It chokes me.
Grey fingers steal the breath from my lacerated lungs, markless as such. A colourless mouth moves from grimace to grin and back again. Tears run hot down my cheeks, burning my skin.
It reminds me, over and over, whispering its taunts through my mouth.
"Stupid."
"Useless."
"Screw up."
Broken, I call it, for no other name suits it better; not injured, nor angry - simply splintered, shattered. It is the fail to all ends; the rapture in the crowd; the fragmented toy left lonely, unsettled, shivering in the corner of a child's forgotten room. At times, I feel sorry for it.
This is not one of those times. Impuissant, my body trembles, captured in the battlefield of my own mind. Blood blisters my tongue as my teeth bite into it. Dust and cold air rush in and out of my nose. My heart knocks against my ribcage, with a sword and shield at the ready.
Through the dark, I see its eyes. They are blue. Not blue like the sky nor blue like the sea. They are a vibrant, artificial blue, almost mocking the darkness. When it grimaces, I can see through it's grey skin to the torn tatters beneath.
It stops.
It is gone.
Retreating back into the darkest closet in the deepest corner of my mind.
Feeling stretches into my fingers, letting the touch of the sheets sooth my sweating palms. My face is streaked, but there are no more tears. Rapid breathing and a loud heartbeat fills the room, tapping against the plaster walls as I try to catch my breath. Always tapping, asking, pleading for a little help. A little light.
Minutes pass.
Devoid of sensation, I slip into the talons of sleep and all is washed out by the silent solace.
YOU ARE READING
//random short stories//
Short Story"Writing is a Struggle Against Silence." -Carlos Fuentes
