Whitter

80% Illusion
2002-10-08 20:39:22 (UTC)

Longing II

Pulled back from the sweet numbness and sactuary of
unconciousness,
Sarah found her limbs heavily bruised, her arms torn and
bleeding. Her
thoughts now were mixed, unclear. Fragments of past and
future, bits of
memories of her and her sister playing in a sandbox,
laughter, then the
vision of the dirty blood-stained carpet whirling around
her. She lifted
herself up with much effort, looking around nervously
hoping, praying
that her father was no longer there.

She carefully walked down the stairs to her room, trying to
make no
sound, afraid of the consequences of her fathers return.
Still, there seemed
to be more than one flight of stairs below her, all
fighting with eachother,
crashing into eachother. Sarah stumbled, hoping she stayed
on the real
one.

The smell of the darkness below her was all too aparent. It
smelled like
empty beer cans and old garbage never taken to the dump.
She went into
her room, stood in front of her full-length mirror. Dark
red blood on her
lip, still warm and wet blood oozing down her torn arms to
her bitten
fingernails. Sarah almost cried out when she turned her
hands palm up to
reveal the undersides of her pale arms. Bits of brown glass
were still
embedded in her flesh where she had passed out on the
carpet, fluid
flowing from her wrists and arms. She wondered how she
would make up
a plausible story for this one.
***


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