Fiftieth chapter :0 Woah
anyway
I started a new story, I guess it's in time for the big number 50
I'd love it if you guys read it and gave me any criticism or feedback :)
It's not finished yet by the way
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It struck her fast. Of course she never wanted it, but it was expected. No-one ever comes out the same when they ventured down the path that's forbidden, so why make an exception?
She knew she'd made a mistake when she had approached the corner of the playground that gave off a foreboding vibe. But she was a naive teenager, only wanting to fit in. That was the ultimate goal of life, right? To fit in with the people around you, to twist yourself until you fit one of the moulds that were ready made. The moulds never accepted you at first. They grew with you, they changed overtime but you'd never fit. They'd stand there and you,a child, would be beside it, feeling the pressure and a sense of acceptance rolling off in waves. Of course, no one else around you really cared at that point. They didn't have worries and all they saw was the somehow the sun disappeared during the day and the moon took its place. That rainbows magically appeared when fairies were happy and that Santa Claus, a man the size of- well, you could imagine after decades of feasting on cookies and other treats- could fit through a chimney just to give presents to them.
They were just children; unprepared.
She remembered that in school, the teachers would always tell her off about how her stories always ended in the same way. 'Not everything is rainbows and unicorns', they'd say. She didn't know they weren't talking about her writing.
And so she spent the next few years of her life, cautiously observing the mould. She didn't want step in, she didn't dare feel the need to. She'd watched a few others, finally fit and nearly jump with joy, but there was always something they lost out on. Creativity, freedom, or even worse, a part of their personality was cruelly ripped from them. So she didn't dare want to fit.
Why should she, when it would only hurt?
Unfortunately, that doesn't mean she didn't try. Each time she pulled herself in, and attempted to feel whole, she only went in the opposite direction. Parts of her chipped off, her body felt tired. She didn't understand what of though. And once she realised she could never live in the mould comfortably, she saw that it was no one's fault. No one was at the fault of the sink being splattered with blood every month, week and night. It was no one's fault that the blood, was in fact hers. It was no one's but her own.
But it was because of someone else that she got caught. The sharpness of the blades that gave her a sense of freedom was confiscated from her. Her freedom was taken away and word spread like wildfire. Now the mould looked even more inviting, as though she could bury herself in it and everyone would look over her like she was just another head amongst billions. As usual, it didn't work, and the others continued to look at her in disgust
Waking up was a ritual to her. She'd open her eyes to the peaceful quietness of her room. It was a closed up atmosphere and she liked waking up for almost 30 seconds. It terrified her, and was added as a part of the list of things she didn't like. Then she'd truly open her eyes and her mother would be towering over and the light streaming in through the window, with light specs of dust seen. They would scratch at her skin and make her feel like bugs were crawling over her and the light would make her feel as though she was burning. She didn't feel like this when she was younger, she realised. Her mum never had to rip the door off its hinges to get her up and the window had once seemed welcoming. She shrugged the thought off and proceeded to her wardrobe.
And naturally, she'd ignore the breakfast that awaited her on the table, as she walked out. 'There was no time for that, I can't be late' she justified, brushing her parents off on the way.
The next time she tried to think about something, she didn't like it. It felt alien to her and her mind was used to being numb, and separate. Like her body; that was the only thing they had in common.
One day, her routine was interrupted by yet another foreign feeling. She wanted to get rid of it but it wasn't possible. She felt as though she needed to go to hospital but when she checked herself in the mirror, but there were no bruises or cuts, not a mark on her skin apart from the faded scars on her wrists, which had recently been freshly opened. But she was used to the dull ache it gave. Now it felt as though it was all over her, her body was aching. But that wasn't what bothered her the most.
It was the fact that her mind felt the same too. They were, for once working together. 'That would've been helpful in all those PE lessons' she snorted to herself
