Melany Fellington is a young girl who lives in poverty in a changed world. She doesn't have what others have the room to have, but family made what she has more than enough. During substandard times of oppression, an interference threatens her famil...
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(Tuesday, August 21st)
My knuckles have fresh bandages on them, and they shook less along with the pain that I no longer feel in them. My hands and scars heal while I make sure to let them, and today along with the days after, I will only let them.
Today, I had finished the tasks that I usually do before I make breakfast for Eurella, and now I was in the kitchen with the final product on a plate, ready for her enjoyment.
I strongly enjoy making Eurella's breakfast more than anything right now. Especially because it's extremely grounding to have something that you know how to do without thinking at all, and with a mind that only thinks about what you've done, not thinking is a mercy.
In my newfound desire to take better care of myself physically by not resorting to harming myself, I found tranquility in cooking.
Cooking doesn't make my muscles ache. Cooking reminds me that maybe my life can be normal in the future. Cooking makes me feel the humanity in my heart and limbs again.
And in this moment, I walked over to the dining room, and placed Eurella's breakfast in front of her empty seat at the table, then I walked back into the kitchen to start cleaning it.
But now that my hands aren't preoccupied in the tranquility that cooking provides, my mind only let my thoughts surface, and I only shoved them down, yet when you refuse to let yourself to think and feel your emotions, it comes out in different ways. And in this present moment, as I scrubbed the counters, my hands became unsteady while they shook, and I tried to steady them, but they only shook more.
I then felt the air become thick while it passed across my exposed skin in multiple directions, the surrounding air brushing by my ears roughly in unnaturally powerful and strong prolonged wind drafts. The hairs on my nape immediately bristled as the winds now targeted my hands in pinpoints, the element making the nerves and joints in both my hands start to feel ineffectively static with a prickling buzz, influencing confusion to consume my mind entirely.
I stopped scrubbing then, and faced my hands up by their palms. My hands were shaking severely, and suddenly my ears started ringing. I started to see thick and accusing blood pooling in the palms of my hands, covering them completely in its red color, and falling to the dark wood floors below me. And while the blood covered my hands, my mind kept repeating 'It's your fault' in a ghostly whisper.
My eyes instantly became watery while my lips unconsciously parted to deny it, the word 'no' being the only word that left my lips as I lowered myself to the ground, leaning my back against the kitchen cabinet. I then brought my knees to my chest, and buried my head in between my legs.
