Despair Novels & Stories

Would you still think it was your fault? Remy sounded more and more hysterical as she went on. Soon, she was yelling out the second half of her words. Her arrogance aside, everything she said was true. Without my parents and Blake's tacit approval, my disappointment wouldn't have turned into despair and I wouldn't have chosen to leave this world. My mom's body shook, and she collapsed on the ground. She covered her face with her hands, unable to stop her tears anymore. When I saw this, I didn't feel happy at all. Since I no longer cared, their regrets didn't affect me in the slightest.

“You know why we’re here, Marcus. I asked you a thing before I dropped you here in your misery.” This place has that kind of power that makes anyone who enters it become possessed with an untold amount of misery and sorrow and despair. “I told you already: I don’t know!” A sob tore from his throat, tears leaking from his angry eyes. Whether it was because of the dreadful cold or from this interrogation or just from the plain sight of seeing me, I don’t know. I can’t determine the source of his anger. Or perhaps I don’t need to. Despair often breeds the kind of anger without the need for something or someone to be angry at.

Jessica shivered, wrapping herself tightly in the quilt, feeling the chill seeping into her bones. The quilt seemed to be covered in a thin layer of frost, making everything feel icy cold. Jessica's head throbbed, her thoughts slowing down, as if everything was becoming unclear, with brief moments of blankness in her mind. It was terrifying, like drowning in the sea without being able to grab onto anything. This feeling was called despair. In the darkness, tears fell. From some movie, she remembered hearing a line, "Fragile people like darkness because it conceals all vulnerabilities and helplessness. Even if you cry, darkness can hide it for you."

There was blood trickling down the side of his head – a thin line of red that disappeared into his collar – but he didn't bother with it. “Ma'am.” His voice was desperate, shaking. “Ma'am, wake up. Please wake up.” I tried to speak, but my mouth wouldn't form the words. I tried to pull myself up, but my body felt heavy, like a weight was pressing down on me. “Ma'am!” Matthew's voice cracked, and I could see the fear in his eyes – raw and unfiltered. And then, everything went dark again.

It was a message from an old friend. "I heard about what happened. Maybe by now you’ll understand what it feels like to lose everything." Alexander clenched his fists, anger boiling in his veins. He didn’t need pity. He needed a way out. But there was none. For the first time in his life, Alexander knew what true despair felt like. And this time, there was no escape.

He smelled like expensive cologne and safety — a dangerous combination. “I’m very serious,” he said. “Your father is a fool. You’re not a waste, Aby. You’re a young woman trying to survive a man who never learned how to be a real father.” Tears welled up again. I wiped them away angrily with the back of my hand. The alcohol in my bloodstream suddenly hit me all at once, mixing with the heavy cocktail of gratitude and desperation. Before I even realized what I was doing, I slid out of the booth. My knees hit the sticky floor of the bar.

My collarbones jutted out so sharply they could hold a cup of water, a stark reminder of how much I was withering away. Oh God, when will this end? I thought, my chest heavy with despair. Every day felt like a slow death, a relentless march toward a bottomless pit. I was suffering alone, far from my family, trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. How could I ever pay off such a debt? Even when I managed to scrape together some money, the interest kept piling up, stretching the timeline of my torment into infinity.

The air was heavy with the scent of despair, mingling with the acrid stench of liquor and broken dreams. Behind the bar counter, I stood like a specter, a harbinger of sorrow serving liquid poison to lost souls. The dim glow of crimson-hued lights accentuated the hollows beneath my eyes, reflecting the abyss that consumed me. The clinking of glasses echoed like a morbid chorus, each sound a discordant note in the symphony of despair.

This darkness has me trapped in it where no one could reach and drag me out of it, it has consumed me but I hope someday I will make it out of this darkness. The pain and agony aren't sharp like needlepoint or a knife but burn around my innards better than boiling water. Everything feels scalded and, move or not, I'm in more pain than I could have ever imagined was possible. A bullet would be mercy right now but an increase in the sickly morphine is the best I can hope for and I turned this into anger, wanted revenge, and sought for it badly.

It whispered of hope, of a strength waiting to be rekindled, and I clung to it with every ounce of my depleted energy. The suffocating sense of hopelessness. It weighed upon me like a heavy cloak, pressing me down into the depths of despair. Each breath I took felt labored, as if the weight of my own emotions threatened to crush me completely. There was a sense of futility, a pervasive feeling that no matter how hard I fought, I would never be able to rise above the overwhelming tide of despair that engulfed me, leaving me utterly broken.