LRS: Annie Dog vs Doors and Phones
It fluttered before it tried to flee, slamming up underneath her ribcage so that she sat up from violent effort behind it, gasping hard and gripping sheets with fingers buried in bandaids so grimy that the skin underneath was beginning to stain black before falling off in microscopic chunks. The word 'heart' came to mind before being pushed back down, which she tried to mirror by pressing the center of her chest hard against her chest, trying to force the feeling back in. In turn, the anxiety reached out and clawed at her skin, biting down in a full on freak-out at the cage it was held under. Her bones hurt. Bones weren't supposed to hurt, there were no nerves there. But
Holding her breath, eyes huge and some kind of fluctuating hazel under piles of flooding rats-nest mahogany colored hair, she stared a the plain door that hovered, slightly adjar. Rocking slowly, white knuckled and chapped lips pressing together they nearly disappeared, she denied it. She had closed that door. It shouldn't be open. Not at three thirty three in the morning, nor any other time. Because if it was open then
No.
She was denying it.
She didn't see a fucking open door.
Teeth clenched hard enough to splinter at the roots, bared and hissing through the burning in her lips from wetting them a moment ago, her voice carried in a seldom-used choke.
"Fuck you."
It was enough to shake her, eyes trembling back and forth in a surge of manic adrenaline. Making her paw and claw the sheets with nails chewed past nubs, mixing her plain white sheet on her bland white bed about her as she rocked harder, spit flying as she did. Anger that pushed its way out of her like a will, causing her teeth to grind and foam to pool in the corners of her snarling mouth.
"You're closed."
When it remained unmoving, when she couldn't push reality out of her head any longer, when her neck and wrists and spine felt as if the strain would force muscles and tendons to sever back into herself, she pushed herself out of bed. Heels of her hands feeling like stilt stumps, fingers partially numb and limbs tremoring again with reoccurring pins and needles, she slid one pale, wasted leg behind the other. Toes curling hard as to avoid touchdown with the floor, they landed knuckles first, threatening to break as they often did. Making her stumble, a skeleton in worn boys briefs buried under the tangling spill of hair that just reached her mid-back. She tumbled stiff and seemingly jointless across the floor, cold wood making echoing slaps that forced her head to spin and tumble deep in her skull.
Hands slapping flat on the white wooden door, she pushed it shut fast and hard, shoulders prominent ball joints that rolled as she remained hunched forward, heaving. The thought of releasing the pressure forming, but fleeing quickly as she felt the wood following her retreat. Felt it opening again. Slamming it shut. Feeling it catch. Watching it follow. Slamming.
"FUCK YOU! ... close close Close CLOSE!"
Opening. Slamming. Opening slamming opening to the mantra that coughed out of her mouth and died against the walls.
"CLOSE FUCK FUCK FUCK CLOSE FUCK FUCKING CLOSE FUCK FUCK..! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU"
She gripped it and pulled it open wide in one hand, aural energy like molten fumes pouring out of her frame to flood the empty room. Climb up the walls. Center in whirlpools on the ceiling. Giving life to a room that protested how barren it was despite the living, breathing occupant. Muscles set to snap and teeth on edge, before freezing. Motionless and silent, staring out into the livingroom.
At the silent, glossy black body of it. The circular dial and ugly box that blinked softly. The suffocating feeling spreading through her just before the old fashioned sound of a house phone broke the silence. Forced it's way into every nook and crack of the house. Burrowing into her ears. And then abruptly stopping, only to start again.
Standing there, she felt the count down of the amount of rings to sound before someone reached an answering machine that had been full longer than she had lived in the apartment. Her baggage. Felt herself coming down to three, and the room fading. Down to two, and the shadows in the corners spreading out and sweeping over her, blocking out the threat. Down to one, leaving the apartment, the doorway, the room, empty, and the message falling upon nothing and no one at all.
Holding her breath, eyes huge and some kind of fluctuating hazel under piles of flooding rats-nest mahogany colored hair, she stared a the plain door that hovered, slightly adjar. Rocking slowly, white knuckled and chapped lips pressing together they nearly disappeared, she denied it. She had closed that door. It shouldn't be open. Not at three thirty three in the morning, nor any other time. Because if it was open then
No.
She was denying it.
She didn't see a fucking open door.
Teeth clenched hard enough to splinter at the roots, bared and hissing through the burning in her lips from wetting them a moment ago, her voice carried in a seldom-used choke.
"Fuck you."
It was enough to shake her, eyes trembling back and forth in a surge of manic adrenaline. Making her paw and claw the sheets with nails chewed past nubs, mixing her plain white sheet on her bland white bed about her as she rocked harder, spit flying as she did. Anger that pushed its way out of her like a will, causing her teeth to grind and foam to pool in the corners of her snarling mouth.
"You're closed."
When it remained unmoving, when she couldn't push reality out of her head any longer, when her neck and wrists and spine felt as if the strain would force muscles and tendons to sever back into herself, she pushed herself out of bed. Heels of her hands feeling like stilt stumps, fingers partially numb and limbs tremoring again with reoccurring pins and needles, she slid one pale, wasted leg behind the other. Toes curling hard as to avoid touchdown with the floor, they landed knuckles first, threatening to break as they often did. Making her stumble, a skeleton in worn boys briefs buried under the tangling spill of hair that just reached her mid-back. She tumbled stiff and seemingly jointless across the floor, cold wood making echoing slaps that forced her head to spin and tumble deep in her skull.
Hands slapping flat on the white wooden door, she pushed it shut fast and hard, shoulders prominent ball joints that rolled as she remained hunched forward, heaving. The thought of releasing the pressure forming, but fleeing quickly as she felt the wood following her retreat. Felt it opening again. Slamming it shut. Feeling it catch. Watching it follow. Slamming.
"FUCK YOU! ... close close Close CLOSE!"
Opening. Slamming. Opening slamming opening to the mantra that coughed out of her mouth and died against the walls.
"CLOSE FUCK FUCK FUCK CLOSE FUCK FUCKING CLOSE FUCK FUCK..! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU"
She gripped it and pulled it open wide in one hand, aural energy like molten fumes pouring out of her frame to flood the empty room. Climb up the walls. Center in whirlpools on the ceiling. Giving life to a room that protested how barren it was despite the living, breathing occupant. Muscles set to snap and teeth on edge, before freezing. Motionless and silent, staring out into the livingroom.
At the silent, glossy black body of it. The circular dial and ugly box that blinked softly. The suffocating feeling spreading through her just before the old fashioned sound of a house phone broke the silence. Forced it's way into every nook and crack of the house. Burrowing into her ears. And then abruptly stopping, only to start again.
Standing there, she felt the count down of the amount of rings to sound before someone reached an answering machine that had been full longer than she had lived in the apartment. Her baggage. Felt herself coming down to three, and the room fading. Down to two, and the shadows in the corners spreading out and sweeping over her, blocking out the threat. Down to one, leaving the apartment, the doorway, the room, empty, and the message falling upon nothing and no one at all.