slept all night. She notices his look of concern, but ignores it. She doesn’t care what he thinks anymore. He offers her a hug, but she rejects it, and a guilty feeling passes over her. She suspects that they are friends but doesn’t know how long it will last. He leaves and she watches the fish swim, bright and shining in the low light, and they dance and beg for food and somewhere, hidden behind the bright, fake plants, the black one is dead. She wonders what went wrong as she buries it outside beneath the budding spring flowers.