My Life... Bleeding on the Bathroom Floor
Awake At Last
"Would you call me Mercy?"
His eyes widened in shock. Would he remember me? I just remembered myself! But would he belive it?
"W-what did y-you say?"
"One day, in fall, October, a small girl tought you how to climb. She had long shiny black hair, a lavender dress, and shiny black shoes with a silver buckle. She was six, you were seven. It was approximately three weeks until your birthdays, her name was -- "
"Mara. You were that girl, who I told about my parents?" he just stared, fumbling for the words.At the same time we said,
"Would you call me Mercy?" we stopped and I broke the eye contact.
"I can't belive this!" he exclaimed.
An hour later, we climbed out and headed back to my horrid house of bad memories. I gave Frank the grand tour, ending at my room. The walls were still black and red, from when I was ten, I moved out around twelve years of age. Yea, the blood splatters were still there, all my furniture, either black with blood, or blood with black over it. I ran downstairs and found that we were staying for the weekend.
'Oh, for Christ's sake why!?' I thought bitterly. I hated this house, hated it with a blood-boiling revenge.
I walked around it aimlessly, soon to find myself in the library. The worst of my memories came flooding back, slowly soaking in, tourturing me. I remember it so well, it disturbs me. I ran away to my room and cried. I never really cried when I was little, I was head-strong, over-confident, too smart for my own good, yet so stupid for not knowing. I could see the hearse in the drive way again, Frankie running up and hugging me. His hazel eyes monitering my deathly countanance, and lastly howling to the empty skies. I hate this house so much, the burning pain came back, but a lot sharper. It spread to my back, I bit my lip and sat down to ease the pain, not to any use. I got up, took some Advil, and sat back down, to fall asleep in the chair John sat in when he told me my father was dead.
His eyes widened in shock. Would he remember me? I just remembered myself! But would he belive it?
"W-what did y-you say?"
"One day, in fall, October, a small girl tought you how to climb. She had long shiny black hair, a lavender dress, and shiny black shoes with a silver buckle. She was six, you were seven. It was approximately three weeks until your birthdays, her name was -- "
"Mara. You were that girl, who I told about my parents?" he just stared, fumbling for the words.At the same time we said,
"Would you call me Mercy?" we stopped and I broke the eye contact.
"I can't belive this!" he exclaimed.
An hour later, we climbed out and headed back to my horrid house of bad memories. I gave Frank the grand tour, ending at my room. The walls were still black and red, from when I was ten, I moved out around twelve years of age. Yea, the blood splatters were still there, all my furniture, either black with blood, or blood with black over it. I ran downstairs and found that we were staying for the weekend.
'Oh, for Christ's sake why!?' I thought bitterly. I hated this house, hated it with a blood-boiling revenge.
I walked around it aimlessly, soon to find myself in the library. The worst of my memories came flooding back, slowly soaking in, tourturing me. I remember it so well, it disturbs me. I ran away to my room and cried. I never really cried when I was little, I was head-strong, over-confident, too smart for my own good, yet so stupid for not knowing. I could see the hearse in the drive way again, Frankie running up and hugging me. His hazel eyes monitering my deathly countanance, and lastly howling to the empty skies. I hate this house so much, the burning pain came back, but a lot sharper. It spread to my back, I bit my lip and sat down to ease the pain, not to any use. I got up, took some Advil, and sat back down, to fall asleep in the chair John sat in when he told me my father was dead.