3.
The book was left on a table in her room. There'd been no need to wait, her mother couldn't know the feeling, the push and pull, the unending pressure. It had to stop. If she could make it stop, she would.
Aphiwe groaned, it was like her soul was bleeding, not just her every muscle.
The lamp faded. There'd be no point in lighting it, there wasn't enough in her to turn it back on, it was fine, there was moonlight. It'd do.
She was up. Not on her feet, standing wasn't a thing, it would never be. Maybe ever again. No, it would happen.
She was using her hands and they were crushed and ripped simultaneously.
"I... will..."
She shut up. No, the pain shut her up. It was its own person, cruel evil, demanding attention all the time, but by Nature she'd try.
She elbowed her way forwards. Hardwood turning her enemy before making it to the base of the chair. She needed a breath. Just a quick one.
She waited until her eyes closed.
YOU ARE READING
The Open Book
FantasyThe Biography of a Biography. Aphiwe is sick and stuck in bed having just fought for her life. All she got out of it was a stupid book. But the book says: "Do not read this if being alive is the most important thing to you. If greatness is the more...
