My knees were trembling, teeth, clenched hard, pain repeating to stab my body and my voice and heart were screaming, but the atmosphere; a sharp silence. My parents were lying on the flames in my bedroom, drenched in their own blood in the mist of the smoky fire air. This was my only childhood memory.
I stood there in my own bedroom, which my shy seven year-old-self would hide occasionally under the bed. The house was in ruins. The crisp silence filled my ears as I watched the grey and gloomy ashes piled in the corner of the room. The remainder of my black, torn and ugly care bear curtains, fluttering on the window. An elephant plush toy now colourless and ripped into several pieces on my fallen bookshelf. The cracked mirror standing on the sidewall reflecting an ugly image. This monster had red blisters, blood oozing out of its burns that covered her body. It was hideous. I stepped to the right. It did the same. I lifted my hand. It followed. That monster was the reflection of my seventeen-year-old self.
This is the first bit of my story. More to COME!
No comments:
Post a Comment