Status: Completed. Thank you~
Early Mourning
Fourteen
I don't even know anymore.
I feel like I'm not myself. Like my minds detached itself from my body and now my limbs are working on their own. It's as if my actions are no longer done with my consent and my hands are doing things just to stay alive. When I had asked for something to drink, it felt like someone else was talking. Someone else was letting the sugary liquid flow down my throat. Someone else was biting chapped lips and someone else was stuffing mouth fulls of Mac & Cheese into my mouth.
I could feel him, the monster in my head yelling at me, screaming dirty words and claiming I was nothing but worthless. His voice forever changing octaves, sometimes sounding too familiar and other times nothing but demonic.
It pissed me off how I could never pinpoint who's voices he was using but I quickly dismissed the thought and grabbed my now empty bowl and slid out of my chair.
I don't even know what I tripped on, but somehow my face met the floor and the bowl in my hand shattered. Fear shot through my veins quickly as my eyes bulged out of my head.
Mumbles.
Questions.
Voice raising.
Yelling, beating, pulling.
Glass shattering
Pain.
Tears.
Hurt.
I heard my father stomp down the hallway and slam the door to his room.
I looked blankly at the broken glass bowl and pasta in front of me, just sitting on the red rug, my head stinging from the chunk of hair that had been ripped out. Tears silently flowed down my face but I didn't do anything to prevent them, already knowing it was useless.
"God Dane. Really? You couldn't have kept your mouth shut for fucking fifteen minutes?" My mom scolded, picking up the broken pieces of the ceramic bowl. I sniffled and rubbed at my eyes. My mom just glared at me, her blond curls framing her face and her piercing blue eyes set on me. "Huh? Just a few fucking minutes Dane! Just a few! And you couldn't fucking shut your whiny little mouth?" She yelled.
I whimpered and curled up into a ball, rocking myself back and forth.
"You know I never did like that bowl" I heard Larson chuckle, the fear within me was gone, a light switch effect occurring. Larson swept the broken glass up and scooped it into the trash bin while I slowly got to my feet.
"Really?" I heard a voice ask, my voice. Larson just nodded his head, "I don't like the color orange."
"Me neither, but your eyes make it look beautiful."
Did I just say that?
I feel like I'm not myself. Like my minds detached itself from my body and now my limbs are working on their own. It's as if my actions are no longer done with my consent and my hands are doing things just to stay alive. When I had asked for something to drink, it felt like someone else was talking. Someone else was letting the sugary liquid flow down my throat. Someone else was biting chapped lips and someone else was stuffing mouth fulls of Mac & Cheese into my mouth.
I could feel him, the monster in my head yelling at me, screaming dirty words and claiming I was nothing but worthless. His voice forever changing octaves, sometimes sounding too familiar and other times nothing but demonic.
It pissed me off how I could never pinpoint who's voices he was using but I quickly dismissed the thought and grabbed my now empty bowl and slid out of my chair.
I don't even know what I tripped on, but somehow my face met the floor and the bowl in my hand shattered. Fear shot through my veins quickly as my eyes bulged out of my head.
Mumbles.
Questions.
Voice raising.
Yelling, beating, pulling.
Glass shattering
Pain.
Tears.
Hurt.
I heard my father stomp down the hallway and slam the door to his room.
I looked blankly at the broken glass bowl and pasta in front of me, just sitting on the red rug, my head stinging from the chunk of hair that had been ripped out. Tears silently flowed down my face but I didn't do anything to prevent them, already knowing it was useless.
"God Dane. Really? You couldn't have kept your mouth shut for fucking fifteen minutes?" My mom scolded, picking up the broken pieces of the ceramic bowl. I sniffled and rubbed at my eyes. My mom just glared at me, her blond curls framing her face and her piercing blue eyes set on me. "Huh? Just a few fucking minutes Dane! Just a few! And you couldn't fucking shut your whiny little mouth?" She yelled.
I whimpered and curled up into a ball, rocking myself back and forth.
"You know I never did like that bowl" I heard Larson chuckle, the fear within me was gone, a light switch effect occurring. Larson swept the broken glass up and scooped it into the trash bin while I slowly got to my feet.
"Really?" I heard a voice ask, my voice. Larson just nodded his head, "I don't like the color orange."
"Me neither, but your eyes make it look beautiful."
Did I just say that?
♠ ♠ ♠
Edited January 25, 2014
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