Shards | Shatter Me Oneshots

1

I scream.

Again and again and again and again and again.

It has been 1148 days. 1148 days since my father's birthday. Or, 53 days but I don't think he celebrated it. I hope he didn't.

Someone screams. The room is dim but cold, what would have been an endless playground for me two years ago, but the poison that I feel in my food has been making me weak for 734 days.

My life is governed by sound. Rushing water in the distance. Screams. Silence. Absence of scurrying creatures that scratched at my floorboards back at home. Back when I had a home.

This is an asylum. For crazy people. People like me.

I scream back.

All of the stored anger is unleashed.

Anger is a strange, beautiful thing. Dark bottomless pools of black or blinding white lights. Flowing through red, red blood or propelling deep blue blue rainstorms.

Coursing through me.

I scream.

Today the world seems more hopeless than it did yesterday. Once, I used to feel things. Now, I feel my mind goes through the motions a little slower each day. Once, there was a spark inside of me. A spark that could do anything. Now, the poison is dimming the spark more each day. I need to get that spark back. I need to feel again. And just like that, suddenly, today doesn't feel so hopeless.

If I don't eat, I won't be poisoned. If I don't eat I will become weak to become strong. It doesn't make much sense to me, but I'm tired of endless days trapped in my mind with nothing to focus on. And I'm angry. I want to destroy something. Anything.

It's been three days, and the tiniest spark flows through my veins. I can feel my body slowly falling into atrophy.

I can remember it so well. I practised the cake for 2 weeks. The screams that came. Not joyful like I'd imagined, but horrified. At me. At me at me at me at me. My parents shook my shoulders and screamed, spit flying onto my face. I thought it was the worst day of my life but I was wrong because today it is. Tomorrow it will be tomorrow. Every day is worse than the last. I try to think of good things but there are no good things to think about except that I'm alive and that's quickly becoming an unbearable experience.

I wake up in a white, white room. A plate sits in front of me. Roasted carrots, fresh salad and a turkey leg. A glass of water and sparkling silverware sit next to the plate I'm so so hungry.

I wake up in a white, white room, the shape of a boot pressed into my back, my hands tied behind my back. There's a white table in front of me and my hair falls into my face. A warm strawberry blond. I'd forgotten what my hair looked like.

"August Lilith Ebony. Seventeen years old." I lift my head and find myself staring into deep green eyes. The man boy looks me in the eyes and stops talking. Everything about him is perfect, terrifying. His face- chiselled cheekbones, smooth perfect skin. His hair- light blond, coifed to an unhuman beauty. His clothes: impeccable uniform, decorated with countless awards, a nameplate that reads simply: WARNER.

He is the first human to speak to me in 1123 days.

He can't be too much older than me.

I spit in his gorgeous face.

"Ms. Ebony, is that necessary?"

A sharp pain seizes me through my back, most likely the steel-toed boot of a soldier.

I just look at him.

"Does she speak?" 'Warner' asks a man standing beside him in a white lab coat.

"Yes sir, talks to herself all the time." The man sounds afraid.