(no subject)
Hm. >_>;
Me, Unnamed
About the only thing I remember is the pain. You could only understand if you'd felt it - the sort of pain you'd say you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, though you would. That is my only memory of my past, before this. And the pain was all concentrated in my belly. At the base of it, making me nauseous and light-headed.
I think I may have thrown up. It seems likely, but I don't remember. I can't remember anything.
Just that... these days, lying here alone, sometimes I think I have flashes of memory. Of the present and the past, of what my life should or could be. Sometimes I hear a voice in my head for a fleeting second and I think, that's someone I know. But I can never grasp it. There is a heavy black curtain over my mind, its weight warm and comforting. I feel I could wrap myself in it and sleep. I think I have.
The cold, sterile blankets I hide under don't keep me half as warm as my heavy black quilt does. And it's useful in blocking out the sounds too. The sobs or angry voices, screams and lamentations. The heavy black curtain keeps out everything but the pain that keeps stabbing over and over into me, into the base of the stomach, till I learn to ignore it and my body gives up.
But at least I can sleep now.
~fin
Written in the school library on a lousy computer with a lousy keyboard, so forgive spelling errors [but point them out, please!]... but what do you think of the content?
Me, Unnamed
About the only thing I remember is the pain. You could only understand if you'd felt it - the sort of pain you'd say you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, though you would. That is my only memory of my past, before this. And the pain was all concentrated in my belly. At the base of it, making me nauseous and light-headed.
I think I may have thrown up. It seems likely, but I don't remember. I can't remember anything.
Just that... these days, lying here alone, sometimes I think I have flashes of memory. Of the present and the past, of what my life should or could be. Sometimes I hear a voice in my head for a fleeting second and I think, that's someone I know. But I can never grasp it. There is a heavy black curtain over my mind, its weight warm and comforting. I feel I could wrap myself in it and sleep. I think I have.
The cold, sterile blankets I hide under don't keep me half as warm as my heavy black quilt does. And it's useful in blocking out the sounds too. The sobs or angry voices, screams and lamentations. The heavy black curtain keeps out everything but the pain that keeps stabbing over and over into me, into the base of the stomach, till I learn to ignore it and my body gives up.
But at least I can sleep now.
~fin
Written in the school library on a lousy computer with a lousy keyboard, so forgive spelling errors [but point them out, please!]... but what do you think of the content?