[1]

31 3 0
                                    


'I'd start running if I was you.' 

The first thing she noticed was the pain. Shouting to be free, its loud cries echoed off the dull edges of her skull leaving her lying in blissful agony. Her hair was brittle with lone strands escaping the tight knot precariously balanced upon her head. Her paling skin closely resembled porcelain and almost disguising her with the walls of her prison. 

She looked as terrible as she felt.

 But it was her eyes that were the worst. Once full of love and life, they were now simply mundane. 

She was dressed in a plain grey jumper and matching bottoms that didn't fit nor did she ever remember wearing, all signs of who she was were gone. Except for her scars. Her scars were her past, her present and most importantly her future. 

They told her story. 

Reluctantly she forced herself off the cushioned ground and blinked rapidly trying to focus her blurry vision hoping to find an escape. 

Where am I? 

Nowhere good, she knew that much. 

Everything in the room was a blinding white, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, all cushioned like she patient in a mental institution. There was nothing until there was everything. A door that she could have sworn was not there before. 

She'd liked to think that the door was a portal to something new, a good thing to enjoy or a challenge to make better. The only way to find out what kind of gift this would become was to reach out, open it and step in. But she knew deep down in her gut that wouldn't be the case. 

Every single step she took felt like a hundred steps back - like she was walking against the tied - but soon she made it. Hesitantly and cautiously, she held onto the faded brass handle, its cool metal surface burnt her skin with what felt like a thousand kisses of fire.

 Breathe. 

And it was open. 

She strode towards liberty only to be welcomed into a new, slightly larger, prison. 

HerWhere stories live. Discover now