The Coffee

[Notes: 1. Contains heavy psychological themes and emotional distress.

2. Not suitable for readers currently struggling with intrusive or overwhelming thoughts.

3. Fictional scene; avoid interpreting it as guidance or real-world action.]

His hands shivered as he tried to hold the tiny glass bottles of pills in his hands.

"They didn't shiver when you held her hands," the voice in his head whispered. "They didn't shiver when they built your own doom throughout 25 years. Then why now?"

He had no answer. He put the bottle back on the shelf and rested on a chair. He looked at the wall clock; it was ticking half past two. It had been years since he used to be deep asleep during these hours. It was not insomnia that kept him awake; it was his own thoughts. He thought he should get a coffee. He used to love it black and bitter.

He put a folded thin cloth in a sieve and filled it with an unhealthily large amount of coffee powder. He then sieved 3–4 cycles of warm water through it. He sprinkled less than a pinch of salt over it, stirred, and had a gulp before collapsing again in the chair. He thought dissolving the pills in the coffee would be a fine idea to get the job done. He stretched his arm just enough to reach the same glass bottle again. He looked through the brown glass and counted the pills in the bottle. He remembered having consumed one just after dinner. He unscrewed the cap and one... two... three... eight, in went the pills down the coffee mug.

As he stirred the coffee to dissolve the pills, voices screamed in his head.

"If you weren’t so sure about it, why did you pull me into this?"

"Why do you always think that you're right? You're the most stupid person I've ever had to face for more than a month in my entire life. You're so egoistic, you're so narcissistic, and so evil."

"What kind of person are you? You say you love someone, then label them, insult them, destroy their mental health, and leave them heartbroken. You destroyed me."

His brain glitched as if it reverted back to the present moment. He pressed the spoon against the bottom of the coffee mug and realized that the pills had dissolved. He peered into the mug and saw the black coffee turned brown. He remembered being told not to consume more than one of them at a time and not to consume even one if it felt unnecessary. He felt the clouds in his head becoming denser. Yet he could feel his heart beating calmly.

He looked at the clock again, ticking a quarter past three. As he continued to stir the coffee, he saw it getting cloudier. When he stopped, a white sediment settled at the bottom of the mug. He took the spoon out and looked at it. He saw the reflection of his pale face with sunken eyes. He kept looking at his own reflection for a minute. He felt the voices in his head dampen. He could only hear distant, unclear thoughts.

The spoon slipped from his hand and fell on the floor. He placed the coffee on the table and, as he tried to reach the spoon on the floor, the chair slipped and he collapsed, landing on the spoon itself. As his head hit the floor, he went completely blank and felt a surge of pain pass through. He lay on the floor and fell asleep.

The spoon was broken beneath him. Broken enough to no longer stir anything again.

The coffee mug remained on the table, still.

A white sediment settled at its bottom.

A dark yet translucent coffee hovered above it.

A coffee bitter, still unworthy of a sip.

A coffee free of any clouds, free of any stir.