The Way the World Ends

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Indigo and Nate both had their own demons to face. She had anxiety and had a fear of the world. He had ADHD and couldn't help but feel hopeless. But maybe two wrongs could make a right for once. This happened a lot. Usually a few minutes after I turned the lights out. The darkness would creep its way through my eyes and into my mind, filling the space with oil. The oil slipped down my throat, causing the initial panic, and settled in my stomach, only to be digested and rejected by my intestines. The dark was toxic. It poisoned my thoughts and then, consequently, my body. The invisible man’s hold on my throat tightened. I could count on him to lurk in the darkness. In fact, I think he came from the darkness and followed me around all day in my shadow. I closed my eyes tight even though I couldn’t see anything in the dark. However, knowing I made the darkness behind my eyelids comforted me. I controlled it. For all I knew, there was a better version of the world waiting for me beyond my closed eyelids, a world where my mother was alive, a world where I didn’t live with Sonny, a world where I didn’t have any panic, a world where I could be friends with people like Nate. Hell, even just a world that wasn’t dark outside right now. Right now, in my little oblivion, I was in control.

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Prologue. Indigo


The Hollow Men

Mistah Kurtz — he dead

A penny for the Old Guy


This is the story of the way the world ends.

Mine, not yours. Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those stories about the world ending due to Nuclear Winter, zombie attacks, or an uprising against those who refuse to use Oxford commas (though that is one of the most heinous crimes one can commit).

Back to the way my world ended.

Okay, it didn’t really end. First, I suppose I should explain myself.

My name is Indigo, and I’m not an alcoholic. Nope, no drug problems, no teen pregnancy, no anorexia, no suicide attempts, no problems with my sexual identity. I don’t have any of the difficulties that those in my group therapy have. Unfortunately for me, going to the very thing that is supposed to make me better makes me feel worse. I’m not dyslexic, I’m not ADHD, I’m not OCD, I’m not any of those other things that have medical names. People try to give it a name. ‘The yips’, ‘the willies’, ‘general anxiety disorder’, etc. Maybe it is one of those things, but in my mind, I only think of it as the thing keeping me from the rest of my life. The rest of my world. It’s like locking eyes with a delicious chocolate cake, but every time you reach for the fork, your mouth watering, you’re struck with an immense feeling of panic like you’re falling backward off your chair over the edge of a giant cliff into a pool of hungry sharks. But the cake just looks so damn good you can’t help but try picking up that fork over and over again.

I’m not going to go into a long explanation of the way I am because that is all there is to it. I am me. As for the panic, it is what it is. We are separate and one. One cannot live without the other, and we can barely live together in the first place.

This is the way my world ends. Not necessarily in the way T.S. Eliot thought, but how my world of helplessness gave way to a brighter, better world. The way I got to eat the cake.

All thanks to a boy named Nate.

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jwaldrip1224: I love it! Good read .......................

addisonm27072007: This is a very interesting story and I love it it's so crazy yet romantic.

Maria W: Quite confusing ... Is it only lust ....they are raping her ... Not digestible

Tina: Love this book,a must read....

haripriyagm1: Nice book and interesting... Let's see how it goes

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