Martha’s Monsters: three ‘drabbles’ about internal demons

Take 1, Storyteller’s viewpoint

Martha gulped back her coffee and pushed the mug away. She didn’t need arbitrary crowding in the space she needed to think, to be whole in this now.
She heard the hammering, shattering the empty seconds and letting in creatures that would claim her mind: cuckoos in her nest.
She snatched the mug and drained any last drops, needing to be alert to fight the monster that fabricated evil, dropping it in her weakened mind.
Martha sat rocking, rocking to the rhythm of her seconds, mind empty but for the hammering. Defeated. She had no now, no moment, no self.

Take 2, Martha’s viewpoint

I’ll fix myself to the present to keep alert. Coffee helped a bit but it’s gone.
Now it’s just me and that useless mug. I watch for the evil bastards while the relentless clock hammers through the thin filament that separates me from the world. They’re always waiting, ready to rip scratchings from my past, forcing me to re-live it. Maybe there’s a drop more caffeine, but they’re crowding my skull with my badness. My empty mind is the plaything of the creatures; I can only feed off their evil while they suck from my past. I am no more.

Take 3, Carer’s viewpoint

Martha is sitting at the table in the furthest corner of her small room, staring through blank eyes, alone with her fears. She gulps down her coffee and pushes the mug away. She tells me she needs her own space. Her dull eyes flick around the edges of the room, watching. Suddenly she flails at her back, grabbing at the emptiness. Her creatures must be back; scrawled images of torturers that breed inside her fragmented mind are pinned to the walls. Martha drains a last dreg of coffee, then sinks back into herself rocking to the rhythm of her void.

Three more drabbles, 100-word stories, this time exploring the inner demons of psychosis. I have experienced such creatures, drawn them, written about them. They are no fun, believe me. Palpable and terrifying.

Perhaps you have experienced something similar. Perhaps you felt you were alone. Mad even. Please be assured there is no madness here. A mind and spirit in retreat maybe, but one that can be turned around.
If you have a tale to tell that may reassure others please share it here.

Thank you for reading my dabble into drabbles.

Being creative is the mainstay of my life, and poetry, prose, and photography is where I express my deepest emotions. I also enjoy the challenge of design and create jewellery, fabric bags, and garments and home items in yarn. Diagnosed with ASD at the age of 68 after fifty years in and out of the mental health system, I now aim to explore and share my experiences over these years. Apart from blogs and short articles I'll share my life in my verse and images.

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