Memories have flooded him, leaving his cold body collapsed and broken.
Arms and legs bloody and bruised from the daily beating he endures from himself.
They aren't external, the voices, but they feel as real as ever
Dark rooms for miles ahead and glass shards piercing his frail skin
"Just stop and they'll go away" so he does just that
The wind still picks up and they still beat him senseless.
He picks up the glass and begins throwing them at the wind around him
Tears fill his eyes as he looks at his bloody hands
"You did this to yourself."
The wind blows him off of his feet, debris fly around his tall figure.
He picks a final shard of the glass falling from seemingly nowhere
Blood drips from his throat as he pulls it across.
Wind stops, rooms turn white
However he stays laying on the floor
He was just scar(r)ed
YOU ARE READING
Fractured Thoughts
Short Story(VERY PROMINENT TRIGGER WARNING. TOPICS DISCUSSED IN HERE COULD POSSIBLY BE VERY TOXIC. READ AT YOUR OWN WILL.) From the mass of my brain, things tend to come up from moments of darkness. This brings out the inspiration for writing and therefore, th...
