Siren's Shadow -On Hiatus-

13

Does it ever get better?

That gaping hole in your chest growing while the darkness surrounds you and seeps deep into your veins. My heart hurts, it's torn to pieces and I can't seem to find a way to piece it back together. It's wilting, growing older and decaying in my chest like a flower in the desert that's gone days without water.

Water me.

I can't breath, I keep clawing at my throat because this feeling is overheating. It hurts too much to feel this way. I don't like this feeling and it won't go away, so I take it and hide that ball of hurt and when I'm alone... I release it from the very depths of my soul, or so I thought.

I had locked myself in my room not daring to step foot outside the corridor. I don't remember the last time I ate or slept or even stopped crying.

Tears of gold blind my vision and colors my cheeks, it smells of a sweet ambrosia, a curse from my God.

And as the tears come I can't stop painting, the colors touching my canvas and mix so perfectly with the others. I have to get my mind off things I need to make myself feel better.

My silent cries go unheard for days I was alone and it has to be this way. Maybe I should go back to my home, deep within the forest. Better yet I should disappear again and hope no one can find me.

When I was placed on this earth that was the intention anyway. To never been seen and to never be heard. That one day when I have waited long enough -far after the war- mother would come down to earth and take back home, to my real home.

When I'm done with my tenth painting, my fingers already cramped. I drop the brush letting it land on the plastic covered floor. Black paint splatters across my ankles and trickles down gently while I inhale deeply.

Mama was right about me, I was an abomination. I was never supposed to be born.

"You are a monster Nyota and they will always see it that way."

I'm losing control, it's slipping through my fingers. My worse fear were nearing and the guilt was consuming me.

I look at my painting, my construed thoughts taking its toll me. It different from all the others ones.

There's a woman looking up at the sky crying in disparity. Her fingers are curled, reaching desperately for a object while thick heavy tears stream down her face. She looks so sad, so lonely so desperate for freedom. Strands of her hair cover her face while shadows stand behind her, watching from afar. Above her is a ball of light or maybe energy of some sort, I don't know what it is but I've been having strange flashes of this orb.

I don't know what this painting means but I can feel her pain, like the deep cries of her soul are pouring into me. The real artist of this painting is Recia, she has guided my hand.

My body shakes and I lift my own hands. I had power I was hardly capable of keeping in control. One slip up and the world would crumble beneath my feet. I'd stand on the ashes of piled dead bodies and sink into myself when I've realized I had no real control.

Paint trickles down my arm and drops on my body like a canvas. A work of art, similar to the ones Recia created.

I take a step back inhaling deeply, there's paintings all around me, strewn across the room.

They are all similar in a sense but with completely different images. They comes from deep within my mind, how scary it can be.

I just wanted to go back to when things weren't so complicated and confusing. When I was all alone wandering the world.