WARNING: This story contains mentions of abuse
I hate the color green. I just do. I've hated it since childhood. Ever since that night. I get sick just thinking about it. The smell, the color, that room, her face. So soft. Skin like silk and nails as sharp as daggers. Her words were poisonous, but her warm eyes say otherwise. I hate her, I love her. It's a never ending conflict. I've felt this way for the longest time. I can't get over it. Nothing can save me from the hell she built for me. I still have the scars. She had fangs, and she bared them like the proud leader of a pack of wolves. I still can't believe I'm related to that hag. She's a witch. She temptress. A siren. She'll do anything to get what she wants. She lulls you into that small patch of flowers called false hope with her eyes, only to set fire to it all. She dragged me in, and now I can't escape. I had fond memories of this women from the age of five, but that all changed on my sixth birthday. She trapped me in the horrible room. It's smelt like mold and rotting wood. Yes, that room. That room I've despised for so long. The one with the green wallpaper. No food no water, she came in a couple times a day, only to insult me, to tell me I was doing a terrible job, even if I was just sitting there. She's always hated me. Heh, well I guess the feeling is mutual. Mother doesn't care. Mother doesn't make an effort to care. She never has. Well now she's dying of illness. And isn't it ironic that I don't care, and I will never make an effort to do so. Doesn't that sound familiar mother..? Please by all means, head towards the light. I know your so close to it. But you hang on. Begging for forgiveness. For some shred of love and care. Now you know how it feels. Just so you know how it feels to be me, to feel my pain and suffering, how it felt to be me all those years ago, let me paint the walls green.