The walls are grey which is weird 'cause my room is blue. In fact, everything is grey, including my pajamas- or scrubs? My breathing quickens. I hear a beeping noise. The room is empty. The beeping quickens. The door seems to be locked from the outside. Somebody shut off that noise! And then it hits me. Everything slams into me all at once and suddenly I can't breathe. It's too much. I'm connected to a heart monitor and its beeping because I'm still alive. I'm in a mental hospital.
Why am I not dead?
Then the door opens and a few nurses come in. They pour something into this juice that's flowing into me and everything blurs. The last thing I see is more grey. Not the dull grey on the walls or my clothes but this intense perfection. They demanded attention but at the same time looked gentle and conservative.
My parents always told me grey and black were colors of nothingness, which really made no sense. Black is all of the colors on the visible spectrum absorbed. It's deep and enhancing. And white isn't happy, it's everything reflected. If white was a personality, they would go through life experiencing nothing- deflecting anything coming their way. Grey is equal amounts of all the colors of the spectrum, but it is lower in intensity than white. The less total light, the darker the shade. Grey is perfect.
YOU ARE READING
Standstill
Teen FictionI'm confused when I wake up. Not because I'm in a new place (even though that's part of it), but because I'm not sure why I'm awake. I'm not supposed to be awake. I thought I was done with this whole life thing. I want to be done.
