t-thedigitaldiary

[t-thedigitaldiary]

Sincerely yours,

(part 1)

author’s note: heey,everyone.Basically this the first fiction i’ve ever written and I’m pretty new to this platform so I’m not entirely familiar with how to make my posts pretty but I truly hope you like it :).Also,for the hashtags,this work of fiction is not at all related to Ellie Williams (although the aesthetic is inspired by her in a.u fictions) nor the tlou world.I just really wanna be a part of the tlou fandom in here,since i will be posting related artworks later on and bc im new,i thought this was a nice way to start :).Last but not least,this piece is extremely personal to me and truly reflects my feelings.Anyways,hope you enjoy!

Warnings!: poor mental health condition (mention of depression multiple times & trauma,not in great detail though),violence (basically someone being hit with a water bottle lol)

Sunday afternoon. Ugh, you hated Sunday afternoons. Not because, like most people, you hated the upcoming Mondays, but because it was dull. Extremely dull, empty. You are not sure if the reason behind this emptiness is depression, but you have accepted it either way. Now that you think about it, you hated almost every afternoon. For the same exact reason. Even though you used to love the darkness of the night, something about the sun setting has now become extremely unsettling to you. ‘’Vitamin D my ass! ‘’, you thought. It wasn’t always like this, though. Something about the last six months has turned you into a living dead, a zombie if you may! No, actually, ‘’something’’ is a very unfair description of the cause. More like ‘’a very specific experience’’ has turned you. You had lost all your livelihood, all your appetite about almost everything and, suddenly, Sunday afternoons were not just dull, they were depressing. Just like every other afternoon of the week, just like every other time of the day. Every day. For the last six months. Wow. You thought about change a thousand times before. You prayed and you prayed that things were going to get better. You desperately asked the universe for a sign. A sign that you were going to survive this and live a happy life. No sign, no change ever came. Except for this peculiar Sunday afternoon. (Not so dull now, is it?)

You were laying on your back on top of your unmade bed. Blank white tee, black shorts, the same ones you’ve been wearing for over a week now (depression really gets the best of you, huh?). You were sitting with open legs and open arms. Your right, sock covered foot was bent and was softly brushing over your bare left knee. You had your hands thrown on top of your head. Someone that had just entered the room would’ve thought that this is the position of someone highly frustrated. Little would they know. In your mentally uncomfortable but physically soothing position you found yourself begging again. ‘’Please, universe, just one sign is all I’m asking for!” . You truly were desperate. You hated the life you were living, a life created in fucked up ways. All you needed was a sign. A sign of change, a sign that things were going to get better.

*knock knock*

The loud knocks on your bedroom door brought you back to Earth. What the fuck?! You were home alone for the entire weekend and you specifically remember locking the front door (you even double checked!!!). Now, you were not just surprised, you were also terrified. Whoever was knocking on your door definitely was not here for a good reason..

*knock knock knock*

You had no more time to think about it, you had to act. You went full-on survival mode. Even though you didn’t like the life you were living, you still wanted to live. You believed in that change. You collected every drop of bravery you had in you, grabbed your water bottle, the biggest object near and prepared for whatever it was behind that door. The knocks became louder and louder. You were sure now that within a bunch of seconds you were about to fight for your life. You shut your eyes close and took one last big breath. One last big breath befor-

The last loud noise heard was not from the knocking. It was the sound that your bottle and someone’s head made after they collided together. Oh, and the one of the body hitting the floor.

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[t-thedigitaldiary]

a mood board for a very personal fiction I’m writing🍒