Status: FOR ENGLISH HOMEWORKKK
Disorder
Amy
He came to me at night. His hand resting on my forehead, 2 fingers placed on my throat, checking my pulse, counting- 1… 2… 3. His hair fell flat over his pale cheeks, his eyes blazed in amongst pasty skin. He filled a syringe with strange, clear liquid; he stared at me and dropped the syringe. I was supposed to be safe here…
“What have I become Amy,” he whispered, “what are we doing?”
I wanted to scream at him, tell him to stop, to go away, but I couldn’t my lips were frozen, sealed together by fear and regret. He picked up the syringe and went straight for my wrist vein, I struggled as much as any 15 year old could, he didn’t expect it, and he froze, bewildered, hurried and drained.
“Amy, no,” he spoke, failing to be forceful, “don’t struggle, this’ll make it better.”
But I couldn’t keep still, the anger was all of me now and I felt strength, somewhere.
I stood up and bolted out of the door, but he knew I’d try everything; he was there as I found my way out. But I knew better than him, I was smaller than him I could get away, I knew it.
My heart was beating at a rapid pace, but my feet hit the ground faster than the beating. My hair tie fell out and wisps of blonde hair blew in the wind, trying to hold me back. A small side street came into view.
I ran up to the dark, urine-scented area and hid beside a dumpster. Then, I fell into a fatigue induced coma…
The light of the sun flicked on and off in my mind for what seemed like hours. I sat up in the middle of an immobilizing windstorm, on the pavement on a small side street. My schizophrenia had been acting up again; I guess I had run away, in the heat of a disease-burdened haze.
My head wasn’t hurting, and nothing was broken- that’s usually a good sign. But somehow, I felt something was missing, the kind of thing that wasn’t usually significant, but you’d miss it all the same, like a good book or your favourite snack.
My life hadn’t always been this way, in fact when I was younger, about 7 or 8, I remember actually being happy. But that was before my father committed suicide, that’s not important though, I’d still be just as crazy. But no matter how crazy I am, or may have seemed, I would never go back again. My disease is unsolvable, I’m a lost cause, and I was no better in there than I am out here.
My thighs started to burn as I sat on the damp concrete; I stood up, aching all over. My mind started to wander, not schizophrenia, but more like a normal daydreaming teenager. Now, my legs were moving too, I was walking into the road, in the opposite direction to safety, right into the middle of a forest, then the wind blew through my hair and I woke up here, behind an attractive looking boy, in amongst green, leafy giants…
“What have I become Amy,” he whispered, “what are we doing?”
I wanted to scream at him, tell him to stop, to go away, but I couldn’t my lips were frozen, sealed together by fear and regret. He picked up the syringe and went straight for my wrist vein, I struggled as much as any 15 year old could, he didn’t expect it, and he froze, bewildered, hurried and drained.
“Amy, no,” he spoke, failing to be forceful, “don’t struggle, this’ll make it better.”
But I couldn’t keep still, the anger was all of me now and I felt strength, somewhere.
I stood up and bolted out of the door, but he knew I’d try everything; he was there as I found my way out. But I knew better than him, I was smaller than him I could get away, I knew it.
My heart was beating at a rapid pace, but my feet hit the ground faster than the beating. My hair tie fell out and wisps of blonde hair blew in the wind, trying to hold me back. A small side street came into view.
I ran up to the dark, urine-scented area and hid beside a dumpster. Then, I fell into a fatigue induced coma…
The light of the sun flicked on and off in my mind for what seemed like hours. I sat up in the middle of an immobilizing windstorm, on the pavement on a small side street. My schizophrenia had been acting up again; I guess I had run away, in the heat of a disease-burdened haze.
My head wasn’t hurting, and nothing was broken- that’s usually a good sign. But somehow, I felt something was missing, the kind of thing that wasn’t usually significant, but you’d miss it all the same, like a good book or your favourite snack.
My life hadn’t always been this way, in fact when I was younger, about 7 or 8, I remember actually being happy. But that was before my father committed suicide, that’s not important though, I’d still be just as crazy. But no matter how crazy I am, or may have seemed, I would never go back again. My disease is unsolvable, I’m a lost cause, and I was no better in there than I am out here.
My thighs started to burn as I sat on the damp concrete; I stood up, aching all over. My mind started to wander, not schizophrenia, but more like a normal daydreaming teenager. Now, my legs were moving too, I was walking into the road, in the opposite direction to safety, right into the middle of a forest, then the wind blew through my hair and I woke up here, behind an attractive looking boy, in amongst green, leafy giants…