There she was, laying motionless- watching her ceiling fan spin; wondering, “Is this what life is supposed to feel like?”
Her days had become repetitive &she felt like she was slowly losing touch- with what she wasn’t sure. But something didn’t feel right. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she loathed her parents for her life; forcing her to run in the human race. Run until her heart gives out, her legs collapse &her mind… her mind, as it plots against her, opposing its survival instincts. She was breathing all night, hoping it would eventually become halfway decent sleep.
Creative Writing about those nights, you know the ones I mean.