One
Two
Three.
I Stare At The Clock, A Blank Expression Crossing My Dirty Face. I Didn't Even Know How To Tell Time.
Why SHOULD We Know, Anyways?
I Rose From The Alley And Stumbled Along.
The Demons Kneel At The Feet Of Hell.
My Breath Comes Out In Huffs. Each Breath Makes A Soft, White Cloud, Considering It's Cold Outside.
They Bow To Him. Bow, Bow, To The Feet Of Your Master.
I Suddenly Become Lightheaded, Leaning Against A Faded Brick Wall. It's Warmer Than Anything Else. I Press My Cold Palms Against It, An Indescribable Sensation Washing Over My Body.
So Kneel To Sir Devil, Our Savior, Our Light! Kneel, Bow, Show Respect, As He Remembers You... Like Nobody Else Does.
My Vision Is Fading, And I Lean My Forehead Against The Brick Wall. I Lift It Up Once A Searing Pain Goes From My Head And Through The Rest Of My Body.
Blood?
That's Blood.
I Sit Down Against The Wall. The Words Crossing My Mind Are Wrong, Weird, And Scary.
Maybe The Mental Asylum Was A Better Idea.
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trep·i·da·tion
1. a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen.
2. trembling motion.
YOU ARE READING
Pastless
Science FictionNorth. That's Me. A Fifteen-Going-On Sixteen Girl That You'd See On The Streets. But Literally, On The Streets. Cause I'm Homeless. And I'm Pastless.
