Hunger Games

Things can turn on a dime.

Yesterday, the train was making its way through beautiful meadows on what looked like a beautiful sunny day.

Now I'm here, lying on the damp floor in a basement with no lights. My body feels heavy, and I feel like I can't move. I don't want to move either. I feel nothing, just a pang of anxiety somewhere deep that's taken over me.

What happened and how did I end up here? I'm trying to piece together the details.

I think it's Monday today and perhaps there's a clue there. It's not been smooth sailing these last few weeks. Or has it been months? I have lost track of when all of this started. A dread fills my mind and takes over my body from the moment I wake up. That feeling stays in my gut throughout the day, mellows through the night and repeats the next day. I feel like the protagonist in Groundhog Day.

I seem to be doing things, but I have little memory or care of doing them. I am on auto-pilot for the most part. There is no joy to be found in anything I do. I used to like the coffee I made. Now, it feels like I'm just drinking something bitter and I can't seem to remember how or why I do it. The ritual is there - the joy isn't.

I remember how things used to be - I was doing this, I was doing that, and I was doing everything. I was doing it with everyone. We were doing it all together. I was happy and surrounded by happy people. My body seems to remember it too and almost immediately, in fits and coughs, my body spasms and I cry and I cry uncontrollably.

What happened today feels like a culmination of everything that's going on - all the festering.

They put me in a chair in what felt like a dark room, a bright light shining on me and started asking me questions.

It felt like an interrogation, nay, an accusation. I thought I was doing the right thing. Now, it feels I've been caught red handed doing the thing I did and that thing was bad. That thing is wrong. Everyone hates it. Everyone hates me.

I scream in anguish. YES. It's all my fault. What do you want me to say? Why do you keep asking me the same question over and over again? I already gave you all the answers. Why are you doing this to me?

One day you are flying high, feeling the wind in your hair. The next, you're curled up on the floor of a damp dark basement.

Things do turn on a dime.