May 24, 2013 - 8:51am — Rihame
Yea... I'm not in the best mood today... hope you all find this interesting anyways (wish I was a better writer XC)
Scratch, Cut, Turn the Page, and Start Over
Shivering hands were laid upon an old musty book in an attic. It was dusty and warm up there due the strangely placed chimney that went through the archaic roof made with many hardened clay plates. Inside there were spiders and other small crawly things. It was a place for the flies to feast off each other’s dead flesh, and the spiders’ for gathering their kill. White fluffs surrounded this person’s thick black leather boots, adding to the room’s warmth. But despite its quietness and the hot air, the hands were still cold, shuddering as if something had startled them enough to move.
These were young girl’s hands, charred up and a bit small, stubby around her tiny finger tips. Upon them there were beautiful blue nails, scratching at the books rough brown surface. They sparkled as the small ray of sun coming through the window hit them, but she didn’t see beauty. All she saw were yellowed slabs of white stained plastic jabbing into gray cracked skin. Though she thought this was the truth, her clouded eyes still stared in disgust.
This girl’s hair was strictly taken care of, washed and wonderful. Each hair was silky and smooth leading to a full head of soft blonde beauty. It matched her pale skin, white like a ghost’s against the highlighted straightened strings. No, this certainly won’t do, she thought, opening the book to a clear laminated page. It was shiny and stiff, the rim silver and the page her reflection.
Her heart stopped for the second she saw it, hideous. She looked, her finger brushing the page with its beautiful tip she saw as horrifically terrifying. Dust covered her face on the image in front of her that shook every time she shifted. No matter how many times her body maneuvered, her stomach turned and her heart ached at her appearance. A perfect nose wasn’t round, perfect eyes weren’t too far apart or too close together. Her finger brushed the page again. And nails weren’t meant to be cracked and broken. Veins weren’t meant to be seen as blue tree branches underneath a white sheet, and the bumps on her face only added to this monstrosity.
This book, it’s a series of mirrors for her and her wicked broken heart and her stupidity. Pride was lost; dignity was a shattered glass on her bloody tile floor. Her perfect nails scratched, her skin was cut, and she flipped the page. What else could she do wrong? What else was there to believe other than lies. A monster sat in her place.
Despite all the cuts and the lies upon this beast’s heart, it’s time to move with the crowd because no one of it knows how the monster feels pain. To them there seemed so little, that she felt nothing and was nothing. She was someone with no happiness or pain at all. The voices with their words sharp and their grittiness rancid a whisper all hiss,” she must flip the page,
And Start Over…”
