Smoke and Mirrors
Morning Sadness
Morning sadness. Once again. The sun struggling to rise for a fresh day, battling with the clouds that were attempting to engulf the burning ball of fire. Not that she would have noticed, the curtains were drawn tight so not even a single beam of glimmering hope could filter through into the musty living space. The room was silent and still eerie; in fact dust was collecting even on the battered television set. Cobwebs clung desperately to every space: every space but one.
Adalia sat poker straight in the soft leather recliner, hands clasped together as if fused. The girls’ porcelain skin seemed to almost glow in the dull light that one way or another leaked through the threadbare curtains that hung limp from a pole. She was sinking progressively into the recliner; the leather was somehow scratching the fragile porcelain.
With vast amounts of effort she leapt clumsily from the seat and stumbled blindly towards the unmade bed which groaned in despair as she lay on it. Many storeys below a door slammed and butterflies furiously attacked the pit of her stomach, an almost inaudible sigh escaped her stone cold lips as those grey lifeless eyes inspected the nightmare. Peeling posters attached themselves to the crumbling walls, sneering in repulsion as in unison needles fiercely prickled her eyes, blinking rapidly to avoid the river which was beginning to flow down the valley which was her face…
Swollen eyes glared down at her chewed finger nails, her face tensed. It reminded her of something but was unsure, most of her memories had escaped her, and as for those feelings? Nonexistent. They had gone long ago…Waves of realization struck her: red, like those burning eyes. Red, like that horrible fluid that encrusted the screaming walls also that also flowed through her almost translucent body.
Her clothes hung loose from her quickly deteriorating frame the heavy dark fabrics seemed to swallow her up not wanting to let go. Something flashed in the corner of her ice ridden eyes. Regret instantly stabbed her back, as she fearfully spun around. Fragments of glass littered the floor like diamonds, or tears caught in the sunlight. A jagged piece was still wedged to the wall, swaying dangerously by a rusty nail. A skeletal hand tenderly stroked the smooth surface as she stared at the dirt glaring stormily back at her…
She was choking on her life, with each second dragging on lasting a lifetime, it were as if strong hands were around her delicate neck steadily draining her of life making her become frail and powerless. Those steely grey eyes discovered a picture stuffed into a broken drawer out of the way, she gazed longingly at the snap taken all those months ago…Before the torture had started. The picture showed her huddled together with a group of friends, a wide smile stretching across her face-eyes ablaze with love, cheeks flushed in pleasure- a beautiful day at the beach; those were the days when she wore her heart on her sleeve. It contrasted massively with the pale, dull thing afraid to move, to disturb the silence which had finally draped itself around the rotting flat.
The floorboards creaked and groaned as if reading the girls darkest unspoken secrets from within the depths of her withered soul. In her hands she clutched a box of matches, her hands trees trembling in the winter breeze! With a musical hiss she stuck a single match a smile of joy arrived on her face as the flame hungrily licked at the memory which she held out in her hand as far away from her as she could: [the smile was crooked and painful making her face feel heavy as if she did not smile often].
The photograph shriveled to ash as a harsh raspy laugh spluttered out. Finally, whilst sifting through the vast mounds of ash she had found herself: his ghost would never catch her; those cuts would never scar her. The ribbon on her wrist begged to be opened yet she refused for another precious day. A thunderous rumble of a familiar engine could be heard in the distance…Her life smoke, disappearing before her very eyes.
Adalia sat poker straight in the soft leather recliner, hands clasped together as if fused. The girls’ porcelain skin seemed to almost glow in the dull light that one way or another leaked through the threadbare curtains that hung limp from a pole. She was sinking progressively into the recliner; the leather was somehow scratching the fragile porcelain.
With vast amounts of effort she leapt clumsily from the seat and stumbled blindly towards the unmade bed which groaned in despair as she lay on it. Many storeys below a door slammed and butterflies furiously attacked the pit of her stomach, an almost inaudible sigh escaped her stone cold lips as those grey lifeless eyes inspected the nightmare. Peeling posters attached themselves to the crumbling walls, sneering in repulsion as in unison needles fiercely prickled her eyes, blinking rapidly to avoid the river which was beginning to flow down the valley which was her face…
Swollen eyes glared down at her chewed finger nails, her face tensed. It reminded her of something but was unsure, most of her memories had escaped her, and as for those feelings? Nonexistent. They had gone long ago…Waves of realization struck her: red, like those burning eyes. Red, like that horrible fluid that encrusted the screaming walls also that also flowed through her almost translucent body.
Her clothes hung loose from her quickly deteriorating frame the heavy dark fabrics seemed to swallow her up not wanting to let go. Something flashed in the corner of her ice ridden eyes. Regret instantly stabbed her back, as she fearfully spun around. Fragments of glass littered the floor like diamonds, or tears caught in the sunlight. A jagged piece was still wedged to the wall, swaying dangerously by a rusty nail. A skeletal hand tenderly stroked the smooth surface as she stared at the dirt glaring stormily back at her…
She was choking on her life, with each second dragging on lasting a lifetime, it were as if strong hands were around her delicate neck steadily draining her of life making her become frail and powerless. Those steely grey eyes discovered a picture stuffed into a broken drawer out of the way, she gazed longingly at the snap taken all those months ago…Before the torture had started. The picture showed her huddled together with a group of friends, a wide smile stretching across her face-eyes ablaze with love, cheeks flushed in pleasure- a beautiful day at the beach; those were the days when she wore her heart on her sleeve. It contrasted massively with the pale, dull thing afraid to move, to disturb the silence which had finally draped itself around the rotting flat.
The floorboards creaked and groaned as if reading the girls darkest unspoken secrets from within the depths of her withered soul. In her hands she clutched a box of matches, her hands trees trembling in the winter breeze! With a musical hiss she stuck a single match a smile of joy arrived on her face as the flame hungrily licked at the memory which she held out in her hand as far away from her as she could: [the smile was crooked and painful making her face feel heavy as if she did not smile often].
The photograph shriveled to ash as a harsh raspy laugh spluttered out. Finally, whilst sifting through the vast mounds of ash she had found herself: his ghost would never catch her; those cuts would never scar her. The ribbon on her wrist begged to be opened yet she refused for another precious day. A thunderous rumble of a familiar engine could be heard in the distance…Her life smoke, disappearing before her very eyes.