Left In The Dark

Chapter 2

??? :

The white building loomed over me, threatening to swallow me up whole in its clutch, as the rain continued to pound down aggressively.

I shouldn't be here.

Every cell in my body was screaming at me to leave.

But I took a step in.

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.
.

The room was a strange one.
One wall was lined with pictures and inspirational quotes and stuff.

The one opposite it was blank.

The back wall of the room had 2 windows, which always had dark red blinds shut over them.

And the last wall. The door wall. The only way in and out (If I didn't consider the window an option)

My only way out was closed behind me, as a lady with blue shoes clicked her high heels together impatiently as she sat opposite the desk from me.

I can't remember her name:
Or even her face.

.
.

I don't know what she said.

The same thing they all do.

"How have you been?"

"Have you been stuck in your routines again?"

"Has anything troubled you?"

"ᴰᶦᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ˢᵗᵘᵖᶦᵈ ᵃᵍᵃᶦⁿˀ"

Always the same pointless questions.

I looked at the smiley face poster.

At least one of us could endure this hell.

.
.

I don't even know why I'm required to go there. They seen to only check up on me so they can pretend they care.

Pretend.

It's always pretend.

So dull and colourless.

His eyes were red.

Everything always seems so dull to me.

His eyes were bright red... like a welcoming fire..

It still is now.

ᵂʰʸ ᶦˢ ʰᵉ ᶜʳʸᶦⁿᵍˀ

.
.
.

I left the white building. I like to call it the Puppet Show. Everything there seems rigged and pointless.

I opened the door to the small shop I owned, and breathed in the scent of cinnamon.. cinnamon. A source of comfort for me.

I liked cinnamon.

Cinnamon was nice.

I picked up the rolling pin I had used for all these years. The only equipment I couldn't let go.
I rolled out the dough I had made earlier, and started to smoothen it evenly, so it would be more nicely spread.

I cut up some fruit.

Strawberries.

Piplo likes strawberries.

Strawberry Tart. Thats what I end up making.

I don't like Tarts.
Or Strawberries.

Both taste pretty bad.

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.
.

I make myself a cup of tea while I wait for the tart to set.

I like tea.

Mint and Ginger is my favourite tea flavour.

Thats what I made now.

It tastes nice. Like a fresh kick of spring. A new bite of pain.

Agony.

Fire.

My mouth was burning. I had drank the tea too soon.

Oh well.

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Word Count : 436