It's cold here. Not cold as in shivering, but cold as in lonely, scared, and sick. No one wants me here. No one. I can feel it, hear it, see it even, like it's tapping the back of my mind in constant rhythm, a metronome. They used to love me. Back when I was little, maybe 7 years ago, though it feels like centuries. They would think how pretty or how kind I was, and then those words would be painted on to me. They used to praise me, sing songs of how brilliant I was, we used to be happy, but now it's silent. Everything is quiet, except for those words crashing into my skull in every fleeting second.
Worthless, bump-bump, pathetic, bump-bump, ugly, bump-bump, heinous, bump-bump...
I know, I wanted to shout. I know I'm just a leech, sucking and draining your lives away. I know how fragile and weak I am, and how you need to always watch over me just to make sure I don't slip through your fingers and shatter into millions of little pieces at your feet. However, that would mean I'd make those words real.
For now, they're just words, thoughts, in their heads that encircle me, tighten around me, and suffocate me, but never spoken, never made physical. I know what they think of me, but if I acknowledge it, that means reality will crash down that already breaking door and seize my only comfort that maybe I'm insane, maybe I'm imagining everything. If I speak, my situation, my feelings will be made real, tangible. If I acknowledge their thoughts, I would also be accepting the fact that I'm alone in this cold, sick world. I don't want to be alone yet.
YOU ARE READING
A World Filled with Words
FantasíaA world where words can control everything and it's up to a band of outcasts to help uncover its secrets. Really, what could go wrong? (FYI This cover was not made by me! Thanks!)
