The feeling was awfull. Seeing her bein loaded unto a an ambulance and having nothing to do but worry. It was the most unbearable pain you could possibly imagine. I shuddered a cry and let the tears flow. Sometimes the thing you feel just won't go away...
After a nice long cry I looked at the beautiful trees around me. I wondered, these trees when one feel did they know? Did they feel sorry for it? Did they wish to shed a tear? No they didn't feelings were not part of there vocabulary they only knew the sun, rain, and how to defend against things like fierce winds.
I envied the trees. They didn't have to feel the loss the feeling of one being gone. They never even knew someone left the wood. They were to busy being themselves to know. I wish I was a tree. Not having to feel the guilt, the pain, the despair...
I pulled my hand from my pocket and looked at the scars left on my wrist. The sharp knife still in my mind..the feeling as the knife sliced into my flesh and watched as the blood gushed out of my arm, though it hurt it felt like payback. It felt like I was suppose to be in pain for letting me mother die. I felt as if I had to suffer. And everyday god found a way to.
I sighed heavily and began to take the journey back to the house. I climbed off the fallen log and shook the old bark off my pants. The barks rough surface scratched my skin lightly. The texture a feeling that could only resemble a mix of a ball of crinkled paper and sand paper.
Getting to my feet and walking away from the trees was hard for I felt peace and silence in the woods. At school it felt like I was always being watched..my former friends acted as if they had never laid eyes on me. They called me an emo and told me that I was a creepier all the time. And mocked me for my baggy clothes and limp hair. Looks weren't important to me. I chose clothes that didn't make me stand for style wasn't something I rarely ever thought about. My hair was always down poker straight. I never did anything with it. I brushed and walked out the door. I usually let the hair cover my face to allow nobody to see the pain in my eyes. My face consisted of what everyone else's hold. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and the other body parts.
My eyes were much bigger than others. A very alluring blue-green my mother use to tell me that when people stared into are eyes they could see the feelings inside if us, like an ocean. My high cheek bones made my face oval and made my face more model like. My nose was normal sized and was nothing special. Though it wasn't perfectly straight like some of the local people here I was content with my nose it showed the human side of me. My hair was naturally straight and was a dark brown color. It had a nice silky feel to it. But it's not that people cared after all I was the freak at school. When I walked through those white hallways I was the outcast the person people looked at and just instantly hated because I was different.
I remember a girl who was new talked to me and then the next day was swept up in the we hate you party. It's was nice having a friend for 8 hours. But as usual god had to punish me with loneliness. Being me I was forced with bad karma. I was forced to deal with my past. Th constant torture at school, home and in my heart. I could never win.
My clothes baggy and old were usually bought fom yards sales and the goodwill. Because along with are many problems money was also one of them. We were behing on are rent and getting things like food was nearly impossible. The house was a mess of papers and dishes, My father was part turtle, he sat at the table and stared out the window at the backayrd and occasionally look at the piles of paper that were slowly gathering. He barely ever talked to me. And when he did it was for a brief moment only to tell me to get something or go to bed. He never left that brown ugly table. His body sat perched in that rickety chair. He only got up for food, to use the bathroom, or to head up to work. And the second he came home from work he went straight to that chair once again to stare out are glass window and look at the dark luminesent woods before him.
I was truly afraid he was turning into stone, he never smiled. He never talked to me. He never made me dinner, cleaned the house or even did the laundry. I had to do that. My father never even noticed that I was sick or anything. My life was passing by and I was left to do it myself. And the feeling of being alone never seemed to be greater than it ever has when i'm with the man that use to not be a turtle.
Okay so I don't really know what I should write next for this story. Any ideas? I hope you all know that her life is awful and it's not going to get better anytime soon. :/ but it will I promise. :)
So any ideas? Message me!
-cfchey!
