They've finally let us go.
Five days of misery, nothing to console exept the faint pink hum and murmur of the walls.
Five days of high-pitched jolting sounds.
Five days of bloodlust boiling off my peers.
Five nights where the moment I fall home I simply flop down and then the spirits whisper in my ears.
From the moment I arrive at schoool to the moment I come near home.
Red.
Clouding the sight and senses.
Fogging the mind.
Red, thick syrupy red.
Almost impossible to escape.
Flashes of aquamarine and indigo bursting from mother is my only bouyancy to stop me drowning in father's rage.
The shadow ahead is taunting me.
It knows That I am a tiger with only my claws.
I can fight it but I cannot destroy it.
Today it's just the constant stream of harsh, blinding lights.
Raised voices.
Boiling blood.
Mother shrieks, the sound like a lone, despairing bird-cry in a vast empty forest.
Father comes, he is low, dark and grey.
Father and Mother, thinking they are alone in their forest.
Father is the wolf, stalking prey and fighting it.
Mother fights back.
The battle is a long one.
I have to listen.
I have to endure.
There is no escape.
I have to relish those times when the air isn't so thick.
The purple smoke is a great ally.
She sees the danger ahead, though not as I do.
She is aware of the danger, and fights it still.
A true warrior.
My only recluse,
my only savior.
Is the halls of the school when all else is gone to fury, hatred and anger.
I'm gliding towards it right now.
There's something hiding in there.
Buried beneath the thousands of other stories and tales.
It has not moved for a very long time.
It senses me.
And it is beginning to stir.
I can feel its power and importance.
It could be my answer.
How to let brother live without the shadow haunting his life.
I light onto the roof.
Immediately stories rush to greet me.
Telling of the woes and wonders of the halls.
I tell them to hush,
That I would listen as soon as I have time.
For now, I'm searching.
The secret story is buried somewhere.
It calls to me from time to time.
Like as if it had a string embedded in my heart and was tugging on it.
I walk a little further.
Looking deep into the history of these walls.
It was a dream.
Then I felt a light tugging.
A small pull.
Emanating small bursts of purple light.
A lead.
YOU ARE READING
Whiteout
Spirituální(cover art not mine) What is whiteout thinking? How does she really see the world? Emotions never let go, never. The moment they touch you, you'll have them forever. Even death can't seperate you and your emotions. And... That's why whiteout fears...
