Tonight is different. It could have been like any other night, but tonight, he has chosen to escape.
As he walks, a cold breeze slashes through the sweat trickling down his forehead. The night is chilly, yet he is almost fuming. His heart hammers against his ribs — its frantic rhythm could convince anyone he has just finished a sprint across the empty road. Fortunately, there is no one here to witness his struggle, to see the way his feet drag like those of a corpse, or to notice how each step feels heavier to him than his last. The wind seems to whisper to him, urging that he turn back and return to his room, where the messengers of the night await him. They came for him again, just as they do every night. But tonight, they arrived armed with more than just words.
They demonstrate an uncanny familiarity with his thoughts as if they have always been watching. They know his thoughts before he does, sifting through his mind and all its regrets and denials, doubts and judgments. One speaks of the future, painting a grim certainty of failure that he must learn to accept, and another of the past, dredging up mistakes long buried that bring merely a lingering discomfort. A third gossips about his friends — murmuring of deceit, of betrayal, and of the masks they wear when he is around. And the fourth never speaks, only gesticulates, his crooked sneer feeding the fear that gnaws at his core — that he does not belong. Not among his peers. Not at work. Not even at home. He is at best an undeserving outsider, a mere shadow of the people he is surrounded by.
Yet, for all their torment, they offer him something he can no longer find elsewhere. They listen when no one else does. They nod in agreement at his darkest and most gruesome thoughts. Their cruel affirmations feel like a twisted form of validation, providing almost a sinful sense of achievement. As their words wound him, he started to crave their company. He dreads their visits, but he also longs for them. Without them, there is only silence. And in that silence, he is alone.
He walks on. His eyes trace the decaying leaves scattered across the freshly asphalted road, their crisp edges stark against the black surface, like clouds glinting in the sky above him. As he nears a flickering streetlight, a shadow shifts in the periphery of his vision. He breathes a sharp gasp, his racing heart threatens to burst from his chest. But when he turns, he sees a watchman, slumped beneath the glow, half-asleep. The tension in his chest loosens, just slightly. A bitter smile tugs at his lips. He checks his watch. 4:24 AM — it has been over two hours outside. He tilts his head back, gazing at the sky, where scattered stars emerge through the heavy clouds.
The night seems to be challenging him, roaring at him and daring him to confront it. The blinding sparks of lightning summon him to stop thinking, to stop running away, and to return to the messengers it has sent for him. His feet are slowly giving up from exhaustion, his head heavy with sleep that he has been denying himself for countless nights. But he cannot return, because tonight is different. Tonight, the messengers had come with a plan — a plan to end it all, the pain, the loneliness, the fear. They made an offer so tempting to his desperate mind that he could not refuse. They had promised an escape to a place where he would be free from his perpetual agony, a place where he would finally fit. And just when they had him convinced, something dropped in his room and stole away his fragile attention. He had accidentally knocked over his bedside table, and with it a silver watch his parents gifted him on his birthday, a thriller novel his previous roommate got for him last summer, a photoframe featuring his friends and him from their spring trip to the beach, and a lamp with a soft yellow light that his girlfriend bought him so he could read at night. While he hurried to pick up the chaos he had created from some of his most precious items, he started to look through the proposal the messengers had made. He understood the vileness in their intentions. All this time they had been slowly poisoning his mind, locking it up in one shackle after another — and tonight they had come to finally imprison him forever. And that is when he chose to escape.
He rubs his eyes, gently wipes the sweat from his forehead, looks at his reflection in the regular puddle on the roadside, and decides to sit down on the curb. The birds have already started their chirping, and the sky is slowly brightening into a smooth blue. It is not clear whether the birds are singing to encourage him or to mock him, but he hardly cares anymore. He has defeated the messengers of the night. Although the sun is now rising, he knows they will return. But he will be ready for them with his newfound resolve. The messengers of the night can never take him prisoner.
This is a short story I wrote for a mental health series in the undergraduate magazine at IISc, called Quarks. Mental health is a sensitive and important topic in the IISc student community, and I hope this story resonates with people who have struggled with such issues, possibly also offering some optimism. If you are struggling with any mental health issues, please reach out for help. IISc students can benefit from free, confidential, and professional counseling services at the IISc Wellness Centre.